Plot | The great shark struggles with modern dating --- a bar so low he keeps tripping on it.
Tags | no smut, mentioned skin to skin intimacy, virgin!reader (for the plot!), yapper!reader, celibate!reader but not fully, waiting for marriage reader, bad experience with dating (not with park), cursing, traditional roles, age gap (15 years), endearments (babydoll, sweetheart, sweetie, baby),
[Inspired by this drabble <3]
Brendon Park is a good man.
He calls his mother every week. Sends his father the good whiskey every year on his birthday. And does good on his job no matter how much he hates the … socializing aspect of it.
A good son, a good surgeon, and a respectable member of society.
“When are you gonna give me some grandbabies, huh?”
Just … a little delayed in certain aspects of his life.
It wasn’t on purpose.
When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.
Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.
Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.
And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.
When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.
Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.
Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.
By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.
You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.
Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.
What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.
He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.
But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.
“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”
He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”
Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”
He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”
You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.
He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.
As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.
If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.
But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.
“You live in Pittsburgh.”
“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.
“Now, that’s just treason.”
That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.
Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.
“So, how much do I owe you?”
He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.
“For what?”
A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.
“Lunch.”
He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.
“I asked you out, it’s on me.”
“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”
He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.
“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”
“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”
“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”
You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.
“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”
He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.
“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."
‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’
‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”
“👍”
“What’s this?”
You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.
He watches you register what he had just done.
“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”
You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”
“Brendon.”
“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”
“Brendon.”
“What?”
“It’s in New York.”
He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.
“Those are our plane tickets.”
“You bought plane tickets?!”
“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”
“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”
“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”
You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”
Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.
And they said he wasn’t a romantic.
It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.
When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.
Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.
It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.
So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.
But he respected it.
(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)
Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.
“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”
He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.
“Wha – hey!”
“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”
You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.
“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.
He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”
You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”
"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”
You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.
“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.
He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”
“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”
“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”
He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.
“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”
If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.
“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”
He prepared as best as he could.
Lights are off, sleep mask on.
Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –
“Thanks for doing this, baby.”
He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.
He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”
Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.
It’ll be fine. Everything will be –
-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.
The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.
Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.
“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.
To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.
The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.
He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“’luv yu’, Bren.”
He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”
“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”
That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.
The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.
He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.
He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.
Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.
With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.
Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.
He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.
“I love you, babydoll.”
'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'
'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'
'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'
'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'
'Fine'
'Fine <3'
'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'
'Okay <3'
'Wait what.'
“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.
Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.
He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.
“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”
You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.
“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”
You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”
With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.
“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”
By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”
You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.
“Babydoll?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”
A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.
“Uh, what for?”
He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”
You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.
“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?
“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.
Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”
He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”
Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.
“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”
He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.
“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”
You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.
“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”
His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious. People talk.”
“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”
That softens you.
“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”
You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.
“Brendon –”
“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”
He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.
You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.
“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”
Summary: You end up in the ED with a teensy, tiny head wound. Brendon makes it everyone’s problem.
WC: 3,463
Warnings: the smallest splash of angst-lite; reader experiences a minor head injury; typical ED/medical stuff; protective Brendon Park needs a warning label; probable medical inaccuracies, because to my father’s eternal disappoint, I am in fact not a medical doctor
A/N: read as standalone, but technically a continuation of the Gremlin universe; set seven years before The Pitt (Park is mid-30s); fem reader; cameo by Robby because for some reason I still like that sad old man; I can not believe I'm posting again so soon, but the muse is a fickle bitch
Masterlist
—————————————————
You’ve learned many things about Brendon Park in the month or so since you met him. You know he takes his coffee black, like a complete psychopath. You know he has a secret sweet tooth (black coffee notwithstanding) and that he never lets his fuel tank drop below a quarter. You know he loves Sudoku, his favorite color is blue, and that he can’t draw to save his life.
What you don’t know is whether or not you should call him.
You’re sitting on a bed in the ED, picking nervously at the sheets and trying to pretend there’s not an IV needle inside of you. Your head is throbbing, there’s dried blood itching the side of your face, and you’re so embarrassed you almost forget both of those things.
You’d been standing on the second floor balcony that overlooks the main atrium, head buried in an email on your phone. It was an email from the outside member on your committee, and you’d been so wrapped up in wording your reply properly that someone could probably had died next to you and you wouldn’t have noticed. Ironic, given that some poor radiology intern carrying a stack of boxes had then crashed into you. The force of the collision had knocked you off your feet, and you’d subsequently hit your head on the balcony railing and, humiliatingly, passed out.
Apparently any loss of consciousness is a big deal, because even though you’d been down for less than thirty seconds, you’d still been rushed to the ED. That was almost an hour ago, and in that time, you’ve been poked, prodded, and questioned half to death.
What day is it?
Do you know where you are?
What’s the last thing you remember before losing consciousness?
Can you tell me what five times seven is?
Friday, PTMC, emailing Dr. Usher, thirty-five.
The resident checking you out had seemed satisfied with both your answers and your vitals, and it wasn’t long before they sent an intern in to stitch up the nasty gash on your temple. They’d given you a local anesthetic, but your head still hurts. You can hear them in the hall now debating whether you need a CT, and you’re suddenly confronted with the fact that you know next to nothing about medicine.
Sure, you did your obligatory Grey’s Anatomy stint in high school, but that highly questionable, medical-adjacent soap opera is your only reference for anything that’s happening right now. You feel out of your depth, lonely and sort of scared, and of course the first solution your possibly-concussed brain provides is call Brendon.
It’s past five, so he should be finishing up his last consults for the day. He’s not on call this weekend, and you don’t remember him mentioning any evening plans. He’s also the most medically competent person you know, and he would definitely know what’s happening and what to do.
Some part of you doesn’t want to call him though. The two of you haven’t talked any more about whatever it is happening between you after the night he’d driven you home. He’s not quite your boyfriend, not quite just your friend. There’s no real reason to call him except you want to, and you’re very good at convincing yourself that that’s not a good enough reason to do anything. You don’t want to put him on the spot, don’t want to make him uncomfortable or make him feel obligated-
That last thought stops you. You don’t think there’s a multiverse out there in which Brendon Park feels obligated to do anything. The President himself could probably stand directly in front of him and ask him to do something, and Brendon would just stare flatly back and say no. If he doesn’t want to come down to see you, he won’t. Simple as that.
Feeling slightly better, you pick up your phone and call him before you can talk yourself out of it. It rings once before he picks up.
“Imp.”
His voice — sharp and biting and familiar — washes over you like a wave. The sound of it touches the fragile part of you you’ve been holding together since you woke up on the tile, and you immediately feel tears begin to well. Shit, you take back all your prior reasoning. You’re just going to hang up. You are not going to cry on the phone with him-
“Imp, why are there monitors beeping in the background. You’re not observing today.”
Well, now you’re definitely crying.
He remembers your schedule. He remembers your schedule and your ridiculous coffee order and tiny details about your ten thousand page long dissertation. He remembers unimportant things because they’re important to you. He would rather die than admit he’s maybe a nice person, but you love his caustic brand of care, and you suddenly want him here with you so badly it aches.
“Um, would you-, could you come down to the ED?”
The brief silence that follows your question is the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.
“Bren?”
“What room are you in.”
The words are short, clipped, and everything you needed to hear.
“I think Central Three-“
“Hi, Ms. Y/l/n, I’m just here to check on your stitches.”
The same resident you saw when you first came in walks into the bay, Dr. Copeland you think is his name. He’s probably your age, with sandy blonde hair and the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. The intern who did your stitches is trailing behind him. They both pause when they see you on the phone, and you’re about to hang up and apologize for whatever hospital policy you’re probably violating, when Brendon’s voice snaps in your ear-
“Give me five minutes. And tell whatever fuckwit resident that is to keep his fucking hands to himself until I get there.”
The line goes dead, but you don’t feel nearly as alone as you did a few minutes ago.
“Everything okay?” Copeland asks.
He seems genuinely concerned, and you suddenly feel kind of bad for him. You don’t know what Brendon’s going to say when he gets here, but it’s certainly not going to be good job.
“Um, yes?”
None of you are convinced by your unenthusiastic answer, but no one points it out. Instead, Copeland snaps on some gloves and starts moving towards you. You make a sound of protest and lean away. You’re pretty sure he’s a senior resident, he seems perfectly competent, and he’s been nothing but nice to you, but the need to obey Brendon’s directive outweighs the need to get your busted-open skull checked out. That is something you will one hundred percent have to unpack later in therapy, but right now, you’re standing by it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Copeland asks again, looking even more concerned this time. “Would you like a female doctor?”
Very observant and kind of him, but no, you don’t think that will help. Brendon’s fuckwit resident comment probably applies to the entire ED if not the entire hospital. You’re trying to think of a way to explain why you don’t want your head examined yet, when you hear it.
“Park? I didn’t know we called for a-”
Brendon says something biting and likely rude though you can’t make out the specifics, and then he’s there. Standing in the entrance of the bay, looking like wrath given form. His eyes assess the room in one quick sweep before settling on where you’re curled up on the bed. Something complicated passes across his face, and you’re sure your expression does something similar.
You can’t explain why the sight of him feels so reassuring, or why he’s the person you want with you right now. Your parents and siblings are states away, but you could have called one of your friends from school — your cohort is actually quite close, and you enjoy spending time with them. But right now, when you’re tired and injured and not sure what to do next, his iron control and ruthlessness confidence are what you need. Just the sight of him makes some of the rigid tension in your body ease.
“Hi,” you say softly.
“Dr. Park,” Copeland greets. “Can I help you?”
Brendon ignores him completely and makes his way over to you.
“What happened.”
It’s a command, not a question.
Copeland is still standing next to you, gloves on and clearly unamused with this sudden interruption, and you hesitate. Maybe you should just let him work first. But Brendon says your name once — low, dangerous —and you start speaking before your brain catches up.
“Um, I fell?”
His eyes narrow.
“Okay, I fell and then hit my head. And maybe I passed out, but it was only for like…twenty seconds.”
He exhales slowly through his nose and makes a visible effort not to say something nasty. Instead, his hand comes up to rest on your jaw, and his touch is so gentle it steals your breath. His fingers trail featherlight over your cheek, and then he turns your head to the side, so he can see the gash on your temple. The complicated look from earlier intensifies.
“Vitals and GCS.”
Once again, it’s not a question, and Copeland answers albeit reluctantly.
“98/63, 79 pulse, 98 sat. GCS 15.”
“Which of you idiots put these sutures in?”
You don’t mean to, you really don’t. But your eyes flick over to the intern in the corner, and Brendon follows your gaze like a shark scenting blood. It’s only then that you recognize the woman, Dr. Wilts. She’s the same intern Brendon tore to pieces the last time he was down here. She clearly also remembers the incident — she looks mildly terrified and actually takes a half step backwards.
“Dr. Wilts is a talented doctor and is perfectly capable of suturing a head laceration,” Copeland says calmly.
You have to admire his composure — Brendon’s radiating caged-tiger energy right now. He dislikes most other people on a good day, and he’s definitely not having a good day. In fact, he looks one step away from homicide.
“If this scars, it’s because you suture like shit,” he says to Wilts. “And where are her films?”
He directs the second part to Copeland while simultaneously looking at your chart, open on the work station next to your bed.
“She hasn’t been to CT yet.”
Brendon turns slowly with a glare that makes even you flinch.
“Is there a specific reason, or were you just feeling particularly fucking useless today?”
It’s at this moment that another man walks into the room. He’s older than the residents, maybe in his forties, with dark hair and a scruffy beard on his jaw. He looks tired in the way everyone in the ED looks tired, but his brown eyes are kind.
“Park, why are you harassing my residents?” he asks, amicable but firm.
“Robinavitch.”
From his tone, you can tell Brendon doesn’t necessarily like this new man, but he at least respects him. Sort of.
“A trauma came in earlier, but Ms. Y/l/n should be up for CT soon. Dr. Copeland and Dr. Wilts have followed procedure and done an excellent job.”
Brendon clearly disagrees with the word excellent, judging by the sneer that curls his lip.
“Ms. Y/l/n, my name is Dr. Robby, one of the attendings here. How are you feeling?”
You actually feel quite a bit better now that Brendon’s here, but you don’t think your emotional state is what Dr. Robby was interested in. You take a minute to think about it, taking stock of your body now that your brain isn’t so frazzled. The anesthetic is still doing its job, so you can’t feel the stitches, but the rest of your head is throbbing dully. That, and your whole left side feels bruised from where you’d hit the ground.
You tell him, and he nods.
“That’s normal, but we can get you something for the pain. Otherwise, if your CT comes back clean, you should be good to go.”
You nod, then immediately regret it when it makes your head worse.
“In the meantime, Dr. Wilts will bandage your-”
“Like fuck she will.”
Brendon’s voice cuts like glass in the wake of Robby’s warmth. You turn your head to look at him, and your breath catches. His face is carved of ice and quiet fury. He’s looking at poor Dr. Wilts like he’s trying to eviscerate her with his eyes, and the hand that had been on your face is now resting possessively on your shoulder.
Oh god, maybe you are concussed.
Because there’s no way that Brendon Park’s attractiveness should be anywhere near the top of your current priority list, but oh. It is. It really, really is. You like that he came for you. You like that he’s touching you. And maybe it makes you a terrible, horrible, no-good person, but you really like that he’s being all snarly at other people over you.
“Park,” Robby starts. “This isn’t the OR, you’re not in charge down here.”
“No one else is touching her.”
The two of them lock eyes for a long moment, and it’s like watching a rabid tiger and a slightly confused bear stare each other down. Robby ends up looking away first, which you know he would probably call being the bigger person, and Brendon would definitely call being the loser.
“Ms. Y/l/n, is it okay with you if Dr. Park takes care of wrapping your wound?” Robby asks.
Brendon smirks like he knows exactly what you’re going to say, which, fair, but you still shoot him a look to cut it out.
“Yes, thank you, Dr. Robby.”
Robby nods before leaving with a promise to check on you after your CT. Copeland and Wilts trail after him. Brendon waits until they pull the curtain closed, giving the two of you at least the semblance of privacy in the busy ED, before rounding on you.
“How the fuck do you knock yourself out just by standing?”
The words are biting, angrier than when he spoke to anyone else, but his hands are impossibly gentle as they reach up to cradle your face. He tilts your head to look at the wound again, but his hands linger this time, and he strokes one thumb carefully over the uninjured side of your face. Your eyes flutter shut, and you nuzzle closer into his touch.
“Wasn’t my fault,” you mumble.
“What?”
It takes you a second to find more words. Some of the adrenaline that’s kept you upright and alert has started to wear off, like your body knows it’s safe now that he’s here. Without it, you realize just how tired you are. It takes concentrated effort to open your eyes and arrange a sentence.
“Someone bumped into me.”
His eyes turn downright murderous.
“It was an accident,” you hasten to add. “They were carrying a lot of boxes, and I think they just didn’t see me.”
That doesn’t appease him in the least, but he thankfully doesn’t push it. Instead, he grabs the tray of supplies Wilts left behind and gets a pair of gloves from the boxes attached to the wall.
“Don’t move,” he orders.
Once again his touch is at odds with his tone. He does a bit more poking and prodding at the sutures, but so carefully it’s like you’re made of glass. Then he cleans the wound again, even though you know Wilts already did it, and applies gauze and tape with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for diffusing bombs.
“Thank you,” you say softly when he finishes.
He doesn’t answer at first. His pelagic eyes are calmer now, like taking care of you himself has eased some of his fury, and he watches you with an unnameable expression. He strips off his gloves slowly.
“Why did you call me?” he finally asks.
You could say so many things.
Because he was already in the hospital, and it was convenient. Because he’s a doctor and would do things like demand to know your vitals and see your films. Because he’s Park the Shark, and the ED respected him. All of those things were true, and easy.
“Because you make me feel safe.”
You weren’t expecting him to confess his undying love to you after that, but you weren’t expecting…nothing either. He just stares at you. Silent, unmoving, face blank. It takes about three seconds of that for you to regret your words, then an additional five for you to start panicking.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha-“
He kisses you.
He braces one hand next to your head and leans down before brushing his lips against yours. The touch is brief, over nearly as quickly as it started, but sure. You feel it with every nerve in your body. A breathless noise escapes you, and he pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes.
“Brave girl,” he murmurs. “Swimming with sharks.”
He moves to kiss you again, but the curtain behind him jerks open. You both freeze. Your cheeks immediately go nuclear at being caught, but he just looks annoyed. He straightens slowly and turns to face whoever it is with a nastier-than-usual scowl on his face. You wince when you see its Wilts.
“What?” he barks.
“I’m uh, I’m here to take Ms. Y/l/n to imaging.”
She sounds like she would rather be doing literally anything else right now, and you place a hand on Brendon’s arm before he can take her head off. Very, very begrudgingly, he turns his attention to you again.
“Will you be here when I get back?” you ask, partially to distract him, partially because you want to know.
He gives you a look that clearly says what kind of stupid question is that and sighs in annoyance. But he still reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his hand linger.
“Yes.”
You smile.
“But only if you don’t take too long.”
You’re laughing as they wheel you away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Robby
“Huh.”
It’s nearing seven, he’s been on his feet for twelve and a half hours, and all that stands between him and his couch is shift change with Jack. But for some godforsaken reason, Robby finds himself standing at the nursing station, staring at Central Three like he’s being paid to do it.
He doesn’t know The Shark well. He knows he’s something of a god to the surgical residents that are down here sometimes, and he certainly commands the room when he himself deigns to make an appearance. But short of being ruthlessly efficient, allergic to small talk, and kind of a dick, Robby doesn’t know anything about him. So really, there’s no reason to be surprised that the other man has a girlfriend.
He is indeed, surprised.
Maybe it’s not because Park has a girlfriend, but because Park has this specific girlfriend. She’s sweet, quiet, though that could admittedly be because she’s in the ED. But she spoke very politely to Copeland and Wilts, didn’t show any indication she was annoyed by the wait for CT, and had apologized at least twice for things like twitching while getting sutured.
“What are we staring at?”
Jack steps up to the desk next to him, backpack slung over his shoulder and energy drink sweating in his hand. Robby just nods his head at Central Three. As they watch, Park’s girlfriend walks out of the room, looking calm if not a bit tired. Park follows close on her heels, and he looks exactly as pissed off as he did when Robby talked to him an hour ago.
“Apparently Park has a girlfriend.”
“Huh. I think I saw them in the elevator together a few weeks ago.”
“She came in with a head lac and a minor concussion, and he bit Wilts’ head off over it.”
Wilts was normally confident and decisive, especially for a first year, but there was something about The Shark that made even seasoned residents question themselves.
“Nearly took off my head, too.”
“That’s kind of sweet.”
Robby looks over at Jack like he’s the one with head trauma.
“Excuse me?”
“At least now we know he’s capable of an emotion besides disgust.”
Like he knows they’re talking about him, Park’s head swings in their direction, and his lip curls in a sneer. His girlfriend follows his gaze and offers them a shy smile. The dichotomy is actually kind of funny once you get over the oddness of it, and Robby finds it in himself to offer a genuine smile back.
“He’s still an asshole,” he says to Jack once the couple leaves.
summary ⸝⸝ Brendon Park has built an entire career on being the smartest person in the room. Then he meets you, who makes him forget what he was about to say.
warnings ⸝⸝ coffee shop meet-cute, grumpy x sunshine (?), fluff, pining, brendon yearns, he falls first and harder, jealous! park, park the goldfish bc he can’t keep his mouth shut with her near? (one of my tamest fics tbrh), abbot and shen cameo bc I love them. no use of y/n.
notes ⸝⸝ first official park fic yaay! I do realise I’m supposed to be on a break, but look at him! I genuinely don’t know why it took me so long to write for him, mainly because I've been told that if there's an ortho bro within a five-mile radius, I'll somehow manage to find him? It’s unfortunate that they’re truly horrible tho 💔
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Brendon Park had not looked at anyone twice. Not in his surgical practice, definitely not at a fucking coffee shop of all places.
He'd had his thing in med school. Everyone did. Ill-advised entanglement with another type-A who wanted to win every argument and came close. It ended mutually around final year with shaken hands, which should tell you everything.
Ortho had a reputation and Brendon had leaned into it wholeheartedly. Fast, brutal, precise, and deeply uninterested in anything that didn't have to do with bone mechanics or operative planning.
Park the Shark. He'd heard the name passed between residents in the corridor like a warning, and he hadn't minded. Warnings kept the noise down.
He was, all told, completely fine.
And then he met you. At the hospital coffee counter on a Wednesday morning, over a cup of black americano, and everything went sideways.
The barista set his coffee down and he was on his way to get it. Pretty normal stuff. Stuff that happened everyday.
But before he could get there, there was you, his cup in your grasp, and then between your lips.
He'd opened his mouth to say something. Sharply, probably. The same voice that made interns forget how to speak. But then, you drank.
Your face did something spectacular. Nose scrunching up, eyes going slightly wide, mouth opened like a fish, as though you were offended, devastated, betrayed by a fucking beverage. You stared into the cup for a full second like you were waiting for it to apologize. "Okay," you said, to the cup, mostly. "That's — what is that?"
Brendon stared at you.
"What'd they put in this?" you continued, as if you were workshopping a complaint, a comical lilt to your voice.
In the fifteen seconds of you taking his drink and drinking it, it didn’t occur to you that you’d just consumed something belonging to someone else. The coffee — he didn’t think you’d agree for it to be called a coffee, to be really honest — had shaken you so much that it took you a minute to compose yourself.
When you did, you turned the cup in your hand, read the side and looked up, a sheepish smile on your lips.
As you found him just standing there, gaze locked on you, your eyes dropped between him and the cup. "Oh, it's got your name on it." You had the audacity to look adorable — what the fuck did he just think? "Is this yours?"
Brendon nodded. Fucking nodded.
Embarrassment should not have looked that good on anyone. How could someone look like that while questioning life decisions, evaluating choices that led to this moment?
"Right." You set it down on the counter between, like you were disarming a situation. "Sorry. I genuinely thought — mine's supposed to be a latte and I just grabbed it, I wasn't looking at the name. I'm really sorry."
Dark circles under your eyes, hair pulled back like it was done in thirty seconds without a mirror, lime green scrubs that had no reason looking good, no reason making you look good. Who even looked good in that colour? Who even chose that colour?
You were somewhere between mortified and trying to hold it together, which was fair, because you had just walked up to a stranger's drink and had at it. "Can I at least — I'll pay for a new one, here—"
You were reaching into your pocket and Brendon, who had been on the verge of saying something very reasonable like it's fine, not a problem— "No."
Accidentally spoke in the voice. He didn't always mean to use, it just comes out that way by default, making fourth-year residents straighten their spines. And he’d used it. To you.
You looked up at him with an expression he could only describe as a deer having second thoughts about the road.
He hadn't meant — he wasn't angry. He'd said no out of reflex. Most things he said were out of reflex, and now this person was staring at him like he'd personally threatened her. He had the strange and unfamiliar experience of wanting to walk it back. "I meant—" he started.
But you'd pulled yourself together, apparently deciding that whatever his problem was, it was his problem.
"Okay, no." You held your hands up, like you were placating a toddler. "Noted. For future reference though, why would you get it like that, it's — is this fun for you? Like do you enjoy it?"
He blinked, heat rising up to his cheeks. He could only hope you didn’t notice it.
What you did notice was that he looked clueless and you clarified, "the coffee," you pointed to his cup. "There's nothing in it. I took one sip and I think my tongue is still reeling from it."
"That's what coffee tastes like," Brendon said.
"That's a very sad thing to believe." You stated, completely without malice, which made it worse somehow. A genuine opinion. To make matters worse, you were already looking back toward the counter, scanning for your actual order.
Brendon stood there holding his americano while everyone else and everything else continued their life, including you.
The barista called your name. You went to get it, came back briefly into his sightline, and gave him a small, still-somewhat-mortified wave on your way out the door.
He watched you go and drank his coffee, the same one your lips touched. It tasted exactly like it always did, which was fine, he liked it fine.
Do you enjoy it?
He took another sip. It was objectively bitter.
Lime green. A colour he couldn't immediately place. It bothered him, sitting in the back of his head while he moved through his afternoon.
PTMC colour-coded by department. He knew this. He just didn't have them all memorized, a gap he'd never needed to fill before.
He decided to ask his ward nurse, Delgado, at the end of his post-ops. Casual as he could make it, which for him was still pretty clinical — "lime green. You know which department?"
Delgado looked up from her chart. "Lime green," she repeated, slowly, like she was checking the words for a hidden compartment.
“Yeah.”
“Are we talking about scrubs here, Dr Park?” She had her eyebrows crossed like she was trying to read him.
“Yes.”
“Neonatology,” she answered.
Four floors up, the opposite end of the building, behind two sets of badge-locked doors and a hand-washing protocol longer than some of his procedures. He'd been in there exactly twice in his career, both times for consults that took fifteen minutes and ended in a referral elsewhere.
It made sense. You looked like sunshine incarnate, all airy and beautiful, effortlessly skilful — not that he’d seen you work, but he had an idea.
"Right." He turned back toward the board.
"Dr. Park."
"Mm."
"Are you — Is there something involving neonatology that I should know about?"
A small, unwelcome lurch happened inside his chest. He kept his face the way he kept it in the OR — nothing on it, nothing to read — and he could tell, with horrible clarity, that it wasn't working.
“Something?”
“A case?”
Brendon could see that she’d worded it carefully. "No."
"Okay," Delgado said. "No reason then." She didn't believe a word of it and had decided not to push, which was worse because he could’ve handled an argument. An argument had an end.
Without looking at her, he said, “you can go.”
"I'm charting."
"You can chart elsewhere."
"This is the nurses' station, Dr. Park."
She was smiling. He knew that without even looking. He went back to his board and did not say anything else, hoping this was the end of it.
It was in no way shape or form, the end of anything. It only took him five minutes to look it up. Not you specifically, he wasn’t doing that. Yet, the back of his mind supplied.
He was just reading about fellowship timelines, the NICU admission criteria for some reason? He also learned it’s two or three more years of training, all of it happening four floors above his OR in a unit he had approximately zero clinical reason to enter.
The fact that he even went down this road is embarrassing. But he went a whole another mile.
Clavicular fractures were the most common birth-related bone injury. Unfortunately — now, he hated himself for even thinking the word — they were managed entirely conservatively. Swaddle the arm, follow up in two weeks. It wouldn't require an orthopedic surgeon, much less him, to stand in a NICU looking purposeful.
For about four seconds, he entertained inventing a reason. He got as far as picturing himself walking through those doors in his scrub cap with some flimsy excuse half-formed, and the picture was so stupid — so transparently, embarrassingly stupid — that he closed his laptop immediately.
The hospital was large and your departments were, in practical terms, on separate planets.
You’d been in the coffee shop on Wednesday, which meant you probably used it, which meant theoretically he'd encounter you again just by existing in the building. He told himself he wasn't going to engineer anything, he was just aware of the possibility. That was all.
Two days passed. He did four surgeries including a complicated tibial nail revision that took three hours and came out beautifully, and one very satisfying conversation with a referring physician who had misread an MRI and needed correcting. Normal week, right?
Next day, he got his coffee at six forty, same as every morning, and stood at the counter a beat longer than the transaction required, scanning the line behind him without meaning to. Nobody in lime green. He told himself that meant nothing, took his americano, and left.
Friday, same thing. He noticed himself doing it the second time, which didn't help — like catching his own reflection mid-expression and not recognizing the face looking back.
He didn't see you. Abnormal week.
ER consult. Friday, mid-afternoon. A fracture dislocation that the ER attending had flagged as needing operative planning. Brendon came down at two-thirty, and found Abbot by trauma three looking over a film.
Coming down to the ER wasn't his favorite part of the day. Not the work — the work was fine, usually obvious, usually somebody else's problem until it became his — but the way the place ran, all motion and noise hot under his skin. Abbot, somehow, thrived in it.
They'd gotten through about two minutes of the consult — Abbot walking him through the case, Brendon pulling up the images, the two of them doing back-and-forth of people who'd worked a building together long enough to skip the preamble. Uneventful.
But then the ER entrance on the left side of the bay opened and you walked through it.
Same lime green scrubs and a your Dunkin' cup in hand. Shen next to you, also holding a Dunkin' cup, saying something Brendon couldn't hear from this distance, and you were laughing. Brendon, to his disappointment, noticed it was not a poilte laugh. Your shoulder bumped into Shen’s with the force of it, a fully open-mouthed laugh, and you looked gorgeous.
The sight in front of him was only fogged by the fact that it was Shen who was at the receiving end of it.
The blush climbed before he could stop it, heat crawling up the back of his neck and into his ears. He thanked every god he didn't believe in, that Abbot was still looking at the film and not at him.
Brendon's jaw locked. Back teeth coming together, the muscle in his jaw pulling. He knew it’d give him a headache if he kept it up.
He didn’t really know Shen, not really. Having entirely met him through corridors and in consultations. But in that moment he decided, with an immediate, total conviction usually reserved for diagnoses, that he didn't like him.
Because he didn’t want to stare, he looked back at the X-ray on the tablet. "So the fracture pattern —" he spoke.
"You okay?" Abbot cut in.
Brendon looked at him. Abbot looked like he already knew the answer and was just asking to pull his leg, like most ER attendings.
"Fine," Brendon said. "The fracture is comminuted. Needs ORIF. I’ll book an OR, do it first case tomrorw morning."
Abbot nodded as he scribbled on the iPad. Didn't look fully satisfied with the fine but let it go. Brendon knew that about Abbot — the latter picked his moments.
Brendon looked back at the X-ray.
In his peripheral vision, you and Shen had stopped near the nurse’s station, still talking. You had the cup halfway to your mouth, nodding at whatever he was saying, and then you laughed again, smaller this time, shaking your head. Like whatever Shen had said was ridiculous and you were conceding it anyway.
His molars hurt from pressing down too hard. "ORIF tomorrow, first case," he said again, to the iPad at his hand, to no one.
"You already said that," Abbot noted.
He pulled up the next item on his consult list — a possible Montaggia fracture, a cakewalk for him, nightmare for others. "I'm confirming."
He was not confirming. He had no idea why he'd said it twice.
You'd moved further into the ER now, past his sightline, and he found himself looking at the entrance you'd come through for a second before he caught himself and looked back at Abbot. The latter was watching him like he was trying very, very hard not to smirk.
"Do you need something?" Brendon asked.
"I'm just standing here," Abbot said.
"You're doing something with your face."
"I'm a person, Park, my face does things." Abbot tucked his hands in his pockets. Nodding towards the general direction of where you might be standing, Abbot said, "I didn't know you knew anyone in neonatology."
"I don't," Brendon interjected soon. Too soon.
"Hm." Abbot’s head did a sweep of the ER, probably searching for you, and then looked back at Brendon. "Right."
Brendon put his iPad under his arm, said he'd have the operative plan by end of day and walked back toward the elevator, which took him directly past the nurse’s station, where you had apparently remigrated with Shen, talking to the desk coordinator about something.
He did not slow down.
But in the two seconds he passed within range, he did clock that you smelled like coffee and something warm underneath it, something sweet, vanilla maybe. You didn't notice him, but Shen did and nodded. Brendon nodded back and kept walking, very normal. Walk of a man who was fine.
The elevator took forty-five years to arrive.
He stood in front of it for all forty-five of those years, staring at the closed doors with his hands in his coat pockets, acutely, miserably aware that Park the Shark had just sped up his pace to get past a girl with a Dunkin' and was now standing at an elevator hoping it would hurry up.
Somewhere behind him, he was fairly sure, Abbot was still smiling.
It was a horrible week for the ortho residents. And it wasn’t even Tuesday.
It wasn’t because of the caseload. The caseload was what it always was, a rotating carousel of fractures and dislocations and the occasional spectacular screw-up from another department who'd missed a bone scan.
No, the residents had a terrible week because Brendon Park had decided, somewhere between Friday evening and Tuesday afternoon, that their technique was uniformly sloppy and their pre-op prep was an embarrassment to the profession, and he'd said so. Repeatedly. In front of each other.
It wasn't personal. He thought so and would tell you so, if anyone asked him. No one was brave enough.
His residents just kept standing in his eyeline when he was already irritated, and that was their problem, really.
Delgado, to her eternal credit, had not said a single word about it. She'd watched him tear into a second-year over a chart — like who enters the date wrong? — and kept her face entirely professional. The kid went pale, stuttering through his apology, and Brendon didn’t care.
He'd noticed it himself. The snapping. He was moving through the ward with even less patience than usual, which was saying something. He did a K wire banding, ate lunch at his desk, reviewed post-op films, and at six-fifteen found himself at the hospital coffee counter scanning the room before his order was called. It was mortifying enough on its own, and you weren't there, so it brought double the mortification.
He went back Tuesday. Sat down, which was something he genuinely had never done. He had always taken his coffee to go. There was no reason to sit, the hospital was across the street, he drank it walking.
But this time, he sat. Kept his phone out, drank his coffee and checked his messages. He absolutely did not look at the door every ninety seconds.
You weren't there Tuesday either. Which was fine. People had schedules. Neonatologists especially — the NICU didn't exactly run on a nine-to-five, he knew that much. He'd looked it up. For professional reasons, of course. For someone who’d prided himself for working 24/7, he was humbled real quick.
Wednesday, he sat again. He had a consultation at nine, no reason to rush. He could drink his coffee like a human being who used chairs. He pulled up his post-op notes on his phone, found Abbot's message about a fracture dislocation follow-up, which Abbot didn’t have to do but does it anyway. Abbot was like that sometimes.
When he looked up, his coffee was in front of him. And so were you.
Lime green scrubs, your own drink in your other hand, and you were sliding his cup toward him. The look on your face that said you'd been watching him not notice it for at least thirty seconds. He had been reading an MRI report. A fascinating one.
"I really should get you a coffee," you said.
Brendon laughed. It was him. That was his laugh. Coming out of his face, in a coffee shop, at seven in the morning.
It came out before he could stop it or do anything about it. Just a short, but real sound, surprising him enough that he almost looked around to check if someone else had made it.
You were watching him with that same expression from the first time, like you found him interesting the way you'd find an unusual rock formation interesting. Curious but not unkind. It was doing things to his blood pressure.
"You're still doing that to yourself, I see." You nodded at his cup.
"It's coffee."
"Doesn't taste like it, though." Your nose scrunched up, just like the first time, just as adorable. Did he just say adorable again?
He picked up the cup, took a sip purely out of spite, and looked back at you.
You sat down across from him. Which he had not expected and also had absolutely expected. Two things existing simultaneously, almost fucking him up.
"You're here a lot," you said.
"The hospital's down the street."
"Is it?" You glanced at him, stirring your drink. "Because I've only ever seen you take it to go, and now you're sitting." You took out the stirrer and placed it on a tissue. "Three days in a row."
The back of his neck went warm, mouth opening to say something. Deny it probably, which was stupid and a waste of time. But you interrupted him.
Brendon Park is not someone who’s interrupted. People let him talk, and only think about answering when they’re sure he’s finished.
You, on the other hand, did not care. "You're kinda hard to miss with all the brooding going on."
"I don't brood."
You took a sip of your drink, watching him over the lid, expression doing a tremendous amount of work without saying anything.
He held your gaze. You lowered the cup. "You totally brood. It's an ortho thing, right? Comes with it."
"You know I'm ortho?"
"Everyone knows you're ortho." You said it completely matter-of-factly. Like, yes Brendon, the sky is blue and you’ve got an Ortho bro vibe going on. "You have the whole —" You made a vague gesture in his direction, encompassing, apparently, all of him. "You've got the OR energy."
"Half the people here have OR energy. It's a hospital."
"No, see, ER people have this sort of —" you tilted your head, "— controlled chaos thing. They're always braced for something. But, you walk around like you’ve won everything already. It's very obvious, easy to pick out."
Pick out what? Him from a line-up?
He watched you say all of this with zero self-consciousness, just stating observations, a woman delivering a verdict. He realised his coffee was halfway to his mouth and he hadn't drunk it. You talked about him like he was a case study, and he was sitting there letting you, taking all of it.
"So where else do you brood," you asked, "besides here and the OR?"
"I don't brood."
"Besides here and the OR?" You prompted, dismissing his non-answer.
"The ER… sometimes," he heard himself say it. See, he did not think of saying it, but said it anyway. Crystal-clear experience of a man who had just walked directly into something. He'd had five years of attendings trying to catch him out on rounds. None of them had managed it. You'd done it in under ten minutes, twice, while drinking a latte.
You made a sound. Not quite a laugh, more like an intake of breath with amusement in it. "The ER."
"Consults."
"Right." You traced the rim of your cup with one finger. "Were you in the ER last Friday?"
And… there it was.
He could've said he didn't remember. He could've been very busy, very unbothered, a man who passed through ERs constantly and didn't register the days. He was a surgeon. He was in various hospital departments routinely. There was nothing notable about Friday.
"Yes," his mouth admitted.
You nodded slowly, like something had confirmed itself. "I thought I saw you. You walked really fast."
He put his coffee down. "I had somewhere to be."
"Okay." The word stretched, like you weren’t entirely convinced. He wouldn’t blame it, he wasn’t exactly convincing. An infant could catch him in a lie, and you apparently were their queen. You went quiet for a second and then looked back at him, debating whether to say it or not. Affirmative won apparently. "You saw me with Shen."
It wasn’t a question. And he wasn’t exactly thrilled to answer it. He'd spent five days being awful to residents over it. A little late to play it cool.
"I figured." The amusement on your face was warm rather than sharp, which made the ache in his chest somehow worse. Whoa, whoa, what ache? "We have a thing going, me and Shen. Whoever lost the bet had to do the coffee run. I'd just lost." You paused. "For the fourth time. I'm apparently terrible at predicting admission numbers."
"The fourth time," Brendon parotted.
"In a month. I know." You shook your head, shaking the thought, a soft sigh leaving your parted lips. "I don't know why I keep agreeing to it. Every time I'm like, this time I'll get it right, and then the board goes completely feral and I'm standing at Dunkin' at two in the afternoon getting Shen's ridiculous—" You stopped to look at him, and he had his utmost attention on you. "Anyway. That was just the loser tax."
Loser tax. He sat with this for a second. The whole week reshuffled. Him being a monster to those unsuspecting residents — it’s not like it's unwarranted, but still.
You and Shen, a bet. A coffee run. A losing streak that apparently had nothing to do with the bond between the two of you and everything to do with ER admission patterns, which, if he was being honest, were genuinely unpredictable, nobody could forecast those accurately, it wasn't —
"You walked so fast," you spoke again, this time interrupting his thoughts. He noticed you liked to do that, keep him on his toes. There was a laugh behind it now, delighted almost. "I didn't know an orthopedic surgeon could move like that without a reason."
"I had a reason."
"What was it?" You prodded.
I just couldn’t stand you bumping shoulders with Shen like you belonged together.
His eyes dropped to his coffee at his hand and found you again. You looked back at him. You had the same ‘interested in rock formation’ thing going on, except closer now and clearer somehow. He had the increasingly urgent sense that you knew exactly what you were doing.
"You were with someone.” He sighed.
A smile adorned your lips like you’d won, finally beat him.
Like your mind was displaying in neon, Sunshine neonatologist : 1. Big bad ortho guy : 0.
You let it sit there between you while you took another sip of your drink. "I was getting Shen's order," you said finally. "Because I lost a bet."
"I know that now."
"But you didn't walk fast because of Shen specifically. Did you?"
His molars found each other again. What is with you and asking him impossible questions? Was this like your hobby? Hit the ortho guy until he falls over? At what point in medical school had someone taught you to do this, and could he have a word with them?
Without giving him a moment to recover, you spoke again. "So," you set your cup down, straightened up a little in the chair, met his eyes with an expression so direct it nearly made him blink. "When are you buying me a coffee?"
He stared at you. Staring was not his thing. He assessed, evaluated, and arrived at conclusions. What he did not do was stare, sit with his mouth slightly open like a fucking goldfish.
"That's what you've been trying to do, right?" Your voice was mild, conversational, voice of a woman confirming a meeting time. "For three days. In a row. Sitting here."
The heat that climbed his face was complete, total and immediate, and there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. Park the Shark. Sitting in a coffee shop for three days like a golden retriever who'd learned to use a chair.
You laughed. It filled the air and came right back to him. And he thought, sitting there red-eared with his black coffee, that it was the best sound he'd heard all week.
Possibly longer.
He only remembered that you asked a question when you raised your eyebrows. Right. The question. Which he totally didn’t forget when he was staring at your lips and thinking about how they would feel pressed to his.
"I have a nine o'clock," he said. "Seven works."
"That's very early."
"You work in a NICU. You guys are up since five."
You looked at him for a moment and he had no idea what you were looking at. But he sat very still, which was insane on his part. He only hoped he passed whatever test you were conducting. Apparently having looked enough, you picked your cup up, along with the tissue paper and the stirrer you discarded, and stood. "Seven," you said. "Don't brood while you wait."
He watched you walk out. He looked down at his americano. He drank it.
It still tasted exactly like it always did, and he liked it fine, and he was aware, in a dim and reluctant and completely inescapable way, that this was probably not going to be the last time he sat in this coffee shop.
Not by a long shot.
MY MASTERLIST !
extras ⸝⸝ lime green scrubs bc I was forced to wear them during my NICU postings
SUMMARY ➩ College in NYC seems like it’ll be your biggest life change yet, until you meet the touchy sophomore who thinks you’ve hung the stars.
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ talk abt niche… this is my own interpretation of this terrible movie lol so totally new characters and kind of a new life for the character that is Eddie! it’s meant to read as a typical 2000s romcom set in the big city with montages and a killer soundtrack so i hope you can envision it! NOT PROOFREAD smut below
The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.
You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.
You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.
Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.
Everything was going exactly as it should be.
Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.
He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.
It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.
One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.
She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.
You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.
He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.
And then he reached you.
You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.
You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.
You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.
It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.
The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.
There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.
You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.
He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.
It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.
You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.
That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.
Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.
He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.
The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.
Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.
You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.
Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.
At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.
“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.
You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.
It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.
But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.
Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.
You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.
You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.
“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.
You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.
“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.
You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.
“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.
“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.
He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.
“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”
Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her
“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.
You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.
He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.
“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.
You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.
“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.
“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.
You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.
You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.
“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.
Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.
“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.
“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”
“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.
Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.
He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.
Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.
You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.
“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.
You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.
You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.
It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.
Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.
You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.
The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.
She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.
“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.
“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.
Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.
“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.
Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.
It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.
The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.
Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.
“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.
“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.
His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.
You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.
“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.
“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.
The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.
You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.
Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.
“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”
“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.
Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.
“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.
Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.
“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”
“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.
“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”
You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.
Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.
“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.
“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.
Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.
Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.
You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.
Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.
The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.
Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.
You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.
His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.
She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.
“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.
“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.
It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.
Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.
It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.
“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.
“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.
“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”
The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.
“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.
He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.
“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.
You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.
Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.
That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.
You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.
“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.
He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.
He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.
“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”
It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.
You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.
You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.
You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.
“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”
He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.
“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.
“She wanted to bang you.”
His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.
“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”
“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”
It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.
But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.
He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.
“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”
Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.
“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.
You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.
“What about you?”
Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.
“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.
You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.
You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.
You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.
He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.
“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.
He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.
“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.
You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”
He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.
The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.
Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.
“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.
“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.
He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.
To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.
You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.
So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.
It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.
Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.
You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.
You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.
Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.
You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.
Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.
Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.
“Maybe we could go to the beach.”
The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”
“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.
Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.
“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”
“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.
It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.
You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.
He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.
“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.
“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”
Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.
It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.
He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.
You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.
“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.
“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.
“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”
Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.
If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.
The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.
Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.
It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.
He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.
The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.
It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.
You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.
“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.
“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.
“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”
You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.
“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.
“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.
“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.
“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.
He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.
“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”
He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.
“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.
“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.
“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”
“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”
He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.
“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.
“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”
“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.
“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.
You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.
You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.
His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.
“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”
You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.
Because of you.
Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.
You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.
“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.
He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.
“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”
Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.
He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.
“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.
It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.
You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.
You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.
“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.
You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.
“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.
“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.
The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.
You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.
Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.
He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.
You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.
“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”
The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.
“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”
“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.
“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.
It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.
“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”
You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.
You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.
He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.
“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”
That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.
“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.
“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.
“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.
“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.
He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.
“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.
His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.
“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.
He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.
You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.
The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.
“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.
“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”
His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.
You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.
“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”
Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.
You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.
Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.
You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.
“Harder.” You whined impatiently.
“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.
He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.
It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.
He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.
Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.
You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.
“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”
He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.
That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.
You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.
Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.
You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.
“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.
“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”
He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.
“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.
You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.
Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.
“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.
You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.
You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.
And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.
“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.
“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.
“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”
“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.
You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.
It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.
“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.
You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.
“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”
He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.
“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.
You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.
You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.
It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.
Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.
You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.
He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.
The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.
Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.
It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.
You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.
He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.
It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.
You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.
You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.
It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.
There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.
He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.
Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.
He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.
You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.
His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.
It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.
Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.
She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.
“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”
“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.
She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.
“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.
“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”
You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.
All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.
It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.
“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.
“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.
For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.
You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.
You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.
Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.
He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.
“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”
It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.
His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.
“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.
“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.
You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.
The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.
“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.
He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.
“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.
The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.
“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.
He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.
You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.
His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.
“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.
You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.
Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.
“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.
Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”
“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”
“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.
You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.
“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”
It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.
“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”
He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.
You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.
“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”
“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.
“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.
You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.
He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.
His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.
Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.
“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.
“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.
You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.
“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.
He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.
“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.
You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.
“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.
His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.
You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.
“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.
“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”
He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.
It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.
He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.
Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.
“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.
The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.
“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.
His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.
It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.
You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.
Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.
“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.
“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered
One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.
You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.
“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”
That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.
His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.
“Uh guys.”
You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.
His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.
“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.
“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”
It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.
“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.
“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.
You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.
“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”
Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.
You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.
Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.
“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”
You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.
“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.
Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.
It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.
His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.
The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.
His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.
You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.
You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.
You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.
Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.
Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.
It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.
The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.
It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.
You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.
“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”
“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”
You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.
He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.
It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.
You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.
You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.
There was no shortage of love in you for the city you’d dreamed of or the boy that had grown up with it.
⋆˚꩜｡summary: eddie hates your pizza order, but he doesn't hate you<3 based on this request sent in by anon<3
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit content +18 only, minors do not interact, no y/n, she/her reader, , best friends to lovers, mutual pining for yearsss, idiots in love?, love confession, domestic fluff, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex (don't do this, you'll get pregnant and die), creampie, eddie cums too quick<3, emotional intimacy, marijuana use, alcohol mention
⋆˚꩜｡wordcount: 6k
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: dear anon, i took some creative liberties bc it wasn't flowing as well as i wanted it to, sorry it isn't as filthy as i usually make 'em </3
Final exams finished and passed – thank God – you were finally able to go home for the summer.
You had taken it upon yourself to put all your faith into the godforsaken – although very loved – hand-me-down car and make the four hour drive all the way from Springfield, Illinois, back to Hawkins, Indiana, before your parents even had the chance to think about coming your way instead.
It had absolutely nothing to do with missing a certain 5”10 metalhead who proudly called himself your best friend. Nope, absolutely nothing at all.
You hadn’t called anyone ahead of time to tell them you’d be back home for the upcoming twelve weeks – not even Eddie – simply because you didn’t have the energy to make family plans and empty promises of catching up with old classmates you didn’t like just yet.
Tilting your head to the side far enough for it to crack loudly, you flicked the turn signal when the weather-tattered Forest Hills Trailer Park sign came into view. You exhaled softly as you slowed down enough to turn right, the crunching gravel and uneven ground beneath the tires rocking the car from side to side until you finally pulled up in front of the Munson trailer.
You turned off the engine and sank further into your seat as the last four hours of driving without stopping finally caught up to you. For a moment, you simply stared at the wooden porch, already dreading the aching trembles that would settle into your legs the second you got out of the car.
Eddie’s van sat parked beside the trailer, confirming he was home and that your surprise wouldn’t be ruined by him spotting your car.
You pulled the key from the ignition and pushed the door open before flicking through the abnormal amount of keys on your keychain until you found the copy he’d given you years ago – perks of being best friends for almost two decades.
Not bothering to grab your bag from the passenger seat – you’d probably make Eddie do it later – you pushed the car door shut with your hip and headed up the steps leading to the front door.
Eddie blew out the earthy smoke of his joint as he glanced at the kitchen clock with furrowed eyebrows when he heard the muffled noise of clinking keys followed by the soft click of the lock.
Wayne had left for work less than an hour ago. There was absolutely no reason for him to be coming back already.
You lazily pushed the door open as a tired sigh escaped your lips before crossing the threshold.
The joint between Eddie’s fingers nearly slipped from his grasp when he dragged his gaze away from the clock and towards the door, finding you instead of Wayne.
For a second, he genuinely wondered if the weed was making him imagine you.
His big brown eyes widened ever so slightly while his eyebrows disappeared behind the frizzy bangs that had escaped the messy bun he’d thrown his hair into hours ago.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled after a solid thirty seconds of staring at you like he’d just witnessed some kind of miracle. “What the hell?”
The cursed welcome-home greeting – so uniquely Eddie – made the corners of your mouth curl upwards as you kicked off your shoes.
“Surprise,” you murmured tiredly as you stepped over to the kitchen table, snatched the joint from his fingers, and dropped into the chair beside him.
The trailer hadn’t changed a bit since you’d last stepped foot inside nearly five months ago. The wallpaper was still ugly and yellowed from years of cigarette smoke, and the AC still made that annoying rumble as it struggled to cool down the place.
“The fuck do you mean surprise?” he asked, blinking a few times as he tried to process the fact you were sitting in his kitchen and not a whole state away.
“The meaning of surprise hasn’t changed as far as I know, Eddie.”
He leaned back in his chair like the extra distance was necessary for it all to sink in.
Then, slowly, the disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips turned into full-blown maniacal laughter as he shoved back his chair and practically launched himself at you.
“Holy shit, you are home!” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around you so fast you nearly choked on your drag.
“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you replied between coughs, forcing yourself to ignore how the weight of those words spread warmth along your chest.
“I’m ordering pizza to celebrate,” he mumbled against your hair before finally loosening his grip.
He was already halfway to the kitchen when you furrowed your eyebrows and took another drag of the joint.
“Do you even have money?”
Eddie grabbed the yellowed menu from the fridge and clicked his tongue as he shot you a look.
“For your information,” he deadpanned, pointing the menu at you, “I have been saving up money to come visit you.”
Your eyebrows shot up.
“You?” you scoffed out. “Saving money?”
“I can be a responsible adult,” he replied, sounding personally offended.
“Sure you can, buddy.”
Eddie rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair and pushed the menu towards you.
“Pick what you want.”
“The fuck are you giving me this for?” you asked, immediately sliding it back across the table. “You know my order.”
Eddie looked at you for a moment longer than necessary before his gaze dropped to the joint resting in the ashtray. He picked it up, lit it, and took a long drag.
“You don’t wanna try something a little more socially acceptable?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Margherita, maybe? Like a normal person?”
A groan escaped you as you sank lower into your chair.
“I’m not even home for ten fucking minutes, and you’re already torturing me.”
“You’re the one torturing me with those taste buds.”
That pulled a tired chuckle from your lips before a yawn overtook it instead. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand.
Eddie’s grin softened at that. His gaze drifted over your face, lingering on the faint bags beneath your eyes and the slow blinks that had far more to do with four hours of non-stop driving than the joint you’d stolen from him moments earlier.
Without a word, he stood up and disappeared down the short hallway towards his room.
You’d learned a long time ago to let Eddie do whatever weird thing he was about to do instead of wasting your breath asking questions.
A minute later, he reappeared carrying a clean towel and a chance of clothes. Holding them out to you with one hand, he brough the joint back to his lips with the other.
“Knowing you,” he started before slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, “you left all your shit in the car for me to deal with.”
Your gaze dropped to his ring-covered hand before lifting back to his face as a smile tugged at your lips.
“You’re the best, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, echoing your words from earlier. “I love you too.”
You hesitated for a beat, something about the earnestness in his voice catching you off guard. Before you could dwell on it, you blinked once, then again, and reached for the clothes and towel in his hand.
“You better not mess up my order, Edward,” you muttered as you headed towards the bathroom.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”
Thankfully, Eddie had not, in fact, messed up your order.
The heart-attack-inducing pizza topped with double pepperoni, white mushrooms, extra red onions, and a generous drizzle of pesto – much to Eddie’s eternal horror, despite this having been your order for years – was absolute heaven after months of suffering through one-star college-town pizza.
The TV hummed quietly from the living room, forgotten somewhere between slices of pizza and the overwhelming exhaustion that came with four uninterrupted hours on the road. At some point, the two of you’d migrated to Eddie’s bedroom instead, trading the uncomfortable kitchen chairs for the familiar comfort of his unmade bed and cluttered floor.
Somewhere between yawns, giggles, and marijuana smoke, the simmering heat of Eddie’s body had slowly found its way towards your side of the bed while you relished in the comfort and familiarity of his old mattress.
You were in the middle of telling him about something stupid and annoying that had happened at college a few weeks ago when he reached up and gently smoothed a loose strand of hair away from your temple. His hand drifted lower until it found the ends of your hair, absentmindedly curling a strand around his finger like he always did. You shook your head as you tried to remember where you’d left off before the story abandoned you altogether.
Before you could come up with anything that remotely resembled a coherent thought, Eddie let go of your hair and allowed the strand to fall softly back against the pillow.
“You tired?” he mumbled after a while.
Propping his head up on the palm of his hand, he looked down at you.
“Kinda,” you admitted with a slow blink.
The warm glow of the nightstand lamp spilled through the room, painting amber streaks and dramatic shadows across the little things that made the space so uniquely Eddie. The guitar leaning against the wall. The cluttered dresser. The faded band posters that somehow still managed to hang on despite years of being held together by tape and stubbornness.
Its reflection danced in his eyes, though there was something else swimming beneath it – something you couldn’t quite place.
“It’s pretty late,” he said, flicking his gaze towards the red numbers of the alarm clock. “We can just sleep if you want.”
“Nah.” You shuffled closer onto your side and tucked your arm beneath the pillow. “Wanna talk. Missed this.”
For a moment, something softened in his expression.
As soon as it appeared, it was gone again.
“Of course you did,” he replied with a grin. “It’s impossible not to miss me.”
You rolled your eyes, absentmindedly fidgeting with the comforter beneath your fingers before another yawn escaped you.
“That’s it. Let’s get you some sleep,” Eddie mumbled as he pushed himself upright.
He tugged the comforter free from where it had become tangled under the two of you before giving it a quick shake and draping it back over your bodies. The bed creaked and groaned beneath his weight as he settled back against the mattress, fluffing his pillow before getting comfortable.
Then, without thinking anything of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer until you were practically sprawled across his chest.
You ignored the small sigh that slipped from your lips when your cheek settled against the inked demon head stretched across his chest.
“You comfy?”
“Yeah,” you murmured. “Can you do that thing with my arm?”
A crooked grin tugged at Eddie’s lips as he looked down at you. “You’re spoiled, you know that?”
There was no bite to the words as his fingers found your forearm, lazily tracing soft spirals against your skin.
You hummed contentedly. “And whose fault is that, hm?”
Eddie knew damn well whose fault it was – his fingers always found their way into your hair whenever you were close enough, his wallet somehow opened a little easier whenever you tagged along to the arcade, and every piece of good news was shared with you before he’d even thought about telling Wayne.
Something tugged softly at his chest.
He ignored and chuckled under his breath instead.
“What if I wanna be spoiled for once?”
“Then I’ll spoil you rotten,” you replied without hesitation.
Eddie fell quiet. His gaze lingered on the wall opposite of the bed while his finger continued tracing lazy circles along your arm.
Then, ever so quietly:
“Can you scratch my head?”
Sometime in the last few minutes, your eyes had drifted shut in the quiet stillness of the room. you blinked them open slowly, trying to adjust to the warm glow of the bedside lamp.
“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled, the corners of your mouth curling upwards. “C’mere, big boy.”
Eddie’s fingers stilled against your skin before he uncurled his arm around your frame.
You pushed yourself a little higher against the headboard and stretched out your arm for him. Eddie immediately shuffled closer and carefully rested the side of his head against your bicep.
“There he is,” you teased quietly, threading your finger through his hair.
He smelled like the cheap sandalwood and pine shampoo Wayne always bought from the dollar store, lingering traces marijuana smoke, and something else entirely – something that was uniquely Eddie. His curls were frizzy and probably held more knots than he’d ever willingly admit to, but you didn’t comment on any of it. You simply worked your hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as quiet, content sighs slipped past his lips.
“Hm,” he hummed, practically melting beneath your touch. “Yeah, you’re definitely gonna have to spoil me more often.”
A low chuckle escaped you as you brought your free hand up to his curls, carefully teasing apart a few stubborn knots before they could snag.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Blinking slowly, he tilted his head just enough to find your gaze already fixed on him.
For a moment, Eddie was certain he’d never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him.
“Your future boyfriend’s gonna have a hard time competing with me if you keep looking at me like that.”
The words left Eddie’s mouth before his brain had the chance to catch them. An uncomfortable buzz immediately settled beneath his skin.
Your hand stilled for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for him to notice.
Silence settled between you. The space separating your bodies was practically nonexistent, yet somehow it suddenly felt heavier than it had moments ago – not awkward, just… different.
Then, slowly, the smile that had slipped from your face returned, spreading a familiar warmth through his chest.
“There’s no competition, Eds.”
Your fingers resumed their gentle scratching, as though you hadn’t just ripped off a bandage neither of you had been brave enough to touch for years.
Eddie felt his pulse stumble. “What?”
“In fact,” you continued, completely ignoring the disbelief in his voice, “there never has been.”
He broke his gaze away from yours and furrowed his eyebrows as he swallowed.
“Stop…” he trailed off, trying to lean away before immediately giving up. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”
You opened your mouth before closing it again. For a moment, you simply stared at him, his words hitting you like a punch to the chest.
“Of course I mean it,” you whispered.
You let go of his hair and dragged a hand through your own before flicking your gaze towards the yellowed stains on the ceiling.
“I always carry extra cetirizine whenever we hang out, just in case we run into a cat,” you continued quietly. “And I know the real story behind the scar on your chin even though you’ve never told me.”
Eddie’s frown deepened while his entire body went still beside you.
“I know you skipped an entire week of school when Cliff Burton died but told everyone it was because it was the anniversary of your mom’s death,” you continued. “You say you hate broccoli, but you always eat it when I make it.”
A soft sigh escaped you before you swallowed and finally looked back down at him.
“I was prepared to stay best friends forever and be miserable about it,” you admitted quietly. “I figured that was better than losing you.”
The room fell silent. Eddie stared at you. Not moving, not speaking – just staring.
His eyes darted across your face as if searching for the punchline. For the moment you’d laugh and tell him you were kidding. For the moment he’d wake up, for anything that made more sense than this.
But there wasn’t one – there was only you.
The faint bags beneath your eyes, your nervous smile, your shaking hands tangled in his curls.
The look in your eyes he’d been trying not to think about since you’d told him there was no competition.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered.
Your breath caught. “Eddie–”
“I’ve been in love with you for fucking years.”
The words sounded almost pained as they left him – like he’d been holding them back for far too long.
For a second neither of you moved again. Then Eddie surged forward before he could lose his nerve.
One hand found your jaw, while the other buried itself in the comforter.
And then his lips were on yours.
They felt like silk, and his breath was warm against your skin as he let our a ragged exhale, spreading heat from your cheeks all the way down to your chest.
Your eyes drifted shut as you pulled him closer, unable to stop what he’d started.
A shiver ran down your spine as your senses became overwhelmed by everything Eddie – the shirt he’d loaned you hanging from your frame, the earthy scent of his shampoo, the familiar weight of his hand against your cheek, the nervous drumming of his fingers beneath it.
When he finally pulled away, his eyes slowly opened and found yours. They lingered on your face as though he was trying to memorize every detail while desperately attempting to get the fireworks in his chest under control.
“Fuck Springfield,” he mumbled after a few seconds, apparently incapable of surviving a vulnerable moment without cracking a joke. “I’m kidnapping you.”
A laugh escaped you. “Kidnapping isn’t very boyfriend material, Eddie.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” the words sounded almost disbelieving coming from him. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good,” you replied with a grin. “Because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Obviously,” he scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to kidnap a college student?”
You barked out another laugh, the ugly kind that made your stomach hurt and was reserved for him alone – and pulled him closer again, threading your fingers back through his curls. The frizzy strands felt soft against your fingers as you resumed scratching his scalp.
Eddie couldn’t seem to stop looking at you. Like he needed the constant visual confirmation that you were still there, still real. His gaze carried a quiet sort of electricity now, something warm and disbelieving all at once.
Slowly, he tilted his head forwards until his forehead rested against yours, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.
Then he leaned in and kissed you again. He pulled you into his chest and rolled the both of you until his back laid flush against the mattress.
A sound that was half groan, half disbelieving laugh escaped him against your lips. His fingers tightened slightly against your cheek as he kissed you slowly, almost teasing at first, though there was something else underneath it now; something desperate, and that had been waiting for too long.
You hooked a finger around one of his curls and gave it a gentle tug when a quiet sigh slipped from his lips. All the frustration had been building between the two of you for years slowly found its way into the kiss.
Neither one of you seemed willing to be the first to pull away. But when you finally did, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.
Eddie’s eyes looked darker beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you. For a moment, he simply stared like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.
“Please tell me you want this,” his words came out rough and breathless, his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you as his eyes searched your face.
A soft, disbelieving scoff escaped you while you glanced away for a second before looking back at him – back at the man you’d spent years trying not to fall in love with.
“I’ve wanted this for years,” you whispered.
Eddie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let your words settle between you while his eyes continued searching your face. The longer he looked, the more ridiculous he felt. The faint shadows beneath your eyes. Your messy hair. The unmistakable affection swimming in your gaze that, apparently, had been there all along. How the fuck had he missed it for all these years?
“Good,” he said after a moment. A mischievous grin was already spreading across his face before the word had fully left his mouth. “Because I really wanna eat you out.”
A loud, undignified snort escaped you. Your head tilted back as laughter burst from your chest.
“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you wheezed.
“What?”
He tried to sound defensive, as though laughing at the words that had just left his mouth was the most offensive thing you’d ever done in all the years he’d known you. But the act lasted all of three seconds when his lips pulled into a pursed smile before giving way to a chuckle at your disbelieving expression.
“Just being honest here, sweetheart,” he replied quietly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist. “Since we’re confessing and all that.”
You were still trying to catch your breath from the kiss while his ridiculous words continued echoing in your ears.
You brushed a stray curl away from his eyes and made a mental note to trim his bangs the next chance you got.
Reaching for the back of his head, you gently pulled him closer. A soft sigh escaped you when your lips met once again.
Something in Eddie seemed to snap the moment you kissed him back. Slowly, he rolled the two of you over until your back met the mattress again, bracing himself with one arm while the other remained firmly around your waist. The bed creaked beneath the shift in weight as he settled between your legs.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled when he finally pulled back for air.
His thumb continued brushing softly against your cheek as he shook his head in disbelief, as though he didn’t quite trust himself with the affection spilling from his mouth.
“You have no idea how much I want you,” he admitted quietly, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. “But you’re tired, and–”
“I want this, Eds,” you whispered, and slid your hand from the back of his head to his cheek, cradling his face gently.
Eddie’s gaze finally lifted from your lips to your eyes.
“Are you sure?” the question came out softer than before. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped you – sometimes he could be so ridiculously stubborn.
“How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?” You stole a quick kiss before he had the chance to answer. “I want this.”
Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped once and for all when he leaned in again, his lips finding yours like he needed your kiss to breathe.
His fingers twitched against your cheek before they slowly trailed down to the hem of your shirt. A warm breath escaped him when his fingers skimmed over the skin of your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The gentle grip you had on his cheek faltered for a brief moment as he started tracing soft circles beneath your shirt, like he was trying to memorize every inch he could reach.
You parted your lips when you let go of his face entirely and brought your fingers back into his curls. Eddie stilled, and his thumb pressed a little harder into your hip when he felt you give his hair a tentative tug. A shiver ran through him at the touch, and he slowed the kiss just enough to catch his breath before he finally – almost hesitantly – pulled away.
“Can I…” the words died on his tongue as he swallowed hard and opened his eyes.
His fingers drifted back to the hem of your shirt, giving the fabric a small, uncertain tug. It took your brain a split second to catch up before you gave him a shaky nod. Eddie swallowed again and nodded back – though it seemed like he was doing it more for himself than for you.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright until he was kneeling between your legs. His hand slipped beneath the fabric and gently lifted your shirt over your head.
Heat instantly rushed to his cheeks, tainting his milky skin a bright pink, as you pulled your arms free from the sleeves, but he didn’t let his gaze wander. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on yours, still searching for even the smallest hint of hesitation.
Eddie’s heart pounded wildly in his ears as he finally dared to let his eyes trace the delicate curves of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. With shaking hands, he gently caressed your sides as he marveled at how you reacted to his touch. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingertips, your nipples hardening in the cool air.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured reverently, barely above a whisper.
His fingertips danced along your sternum, circling each breast with agonizing slowness. You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips when he dipped his head and pressed feather-light kisses along the valley of your cleavage. Your fingers pulled at his hair, urging him closer.
Eddie cups your breast almost hesitantly, brushing his thumb over the sensitive peak. At the same time, he captured the other nipple between his lips, and flicked it teasingly with his tongue. Emboldened by the sharp gasps spilling from your mouth, your body arching off the bed and into his chest, he sucked harder and grazed the hard peaks with his teeth. He moaned against your skin, lavishing you with devoted attention as he switched between them, alternating between licks and nibbles until they glistened with his spit.
Your hips roll restlessly beneath him, seeking friction. He let go of your breasts and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel – the little shit shot you a little grin when he did so, always one for the dramatics. Lower he went, until he finally reached the waistband of the boxers hugging your hips. Slowly, almost torturously, he inched the fabric downwards, exposing more than he’d ever seen of you.
His breath hitched as something urgent and hot coiled in his core. Eddie curled his hands around your thighs, softly pushing them further apart until his gaze found your slick folds. The heady scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, making his cock throb almost painfully under his boxers.
“Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled almost absentmindedly, and trailed one finger through your wet slit. “Fuck, can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”
Eddie then locked his eyes with yours as he lowered his head, holding your gaze. His plush lips grazed your clit, pulling a sharp exhale from you both. He lapped softly at your pussy, savouring the way you tasted and ingraining it into his tongue. You pressed him closer, nails scraping sharply against his scalp and fingers tugging harshly at the curly strands, desperate for more. The silent plea you gave him was more than enough, and he sealed his mouth over your slit and thrusted his tongue inside, fucking you steadily as he all but slurped at your essence.
“I– Fuck,” you breathed out as Eddie trailed a thick lick back to your clit, and softly pushed a finger into your pussy. “Y-yes, just like that.”
A groan escaped him when you fluttered around him, drawing him in deeper. He pumped his digit lazily, curling it to stroke that secret spot like he’d done it times and times before, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His tongue swirled mercilessly around your throbbing clit, lashing and flicking it with practiced precision.
He couldn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found you with your head thrown back, your lips parted in a small circle as your chest heaved up and down. He added another finger, stretching you open deliciously slow as you writhed mindlessly underneath him.
Your legs trembled around his face, your feet accidentally brushing against him when your toes curled until suddenly, he withdrew completely, denying your release.
“No, no, no,” you whine out, your eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow. “Fucking hell, you’re such a fucking di–”
Eddie silenced you with a filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You returned the heated kiss fervently, licking into his mouth and letting your slick tongues intertwine.
Pulling away again, Eddie gazed down at you with molten brown eyes, a grin spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, ignoring the curses falling from your mouth.
Like he needed to make his point, he dove back between your thighs, and latched his lips onto your clit like a man starved. He suckled forcefully, flicking the swollen nub with rapid strokes of his tongue.
“Eds–” you whine, desperate to finally get the release he’d taken away from you moments ago. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
Just as the wave of ecstasy had found its way back to you, Eddie drove two fingers into your clenching slit, pumping vigorously as he kept sucking. Your juices gushed on his chin, back bowed clean off the bed as wave after wave of mind-melting bliss crashed over you until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.
Eddie watched raptly as you came undone, a broken groan slipping from his lips, completely transfixed by the picture in front of him – hair splayed wildly, skin gleaming with a sheen layer of sweat, mouth agape in ecstasy as a broken moan slipped from your lips. Pride surged through him knowing that he did that, that he unravelled you so thoroughly like he’d had wanted to do for so long.
He gave you a moment to come down, and placed a tender kiss on your inner thigh before crawling up your body. He settled between your limp legs, nestling his aching shaft against your slick entrance. Capturing your lips once more, he kissed you deeply, conveying without words every feeling he had ever pushed down over the years. You looped your arms around his neck, and pulled him impossibly closer as you ground up against him, frantic with need.
“Can’t believe you’re all mine,” he mumbled against your lips.
He reached between you, and tugged his boxers down just enough for his cock to slip out and gave himself a desperate tug, then another, and guided himself to your dripping opening. You felt hot and tight around his swollen tip as he prodded insistently at your slit until finally sinking into your slick pussy. A breathy encouragement of his name escaped you as he sank himself deeper into you, groans spilling from his own lips at the feeling of being fully sheathed within your walls.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunted sharply as you locked your legs behind him, and pulled him impossibly deeper until he was buried to the hilt. “You’re so… I don’t think I’ll last long, sweetheart. Fuck.”
Eddie hissed sharply when he felt your nails dig into his shoulder, and pressed his clammy forehead against yours as he took a moment to let you adjust – although he probably needed the moment more than you did.
Electricity zinged up his spine at the delicious pressure engulfing his aching cock, and he set a deep, driving rhythm as he rocked into you with purpose. Each slow, yet powerful thrust punched the breath from your lungs, his heavy balls slapping at your ass as he drew broken moans from your sweet lips. Eddie’s hand roamed greedily, squeezing and kneading every supple curve of your body as you met him stroke for stroke, clinging on for dear life as the knot deep in your stomach wounded tighter and tighter.
His ears twitched with every hitch in your breath, every shiver that ran down your spine, every time your nails dug a little deeper into his milky skin, like he desperately needed to memorise every little detail of how you reacted to him.
“Where do you want me, baby?” he pushed himself off of you just enough for his gaze to find your closed eyes, furrowed brows and mouth lulling open.
“Fuck, Ed-Eddie,” you moaned out as he gave you another hard thrust. “In– mhm! Inside, p-please.”
“Jesus,” his hips faltered when your words reached him, but he picked up the pace again just as quickly. Every roll of his lips was deliberate, insistent on drawing out every breathless whimper and broken moan you had to offer. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
“P-please, Eddie,” you breathed out, and opened your eyes, blinking a few times until his face came back into focus. “I want it, please.”
Eddie gave you three last hard thrusts before his hips halted, pulsing hot seed directly into your spasming core. You followed right after, clamping down on his spurting cock as you shattered around him. He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he tried – and failed – to catch his breath. The two of you had become a tangled mess of limbs and heavy, ragged breathing.
“I don’t– Jesus,” he breathed out after a moment, the words muffled and low. “I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard.”
His breath steadied after a few more seconds, although his heart still pounded loudly in his ears as he pushed himself up just enough for his eyes to find your face. His gaze softened immediately at the sight in front of him – you licking your dry lips as you blinked lazily up at him.
But then he immediately groaned and cringed at himself.
“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled as he fell forwards again, nearly suffocating you.
You hummed softly in confusion as you let go of his shoulder and dove your fingers back into his messy locks. You pull a low, satisfied sigh from him as your nails scraped gently against his scalp.
“Can’t believe I came before you.”
A low chuckle escaped you before you could stop it. Shaking your head, you whispered something that sounded an awful lot like idiot under your breath.
“I couldn’t care less, Eds,” you managed to say after you’d finally gotten your laughter under control. “It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”
Eddie stilled above you, like your words had hit him square in the chest. His breath caught, and his fingers twitched against the sheets beneath you. For a moment, he kept his face hidden into the crook of your neck.
But the tension melted from his shoulders as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned back just enough for his lips to find yours again, slow and careful.
“I fucking love you too,” he mumbled against your lips.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes glimmered beneath the low amber light of the bedside lamp, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.
“Yeah?” you asked with a bashful smile before something else crept into your gaze. “Even my dubious pizza order?”
Eddie snorted. “Yeah, even your dubious pizza order.”
“Good.” A grin spread across your face. “Because I could really use another slice after all of this.”
He stared at you for a long moment, blinking in disbelief.
“We just confessed our undying love, and you’re thinking about pizza?”
“Don’t pretend like you couldn’t go for another slice too,” you chuckled.
Eddie hissed lowly as you accidentally clenched around him, and softly pulled out his softening cock out of you. He shook his head, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking annoyed. He pulled his boxers up his hips and, without another word, pushed himself off the bed and disappeared down the hallway.
Not even ten seconds later, you heard the fridge open and close, followed by the soft sound of footsteps making their way back towards the bedroom. Eddie appeared in the doorway with the pizza box in one hand and two cans of beer balanced in the other. He dropped both at the foot of the bed before helping you sit up, trying his best – and failing – not to stare at your chest.
“You hate eating in bed,” you pointed out as he pulled his eyes away from your naked frame, and flicked open the pizza box.
“But I don’t hate you,” he mumbled in return, passing you a slice.
For a moment, all you could do was stare at him.
A soft smile slowly spread across your face as you took the slice from his hand.
Summery: After a bad fall lands her in the ER, she comes face-to-face with the ex who shattered her self-worth during the darkest part of his addiction. But this time, she’s not alone—and when Park the Shark steps in, protective and unexpectedly soft, she finally gets to see what care without cruelty looks like.
Warnings: past toxic relationship, emotional abuse, addiction/recovery mentions, eating disorder/body image issues, hospitalization/injury, ex confrontation, lingering trauma, angst with comfort. Langdon is not married. I promise I love him I do
Please do not read if any of those warnings are triggers <3
You hate how the ER still smells the same.
Antiseptic. stale coffee. trauma bay sweat. that weird sharp coldness in the air that never changes no matter how many people come through the doors bleeding or crying or swearing they’re fine when they’re very obviously not.
It’s stupid, maybe, that your first thought when they wheel you in isn’t my ankle is definitely broken or wow, that curb came out of nowhere. It’s God, I hope Frank isn’t here.
You haven’t been in the Pitt ER in over a year. Not since you transferred hospitals. Not since before rehab. Not since before the screaming matches in his apartment. Not since before the slammed cabinets and the biting little comments delivered with that pretty, devastating smile that fooled everyone else into thinking he was charming when really he was already halfway gone.
“You with me?” the nurse asks as she helps transfer you onto the stretcher. You suck in a breath through your teeth as soon as your foot shifts. “Unfortunately.” That gets a snort out of Mateo, who’s standing at the end of the bed. “Good. Sarcasm means you’re stable.”
“Wow,” you mutter, gripping the rail. “Beautiful patient care.” “Thank you. I trained for years.” Someone cuts away the edge of your pant leg near the ankle, and you wince hard enough your eyes sting. “It’s probably just a fracture,” the resident says. “We’ll get films, pain meds, and ortho can weigh in if needed.”
You nod, not really listening, because then you hear a voice from across the department.
A voice you would know if someone woke you from a dead sleep. Frank.
It hits low in your stomach, mean and immediate.
For one stupid second, your body remembers him before your brain does. Remembers the version of him that used to kiss your forehead while he made coffee. The version that curled around you in bed and called you beautiful like he meant it. The version that made you feel chosen.
Then the rest comes flooding in right behind it.
“You’re getting soft. You know I have a reputation. Do you really think I can bring you around Robby’s people looking like that? I need someone who takes care of herself. You’d actually be so pretty if you just had some discipline.”
It’s funny, in a horrible way, how your body can heal from one thing and still flinch at words said a year ago. Your breathing goes shallow. Mateo notices first. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” You blink at him. His voice gentles. “You’re okay.” You swallow. “Is he here?” Mateo hesitates, which is enough of an answer.
Of course he is. Of course.
You laugh once, humorless, and look up at the ceiling. “That’s cruel.”
Before Mateo can answer, another familiar voice cuts in. “What happened?” Garcia appears at your bedside in trauma green scrubs and a face that goes from confusion to immediate concern in half a second. “Oh, thank God,” you breathe. She takes one look at you and sets her jaw. “Who did this?” “I fell off a curb,” you say.
“That curb’s dead to me.”
Despite everything, you smile. Garcia reaches down and squeezes your hand once. Firm. Grounding. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” And because Yolanda Garcia has always been the kind of friend who doesn’t ask whether you want backup before becoming backup, she glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice.
“Frank is on the other side of the department.” Your throat tightens. “I do not,” she says, all flat menace, “have to let him anywhere near you.” It shouldn’t make you emotional. It really shouldn’t.
But there was a time, when things with Frank were bad, that you got very good at making excuses for him. Good at smiling through humiliation. Good at pretending the comments weren’t comments, the cruelty wasn’t cruelty, the fear in your chest every time he walked through the door wasn’t fear, exactly, just stress.
Good at lying.
Then you left him.
He went to rehab.
And you spent months putting yourself back together in quiet, unglamorous pieces.
Therapy. Actual meals. Throwing out the jeans you used to keep as punishment. Learning how to look at your reflection without mentally taking inventory. Learning that being wanted was not the same thing as being loved.
Then somehow, in the middle of all that, Brendon Park noticed you.
Which had been deeply annoying at first. Because Brendon Park didn’t really notice people. He barked at residents, insulted poor splinting, and stalked around consults with the expression of a man personally offended by nonsense.
And yet.
With you, he always paused. Always softened half an inch. Always asked if you’d eaten like it was a medical necessity. Always handed you coffee without making a thing of it. Always stood a little closer than he had to. Always looked at you like there was nothing on earth he’d want changed.
The first time he kissed you, he had one hand cupping your face like you were something fragile and precious and worth being careful with.
You hadn’t known what to do with that. Still don’t, some days.
“Okay,” the resident says, coming back into view. “X-ray confirms a distal fibula fracture. Clean break. We’ll need ortho.”
Garcia’s brows lift. “Convenient.” You groan. “No.” “Extremely.” “Yolanda.” She already has her phone out. “Too late.” You know exactly who she’s texting.
A weird, hysterical laugh catches in your chest. “Please tell me you are not summoning the terrifying orthopedic golden retriever to my ER bed.” Garcia gives you the blandest look imaginable. “I’m summoning the attending most likely to make sure no one emotionally destabilizes my best friend while her ankle is broken.” You stare at her. She pockets her phone. “So yes.”
You close your eyes for a second.
Great. Perfect. Wonderful.
Because if there is one thing more humiliating than unexpectedly seeing your toxic ex in the ER, it is unexpectedly seeing your very current not-exactly-boyfriend-but-definitely-something orthopedic surgeon while sweaty, teary-eyed, and wearing one hospital sock.
You hear Frank before you see him.
“Why wasn’t I told she was here?” Your whole body goes rigid. Garcia turns before you can. “Because no one asked you.” Frank steps into your bay, and for a moment the air changes. He looks healthier. That’s the first awful thing you notice.
Clear-eyed. steadier. a little leaner in the face. no chemical fuzziness behind his expression. still unfairly handsome in that polished, dangerous way that used to make you feel lucky and later made you feel trapped.
And then he sees you. Really sees you. His expression shifts. Not pity. Not exactly guilt, either. Something heavier. Something stunned. You haven’t seen him since before rehab.
Since before he called you crying the night before intake and you let it go to voicemail because by then there was nothing left in you to save.
“You’re hurt,” he says quietly. Garcia folds her arms. “Insightful.” “Yolanda—” “No, actually,” she cuts in, “I’m having a pretty bad day for your face, Frank.”
You keep your eyes on the blanket over your lap. You hate that your pulse is racing. Hate that some buried, bruised part of you still reacts like this. Frank takes a step closer, slower this time, like he’s approaching a spooked animal. “Can I just—”
“No,” you say.
The word comes out sharp enough that the whole bay stills. Frank stops. For the first time in your life, you do not soften to make him comfortable. His jaw ticks. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” You let out a shaky breath and finally look up at him. It’s easier than it used to be.
That surprises you. Easier to look. Easier not to fold. Easier to remember that he is just a man. Not a storm. Not a god. Not a thing that gets to define the room because he walked into it.
“I am now,” you say. “But I wasn’t.”
Something cracks across his face. Good. Maybe that makes you mean. Maybe you’ve earned mean. Frank glances at Garcia, at Mateo, at the nurse charting near the door, then back at you. His voice drops. “I know I hurt you.” You laugh once, incredulous. “That’s one way to say it.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. “I was sick.”
“And I was there,” you say. “I was there while you were sick.” The words come easier now, once they start. “I was there when you snapped at me for chewing too loud. I was there when you said I embarrassed you. I was there when you made me feel like every inch of me was too much and not enough at the same time.” Your throat burns. “I was there when you looked at me like loving me was some kind of professional liability.”
Frank goes pale. Garcia says absolutely nothing. Which, from Garcia, is support of the highest order. “I know,” he says, voice rough.
“No, I don’t think you do.” Your eyes sting, but you hold his gaze. “Because you got rehab. You got a second chance. You got everyone rooting for your recovery, telling you how brave you were, how hard it must’ve been.” You inhale carefully. “Do you know what I got, Frank?”
Silence.
“I got to relearn how to eat without guilt.” His eyes close. “I got to gain weight and not hate myself for it.” His shoulders slump. “I got to find out that half the things I thought about my body were never mine to begin with. They were yours. You put them there.”
There’s a long, ugly quiet.
When Frank opens his eyes again, there’s no defensiveness in them. Just pain. Real pain. Maybe overdue pain. “I am sorry,” he says. “I know that doesn’t fix it. I know I don’t get to ask for anything from you. But I am sorry.”
You believe him. That’s the inconvenient part. You believe he means it. And it still doesn’t change a thing.
Before you can answer, a new voice slices in from the hallway.
“Why is he in here?” The entire bay turns. Brendon Park stands at the entrance in dark blue scrubs, x-rays in hand, expression carved from ice. You have never, in your life, been so relieved to see a man who routinely looks disappointed in the existence of humanity.
Park’s gaze flicks from Frank to you, then down to the way your fingers are gripping the blanket too tightly, then back to Frank.
He doesn’t ask questions first. Very on brand. “I said,” Park repeats, stepping fully inside, “why is he in here?” Garcia’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. Frank straightens automatically. “I was talking to her.” Park gives him a long, unimpressed stare. “That seemed obvious.” You would laugh if your chest didn’t feel so tight.
Park moves to your bedside like everyone else in the room is furniture. He sets the films down, crouches in front of you, and his whole face changes.
Just for you.
It’s so subtle most people probably miss it. The softened mouth. the calmer eyes. the care he never bothers hiding when it comes to you. “Hey, honey,” he says quietly. Frank goes very still.
Your breath catches for a totally different reason now.
Park glances at your chart, then back at you. “Pain manageable?” “Mostly.” He studies your face for one second too long, like he knows you well enough now to hear the lie in the mostly. “Mm.” He rises to his full height and looks over his shoulder at Frank with all the warmth of a glacier. “Step out.”
Frank’s jaw tightens. “Park—” “No.” Park’s voice stays even, which somehow makes it worse. “You don’t get to loom over my girl while she’s vulnerable, and you definitely don’t get to do it while she’s visibly distressed.”
My girl. Something about that nearly undoes you. Not possession. Protection.
Park turns back to you. “Do you want him here?” It’s the only question that matters. And he asks it like the answer is law. You shake your head.
Park nods once. Then, without even looking at Frank, says, “There’s your answer.”
For a second, you think Frank might argue.
Old Frank would have. Old Frank would have made this about ego, about territory, about humiliation. But Frank just looks at you. Not Park. Not Garcia. You.
And whatever he sees on your face must answer something for him, because his shoulders drop. “Okay,” he says, quiet and wrecked. “Okay.” He leaves. Just like that. And the whole room exhales with him gone.
Garcia mutters, “Love a happy ending.” Mateo snorts and slips out to “check on meds,” which is generous nurse code for I’m giving you privacy because this got incredibly loaded. Park stays where he is until Frank disappears around the corner. Then he looks back at you, and all that steel drains right out of him.
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. That’s it. That’s all it takes. Your eyes fill instantly. “Oh, sweetheart,” Park murmurs. He steps closer, careful of your leg, and touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers first like he’s asking permission. When you lean into it, his hand settles there fully. Garcia quietly excuses herself, which is true friendship because she absolutely will want details later and is still willing to leave.
Then it’s just you and Park. “I’m okay,” you whisper, which is a lie in at least six different ways. Park’s thumb brushes under one eye. “You don’t have to be.” You let out a broken little laugh. “That’s inconvenient.” “I can live with inconvenient.”
He says it so simply that your chest hurts.You look up at him. “You don’t have to do this.” His brow furrows. “Do what?” “This.” You gesture vaguely, embarrassed now by everything all at once. The tears. the ankle. Frank. your body. the history of it all. “Be nice to me when I’m a mess.”
Park stares at you for a second like he genuinely doesn’t understand the sentence. Then his face does something achingly tender. “Oh,” he says. Just that. Oh. Like he sees all the way to the root of it. He glances at the door to make sure no one’s hovering, then leans down until his forehead nearly touches yours.
“I’m not nice to you because you’re easy,” he says softly. “I’m nice to you because it’s you.” Your throat closes. Park’s hand slides from your cheek to the side of your neck, steady and warm. “And for the record, I have never once looked at you and wanted you smaller.” The tears spill before you can stop them.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t overreact. Doesn’t panic.
He just wipes them away with his thumb and keeps holding your gaze like you are something sacred he is trying not to scare off. “I like you exactly as you are,” he says. “Actually, that’s not true. I like that you take up space. I like that you laugh loud when you forget to be self-conscious. I like that you order fries and then steal mine too. I like that you look soft and warm and alive.” His mouth twitches. “Makes me want to commit crimes when people imply otherwise.”
A laugh breaks through your crying. Ugly, wet, real. “There she is,” he murmurs. You shake your head, overwhelmed. “Brendon—” “No.” He smooths a strand of hair back from your face. “Listen to me. I know I’m not…” He exhales through his nose. “I know I’m not exactly known for bedside manner.” “That’s one way to put it.” “Thank you, very supportive.” His thumb brushes your cheek again. “But with you, I want to get this right.”
That one lands somewhere deep. Because Frank always made love feel like something you had to earn. Like one wrong word, one bad angle, one meal too many, and it would vanish. But Park stands here looking at you with your eyes red and your ankle broken and your hospital gown tied crooked and there is not one ounce of revulsion in him.
Only care. Only certainty.
You whisper, “He used to make me feel like I was hard to love.” Park’s expression hardens for half a breath, not at you, at the memory of him. Then he looks back at you. “He was wrong.”
So simple. So immediate. No hesitation.
He might as well have reached into your ribcage and rewritten something by hand. You close your eyes because you suddenly can’t look at him and survive it. His lips brush your forehead. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just there. A promise, maybe.
When you open your eyes again, Park has shifted back into doctor mode by sheer force of discipline, though his hand stays on yours. “Okay,” he says. “Here’s what happens next. You’re getting a boot. no surgery unless follow-up imaging says otherwise. You are not putting weight on that ankle tonight. Someone is driving you home.”
“You volunteering?” His mouth tips at one corner. “I was under the impression I was being voluntold.” “That was fast.”
“I’m an orthopedist. We move with terrifying efficiency when motivated.” You laugh again, shakier this time but real. Park squeezes your hand. “Good. Keep doing that.” “Laughing?” “Breathing.” Your chest aches.
“You know,” you say quietly, “you’re weirdly sweet for a man everyone calls Park the Shark.”
He gives you a dry look. “Don’t spread it around. I have a reputation.” Something old and painful in you expects the sentence to turn sharp after that. To become a joke at your expense. A warning. A condition.
It doesn’t.
Park just leans down and kisses your temple like it’s the easiest thing in the world, then says, “Besides, I only like one girl enough to ruin my image.” You stare at him. He shrugs, faintly pink now, which is maybe the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. “Don’t make it weird.”
And because you’ve cried enough and hurt enough and survived enough for one night, you do the only reasonable thing. You smile. “Too late,” you whisper. Park huffs a laugh, reaches for your boot, and starts explaining the plan.
Outside the bay, the ER keeps moving.
Stretchers rolling.
Monitors beeping.
Residents arguing.
Somewhere Trinity Santos is probably calling someone an idiot with alarming affection. Somewhere Robby is stalking through the department making everyone’s blood pressure worse. Life goes on. The Pitt goes on. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.
Not because Frank apologized.
Not because the past disappeared.
Not because broken things magically became unbroken.
But because someone kind is standing in front of you now, holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and when he looks at you there is no calculation in it.
The first rule of fandom is have fun. The second rule of fandom is find an enabler and become an enabler. Yes you should write that fic. What if it was even hornier? What if it was angstier? What if you wrote it just for me?
I kind of miss the impulsivity that certain spaces used to allow. oh you want a hair cut today? hairdresser in the corner can fit you in before her 2 o’clock. tattoo of a cobra… sure leg or arm? even concerts, back when you could go to the box office thirty mins before any show. not saying these things don’t exist at all, but everything feels booked five months in advance and 10x more expensive
Scott's fingers are thick as they curl inside of you. You clench around him, your pussy crying with each thrust as you grasp his wrist for dear life.
“That’s right. Squeeze my fingers tighter, baby.”
His voice is deep and rough, a purr of a sound that makes it harder to breathe. Your bleary eyes find the side of his face, vaguely illuminated by whatever light bleeds into the car from the traffic around you. His eyes stay trained on the car in front of him as he grasps the wheel tightly in his fist. His jaw works tightly around the gum he's been nursing this whole time. He smacks it loudly, just for the hell of it.
Your thighs clamp down around his wrist while you squirm. “S-Scott, I can't—Can't take anymore. S’too much,” you sob. Your whole body is still shaking from your last orgasm, which stains the seat beneath you. One of your hands flies to your mouth when a broken cry shakes its way out of you.
He just scoffs, thrusting his fingers fast. They curl and scissor and pump inside of you with a precision that only comes with practiced skill. “You were the one fucking beggin’ me for it. Now you can't take it?” Somehow, his fingers sink deeper into you. Your head spins with the pleasure. “No, you can take it. You were so fuckin’ cocky before—you can keeps those legs nice and open for me, and you can take it.”
You rut your hips against his hand, whimpering when his palm presses against your clit. His muscles flex with the effort it takes to fuck you on his fingers.
Your hands find his bicep, and you dig your nails into his flesh as you press your face into him. You're lucky it's too dark out for anyone to see you through the windows, barely restraining your sounds as they mix with that of the wet smacking of him inside you.
Scott's got the cockiest grin on his face. You peek up at him to see him glancing back and forth between you and the road, the car barely inching forward on the heavy traffic. His jaw is clenched hard, gum long forgotten in favor of putting all of his focus into driving his fingers against your g-spot.
“Scott! Scott, ‘m gonna— Fuck! You're gonna make me–”
He watches your eyes roll back in your head. He watches you lean back against the seat and drop your jaw wide open around a silent scream. Your fingers get weak around his arm, your thighs are shaking like you've got electricity shooting through every inch of your body.
“Fuck, you're squirting all over my fuckin’ truck, you little slut.” He's rough as he fingers you through it, watching you drench his seats and his floor. “My dirty girl's ruining my fuckin’ passenger's seat. Yeah, you are, baby.”
He takes to smacking his hand over your pussy, your body jerks with each impact as you feel yourself getting limp and useless. You can't string together any sensible words as you let your jaw hang and your moans slowly come back to you.
“Good girl. Fuck, baby—see? You can fuckin’ take it.” You tremble as his fingers slow down to something a little more forgiving. You look a mess, flustered and spent, drool at the corner of your mouth and tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. What a fucking sight.
“There you go,” he coos, still smacking, still chewing. You hold loosely to his arm as you float back into the truck and finally register the music that's been playing this whole time. He rubs his fingers soothingly over your skin, shushing you when you shake and tutting when you whimper. “That's a good girl, baby. Did so good for me.”
You look up at him with tear-filled eyes, glossy and unfocused. “I got you,” he says softly. Your hands flex around his bicep, and he reaches over just long enough to stroke your cheek. “You know I got you. Good girl, I got you.”
You melt under the praise, under his hand rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. When you catch another glimpse of him, his eyes are soft and deep and overwhelmingly sincere. “I got you,” he hums again.
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this is for my writing challenge! you can find the masterlist here!
summary: you and deran were close friends, which was how you ended up scoring a babysitting gig for his niece, lena. you were "hired" one day without pope's knowledge. deran figured that he would be okay with it because you were close to the family and they all trusted you. pope saw this as an opportunity to finally get closer to the woman he couldn't stop thinking about lately.
contains: same old! pope, babysitter! reader, implied age difference, fem/afab! reader, au where pope has custody over lena, baz and cath not in the picture, pope is weak for his girls, eventual smut, pope LOVES kissing you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), very sensual sex
word count: 5.3k
you were sitting by the poolside while lena was testing to see how far she could make it across the pool in one breath. you applauded as she made it at least halfway across, her little legs kicking her through the water with all their might. her smile is triumphant as she beams up at you.
"i got so far!"
she exclaims as she swims over to the edge of the pool by you, her arms resting on the warm pavement.
"you sure did! keep on practicing and you'll make it all the way across in no time at all."
you speak encouragingly, watching her eyes light up with hope. a throat is cleared behind you, causing both you and lena to look over in the direction of the gate. you both spot a stern-looking pope, but his face seems to soften as soon as his eyes land on lena in the pool. it wasn't easy for him, taking lena under his wing after what happened to her parents. he sees the smile on the little girl's face, then glances at you, then back at her, and he feels something shift within him.
"she'll be out in the ocean learning how to surf like you guys soon."
you smile softly as you talk to him, which causes an unfamiliar sense of warmth to settle in his chest. he nods at you before walking over to lena, he crouches down as he meets her gaze.
"ten more minutes, then shower before dinner's ready."
his voice was rough, but it had an uncharacteristic softness to it as he spoke to lena. she nodded, her big eyes staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky. it made your heart swell, seeing how the two of them bonded so well, especially given all the shit they'd been through. pope cody wasn't comforting to anyone except for lena, at least that's what you'd thought at first. as lena swims away and busies herself, pope stands to his full height and turns around to look at you.
"what are you doing here?"
he hadn't meant for the question to sound so harsh and bothered. he saw the way your face scrunched a bit at his tone and immediately regretted his choice of words.
"i'm watching over lena while you take care of your personal things."
"i didn't ask you to do that."
"deran said you could use the extra help."
he stands there for a moment, blinking at you. he hadn't realized that it wasn't realistic for deran and craig to watch lena when pope couldn't, especially since they were often away from home more than he was. he nods slowly, now that everything was starting to make sense once again. he glances over his shoulder at lena, who's now wearing a particularly suspicious grin as she watches the two of you interact. he turns back to you, eyes briefly drifting toward your light green tank top. he could just barely see inside your shirt, the shadow almost highlighting your cleavage. he snaps himself out of the trance and meets your gaze again.
"how much do you want for it?"
you shrug at his question, glancing over at lena who has started cleaning up her pool toys. you clearly hadn't thought about it yet, not really worried about the money as much as you were about lena.
"i don't need to be paid, i have a job. i'm just here to watch lena when you aren't able to."
he looks slightly taken aback by your answer. why were you so willing to help them out without being paid? he searches your expression for any sort of hint otherwise, but he finds nothing.
"i mean- being fed would be nice."
a slight scoff escapes his lips at your words. he just nods and makes his way back inside. a couple minutes later, lena goes inside to wash up before dinner. you make your way inside, your nostrils immediately filled with the smell of something delicious. you watch as pope busies himself in the kitchen, making what looked to be lasagna.
"looks good..."
you try to talk casually, but are met with a deadpan look.
"haven't cooked any of it yet."
his tone was flat, almost questioning as he looked at you. you let out a heavy sigh and made your way toward the living room to rest on the couch. pope mentally slaps himself for being so cut and dry with you. he'd never admit it out loud, but he wanted you to be around. he wanted to know more about you. he'd seen you here and there whenever you were helping deran with something or attending one of his pool parties. he'd always thought you were pretty, probably too young for him, but that never stopped his mind from wandering.
he continues to work on making dinner, his mind lost in a sea of thoughts that all revolved around you. especially how happy lena had looked while being with you. it almost mirrored the way she looked when she was with pope. he wondered what it would be like, if maybe you and him could be her new and improved parents. no... you were basically a stranger to him he can't be thinking of starting a family like this. lena's soft voice jars him out of his mind.
"can i have a soda with dinner?"
"yeah, but that's your only one for the day."
she nods, a giddy smile on her face as she bounces off toward the living room, presumably to join you. she plops down next to you on the couch, resting her head on your arm as she watches the cartoon you're playing on the TV. she glances up at you, a toothy grin spreading across her face. you look down at her, a bit wary at what this could mean.
"what's that look for?"
you watch as she tries to hold back the giggles.
"uncle pope thinks you're really pretty."
you can't help but roll your eyes and laugh at the little girl. part of you wondered if she was telling the truth. kids were always more perceptive than anyone liked to give them credit for.
"yeah? did he tell you that?"
you chuckle at her while her eyes are fixated on the cartoon.
"yeah... he told me one day on the way to school."
you pause at that. because now this was all starting to sound real. did he really think you were pretty? hell, you'd always been attracted to him too, but never in a million years did you think it would be a mutual feeling. before you have any more time to think about it, pope is calling you guys into the kitchen for dinner. you and lena set the dining room table while pope brings out the lasagna dish. lena sits between you and pope at the table, unable to help herself as she steals glances at both of you while eating.
"uncle pope, we talked about starting a garden today."
pope looks curiously at his niece, then up at you.
"what kind of garden?"
his eyebrows are furrowed like he's almost a bit hesitant to know the answer.
"i thought that maybe we could try a vegetable or fruit garden, make some of our own stuff. it's fun and could mean less money spent on groceries."
you chime in, watching as lena's eyes light up. she looks over at you with a bright smile.
"does that mean we can grow lemons?"
you blink, raising an eyebrow at her.
"that's what you want to grow first?"
"to make lemonade! if we have lemons we'll never run out of lemonade!"
this time, you and pope both chuckle at her exclamation.
"we'll have to buy the tree, otherwise it'll take forever to grow from the seed. that just means lemons will come first."
you smile at the little girl who happily bounces in her seat while finishing her dinner. you glance up at pope, who can't decide if he wants to see lena's excited expression, or your soft one as you think about how to start the garden.
"i mean- as long as it's okay with you."
you nod at him, forgetting that you guys likely needed his approval before creating a garden.
"just don't make me water it. and i'm not being blamed if anything in there dies or gets eaten by rabbits."
you smirk at him, knowing damn well that if lena asked he would help you out with the garden. or maybe, she'd use it as an attempt to get you and pope alone so everything can go according to her little master plan.
after about a week of planting and rearranging soil, lena's garden was finally starting to come together. you'd been around every day to help her with, teaching her the best watering techniques. you let her pick out what she wanted to grow, and then helped her organize based on what plants needed more sunlight. the whole time, pope busies himself with watching over the two of you. his rationalization is that gardening can be very dangerous, and he doesn't want either of you getting hurt. the real reason was because watching you with lena, the way you brought out the brightest in the little girl, it felt right to him. like you were meant to be here with the two of them, nowhere else.
lena notices him and waves him over to show him the final product. he steps out of the sliding glass door and makes his way over to the new garden.
"we did it, uncle pope! we have our own garden!"
lena jumps up and down excitedly, pointing at the freshly laid soil and some of the pre-grown trees you had helped her plant.
"you guys did great."
he nods slowly, looking over at you. your face was glistening with sweat after working in the heat for the past couple hours. he couldn't take his eyes off of you, you were glowing. then he saw your genuine smile as you watched lena get excited about the garden. he wanted to be another reason that you could smile like that. he watches from nearby as you help lena water for the first time. you were patient with her, letting her do most of it on her own and only helping when she asked. lena looks over at pope with the brightest smile he's seen from her in a long time. looks like they both really needed to keep you around.
once you were finished watering, pope ushered the two of you inside. he was getting worried that you were out in the sun for too long. earlier, he had definitely hounded the two of you about wearing enough sunscreen. he gives you both a glass of water, watching shamelessly as you lift the glass to your lips and take a few swallows of the cold liquid. it was like he was in a trance every time he watched you, unable to peel his eyes away, even if you were doing the most mundane things. lena's giggles bring him back to center, he glances over at her and sees the knowing look in her eyes.
"c'mon, stinker... let's go get washed up. i'll help you pick out your clothes."
she nods, hopping out of the stool and walking off toward her room with you. once you help her find her clothes, you walk back out to the kitchen, now alone with the man you found yourself growing increasingly fond of.
"you can use mine."
he spoke gruffly, watching as you rested against the countertop.
"use your what?"
you look up at him curiously.
"my shower... i'll get you a towel and stuff."
he walks off toward the bathroom and grabs you a towel and washcloth. you also see a pair of old gym shorts and a t-shirt folded neatly next to them. you smile and thank him as you step into the bathroom. he stands there for a moment, looking at you. you are also just standing there, and you're unsure if the room was filled with tension or awkwardness at this point.
"thank you..."
you tell him again, and he seems to get the hint. but right before he can step out of the bathroom, he turns to you.
"lena... really likes having you around."
"i like being around... with both of you."
you nod slowly, and you can see the small hint of surprise on his face at your words. it was true, you'd gotten used to being around both of them all the time. it felt like more of a routine than you'd ever had before, but best of all, it felt like home. he could see the way your expressioned softened completely, feeling his cheeks heat because of how much he enjoyed the sight. you finally look up at him, breath hitching slightly when you see the dazed, wanting look in his eyes. you step closer to him and he doesn't back away. but before he allows himself to give in, pope clears his throat.
"i'll make lunch while you get cleaned up."
he doesn't miss the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, but he ultimately leaves the room anyway. you sigh, stripping out of your clothes and stepping into a nice, cool shower. once you're finished you step out of the shower and slip into his clothes he left for you. they smelled like him, which made you feel a little hotter than you cared to admit. you look at yourself in the mirror, chuckling at the way his old clothes looked on you. it didn't really matter, you weren't sweaty and gross anymore. you walk back out toward the kitchen, smiling when you see lena eating on the couch.
"come back and sit with me, please!"
she calls out to you, you nod, and continue until you're in the kitchen. pope's back was to you, but when he heard your footsteps, he turned around. he froze, not expecting you to look so... domestic... in his clothes like that. he started to imagine how you'd look in his clothes, post-shower after you two just had the most mind-blowing sex of all time. a soft smile appears on his lips as he slides your plate across the counter to you.
"you should come hang out with me and lena."
you lean against the counter as you take the plate. he just nods and follows you to the living room where lena was. you both sit on either side of her, causing her to smile while she's mid-bite into her sandwich. you glance over at pope, who's already looking at you. you feel your skin heat at the eye contact, quickly looking back at the TV. he also faces forward, leaving everyone to eat their lunch in comfortable silence. after a while, lena yawns and snuggles into pope's side. he wraps an arm around her and holds her close, watching as her breath starts to even out. you smile at the sight, quietly taking out your phone and snapping a picture when he wasn't looking.
eventually, he carries lena to her room and lays her in her bed. he shuts the door quietly before returning to the living room with you. you look over at him, eyes tracing along his strong jawline and the slope of his nose. fuck, he'd be trouble if he ever realized how beautiful he was. his dark auburn curls looked soft, and you found yourself wanting to run your hands through them. he finally looks at you, catching you right in the act of staring. his hardened hazel eyes almost seemed to soften when they landed on you, but you were sure that was just your imagination. you stand up from the couch, grabbing your plate and lena's. pope follows suit, following you out to the kitchen.
"i'll wash these."
his gruff voice sends a shiver down your spine, but you nod. you set the dishes in the sink and move out of his way.
"so i was thinking..."
you speak up, resting against the counter next to the sink. he glances up at you for a moment, freezing when he realized how close you were standing to him.
"what if we took lena out to dinner tonight? maybe somewhere on the shore or something so we can watch the sunset?"
he ponders for a moment, thinking about how beautiful you would look in the warm and bright colors of the setting sun. he's nodding almost enthusiastically now, going back to washing the dishes. you smile and watch as he goes back to work. damn those stupid yellow gloves for hiding the way his fingers were probably gripping and flexing over the dishes. you were beginning to feel like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle for the first time. you stand there, enjoying this somewhat intimate moment between the two of you. once he's finished, he looks over at you while sliding off the gloves. you can hardly focus as you watch the yellow rubber fall from his hands, revealing the tantalizing digits that you dreamed about quite often.
he holds one of his hands out to you, palm facing upward. you blink, unsure of what to do. he lets out an unsteady breath, reaching further until his hand wraps around your wrist ever so gently. you let him pull you toward his bedroom, your heart rate picking up the closer you get. he walks you inside, letting go of your wrists as he walks over to the closet. you stand still, afraid to move. you watch as he opens his closet, then he looks back to you.
"i wanna wear something nice. i need help finding it."
you let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding, walking over to the closet. you gently sift through his closet, most of his clothes being the same style and color shirt, same with the pants. however, you did manage to find a black polo that seemed to stand out. you take it out, finding the lightest pair of blue jeans he owned (which were still pretty dark) and pairing them together. you hand him the clothes and he assesses them skeptically. finally, he gives a nod of approval and lays them down on his bed. he turns back to face you, noticing the small smile on your face.
"what's funny?"
he glares at you, waiting for you to tease him about his wardrobe, or lack thereof.
"nothing's funny, i just think it's cool that you came to me for fashion advice."
he rolls his eyes at you, but he's not truly annoyed. he'd wanted to ask you for more than just fashion advice, but he wasn't feeling brave enough. a soft sigh escapes his lips as he walks toward the door.
"gonna clean the pool and work on the car some before we go."
you nod and watch him walk out without another word. you go off to the living room and find some way to pass the next couple hours.
you all were on the way to dinner, pope was driving his truck while you were in the passenger seat and lena was in the back. she was glancing out the window, watching the building on the street go by with a smile on her face.
"come on... can you please tell me where we're going?"
lena whines at you, causing you to chuckle. pope glances in the rearview, his eyes crinkling just a bit.
"we're almost there, lee. i told you it's a surprise!"
she groans in protest, flopping her head back against the car seat. but, as you promised, you shortly afterwards pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. pope got out, helping lena from her carseat. he frowns at you when he sees that you got out of the car by yourself, which makes you laugh. he grunts, watching lena take your hand as you walk toward the front door. he holds the door for you two, his hand ghosting the small of your back before he walks in behind you. you're all seated outside on the patio of the restaurant, admiring the view of the ocean from there. lena's eyes are wide with excitement as she takes in the view of the setting sun.
"best surprise ever!"
she wraps her little arms around you with a big grin. you return the embrace, running a hand over her hair. she sits back in her seat when it's time to order food. pope sits across from you and lena, meaning he could just watch you two interact for the next couple hours. you looked even more beautiful than he could imagine, the way the colors of the sunset made your skin glow. the way it all reflected in your eyes, he couldn't get enough of the view. he'd hardly even thought about the sunset when he had you right in front of him. as suspected, dinner went swimmingly and lena was already getting sleepy again.
"wanna walk on the beach for a couple minutes?"
you look over at lena, whose head is resting on your arm. she nods sleepily, little hands wrapped around your arm. you chuckle, looking over at pope who looked the most calm he ever had since you met him. he nods as well, getting up from his chair. he walks around the table to lena, gently lifting her into his arms, holding out his free hand to you. you smile and take his hand, walking down the wooden steps and into the sand. you walk closer to the shore, the view stealing the breath from your lungs. you look over at pope and lena, watching the way their expressions almost matched in awe. pope was still holding onto your hand tightly, the other firmly holding lena. these were the moments that pope thought he'd only be able to dream of, but yet here the three of you were.
lena's eventually fast asleep in his arms, head resting on his shoulder. he gently squeezed your hand, causing you to look over at him. he's closer than you remember, and before you can second guess yourself, you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his lips. he returns it almost immediately, although it was a bit haphazard. you pull away, rubbing your free hand along his bicep and resting your chin on his shoulder.
"should probably head back before sleeping beauty gets cranky."
he nods at your words, leading you all back toward the truck. he gets lena into the carseat without her waking up. this time, he doesn't let go of you, meaning he could open the passenger side door for you. you laugh at him again, climbing into the seat and buckling your seatbelt. he shuts the door gently and rounds the car to get into the driver's side. you make it back to the house and get out of the car while pope grabs lena again. you hold the door for him this time as he carries her off to her bed. you wait in the kitchen for him, sitting at one of the stools. he returns a couple minutes later, standing next to your stool. he's the one to lean in this time, kissing you with more intention than the previous time. his arms slip around your waist while your hands rest on his chest.
you sigh into the kiss, pulling him in closer by his shoulders. he leans into you, clearly not willing to pull away any time soon. you stand from the stool pressing him back against the counter as your tongue slips into his mouth. a soft groan escapes from him, but his tongue begins to tangle with yours soon after. his hands slip lower, over the curve of your ass, causing you to smirk against his lips. one of your hands slides through his soft curls, and they felt even better than you'd imagined. he sighs against you, continuing to kiss you with all of his effort. he whimpers when you pull away from him, the sound sending a tingly feeling all over your body. you walk toward his bedroom and he immediately follows behind you like a puppy.
once you're in his room, he pulls you back against him, kissing you again with a renewed sense of hunger. you moan into his mouth, reaching down and sliding his shirt over his head. your hands slide all over his muscular chest, earning yourself soft groans from his lips. he pushes you backwards until you fall back onto the bed with a small yelp. he removes your shoes for you, then climbs on top of you. he gently rests his weight onto you, pressing soft kisses along the corners of your mouth and your jawline. you gently trace your nails along the skin of his back, the sensation making his hard cock strain even more through his jeans. you feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and it only adds to the heat pooling low in your belly. you weren't sure how you and pope had even gotten to this point, but you surely weren't going to complain either.
he removes your clothes for you, followed by taking off his jeans. he starts trailing kisses lower, down your neck and over the swell of your breasts. you feel your back arch off the bed when he takes one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth and sucks lightly before rubbing it with his tongue. he moves over to the other side, groaning against you as he feels how worked up you're getting. then, he moves lower, kissing over your soft tummy. he pauses right at the hem of your panties, glancing up at you as if for approval. you sit up on your elbows, looking down at him with a lustful haze in your eyes. you nod slowly and shiver as he slides your panties down your legs. he feels his brain go fuzzy at the mere sight and smell of your arousal. not wasting a second, he leans in and licks a long stripe up your aching cunt. your fingers grip the sheets with a soft whine. your noises encourage him to do more, he starts sucking at your clit. you thought it couldn't get any better until he slipped his middle finger inside of you. you moan softly, falling back against the bed as he adds another finger. how the fuck was he so good at this? wasn't he supposed to be super inexperienced?
well- he was relatively inexperienced. but once he was for sure about wanting to be with you, he'd definitely started doing his research. his (now deleted) search history would be very incriminating, but you didn't have to know about it just yet. he continues to work at you, now whining lowly against your slick folds while his fingers worked into you gently. he could feel the way you squirmed beneath him and it filled him with pride. he would do whatever it took to make sure you were fully satisfied.
"a-andrew... i'm gonna-"
he moans loudly against you at the sound of his real name on your lips. he speeds up and changes the angle just right to have you coming hard on his tongue and fingers. he withdraws his fingers, leaning back over you to kiss you again. you feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as you taste your essence on his tongue. he pulls back just enough to suck your juices off of his fingers, a sight you'd be thinking about before bed for a *long* time. while kissing you, he nudges his boxers down just enough for his leaking cock to spring out. you gasp at the sight of it when he pulls back to grab a condom from his nightstand. you were quite sure he was packing heat, but you weren't expecting the absolute girth of his cock. he rolls the condom on before lining up with you entrance.
"you okay...?"
he asks quietly as he looks down at you. you nod and watch where your bodies are about to meet. he slides the tip in, groaning at how tight you were. his hands rest on your hips, thumbs trying to rub soothingly over the soft skin in hopes that you can relax for him a little bit. he leans over, kissing you gently enough that he finally feels you loosen up so he can push all the way in. you both moan as he bottoms out inside you. you'd never felt this full of anything in your entire life, but it was a welcomed feeling. one hand slips beneath your head while the other rests on your waist as he starts to slowly move in and out of you. the drag of his thick cock against your walls made you whine with need. he rests his forehead against yours, thrusts speeding up just enough to set a steady pace.
"feels good..."
he rasps against your skin, his fingers gently rubbing against your scalp as he held you. this intimate moment made you wonder how you ever able to stay away from him in the first place. this time, you lean up and kiss him, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. his hips stutter slightly as he already feels himself getting close. to make sure you were getting close as well, his hand slips between your bodies and rubs circles into your sensitive clit. your thighs begin to tremble around him, so he grabs onto them tightly and thrusts into you harder than before. the feeling of him so deep in you has your eyes rolling back into your head. his name echoes against the wall as you moan it continuously. he doesn't stop until you're clenching him so tightly he might be forced to slip out. you come with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders. he spills inside the condom at the same time, thrusting a couple more times to help you ride out your high.
he leans down again, kissing you softly before collapsing beside you and pulling you against him. he grabs one of your thighs and drapes it over his waist, keeping you close. your breath starts to calm as you rest against him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. he stares at you, seeing the way your eyes were becoming heavy. he really wasn't interested in letting you go, so he tosses the covers over your bodies. he watches as you fall asleep in his arms, and suddenly everything felt as if it was all falling into place. at some point, even he falls asleep against you.
when you wake up the next morning, he's still next to you, but his eyes are open. he was clearly admiring you while you slept, but that didn't bother you in the slightest. you groan softly, feeling the soft ache between your legs as you move to stretch out your limbs. he runs a gentle hand over your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before sitting up and getting out of the bed.
"i'll start breakfast..."
he spoke quietly and you nodded, getting out of the bed as well. you desperately wanted a shower, so you walk into the bathroom and do so. when you emerge from the bathroom, you walk into the kitchen and see a freshly woken lena sitting at one of the stools. she gets up and hugs you tightly, asking if you'd eat outside with her. you nodded with a soft smile and helped pope carry the food out to the picnic table in the backyard. you all enjoyed your meal in a comfortable silence. lena sat between the two of you, but pope still managed to rub your back every now and again. you smiled, feeling warm inside, like you could definitely get used to this family life with pope and lena.
a/n: IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE!!!! sorry if this plot was buns guys i tried my best, but it felt off. maybe i'll write something similar to this in the future when i'm feeling more inspired. but anyway, THANK YOU FOR READING, LOVE YOU LOTS, AND STAY SEXAAAYYY!!!!!! <333
this was requested by these two lovely people: @mimiviolette and @nightpitt !!! thank you so much cuties <3
break up with your boyfriend, im bored - robby's bf!jack x serial killer!reader
word count: 8.6k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, rape/non-con (because of somnophilia), femme fatale!reader, age gap, bisexual!jack (happy pride month!), infidelity (robby cheats on jack with whitaker), murder (you kill robby and a lot of other ppl, oop-), daddy kink, jack calls you “baby”/”babydoll”, stalking, surveillance (jack and those damn cameras of his!), mentions of alcohol (you're a bartender and drink a little), unprotected sex, squirting, fingerfucking, choking, spanking, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, breeding kink, size difference, gun play (look away if you don't want a gun in your mouth!), semi-public sex (you fuck in an empty bar in a booth), slut shaming (he calls you a slut but you like it!), he sedates you to keep you asleep, lowkey jack is batshit crazy in this but what's new? (do i ever write him normal?)
summary: you hate people who don't treat their significant others well, which is why you go out of your way to kill them. so, when a hot older doctor comes into the bar where you work and starts complaining to you about his boyfriend being distant, you decide to convince him to break up with him.
why? because you're bored!
a/n: had an itch to kill robby and get railed by psychotic!jack. that's it. that's the fic!
hope it's a sick read ♡
For the fourth morning in a row, the same guy keeps showing up to the shitty dive bar where you work, which is unfortunately open 24/7. And you've been stuck with the shift that starts at midnight since you moved to this city.
You don't mind it now. Not when you have a hot old man wearing black scrubs to look at before your shift ends.
Though, he has gotten a bit gloomier over the days. Orders the same thing. A cold beer, that he nurses for half an hour before asking for a double shot of whiskey. Like he needs to pretend to debate drinking more than he should at seven in the morning.
But today, he starts with the whiskey.
“Bad night, Doc?” You assumed he was a doctor but you know for certain now since he hasn't taken his badge off yet.
You're a bit too distracted by the sad look in his eyes to catch his name before he tucks his badge into the backpack he always slings in on his shoulder and drops at the bar stool beside him.
“Jack.” He tells you his name because Jack would rather not be reminded that he's a doctor for the time being.
“No need to talk about it, Jack.” You pour him his shots but also hand him a glass of water. “But the bar's all yours if you want to. I'm pretty good at keeping a secret too.”
You wink at him, smiling beautifully.
Jack hasn't had a pretty girl smile at him in a long time. Probably because he's been so wrapped up in attempting to salvage his failing relationship with his longtime partner, Robby, that he hasn't noticed anyone batting their eyelashes at him the way you're doing now.
The bar is empty. That's why Jack comes here. It's a far trek from work, so no one he knows ever goes to this area. He usually drives but the last few days, he's been calling a rideshare so he has the option to get wasted. He hasn't yet.
Today might be the day he does.
Because he caught wind of something he shouldn't have.
And it's killing him.
He has no one he can talk to about it.
Except you…
“Only if you drink with me.” If Jack is going to spill his secrets, he'd rather you not be sober. At least then, he can pretend that maybe you'll forget all about his ramblings.
“Trying to get me in trouble?” You chuckle, then grab a cold glass, filling it with beer. “How about this: you drink your usual beer then you wait until I'm off work in an hour and we can drink at my place nearby. Good idea?”
Jack's stomach churns at that. Because he shouldn't say yes. He's in a committed relationship. He definitely shouldn't go over to your place, especially when it's blatantly obvious that you're an incredibly attractive woman who isn't hiding for a second your interest in him.
But if Robby can "hang out" with someone much younger than him, so can Jack.
It's only fair.
“Alright. But I'm paying for the liquor.”
You shake your head. “I have plenty of booze at home. You're paying for breakfast.”
Jack doesn't like how smooth you talk. So casual. So easy going. So much like he was before insecurity racked his every waking moment.
“Fine.”
“It's a date.” You slide the shot glasses back towards you and then Jack watches as you down them both back to back in front of him. His eyes trail along the whiskey that drips off the sides of your lips.
He wants to lean forward and lick it up.
A thought he shouldn't be having.
Fuck. He's going to do something stupid, isn't he?
Accepting your invitation was stupid enough as is but lusting after you would be the worst decision a taken man like him should consider.
But when he sees the way your tongue swirls around your full lips, Jack can't help but stare.
You've always had this effect on people. It's what makes the kind of lifestyle you live easier than it should be. Because you can always get a job bartending in any city you go to without a resume and you can always convince the owner to pay you under the table. Same goes with your landlord, who is happy to let you pay your rent in all cash without verifying if your identity is real or not.
It isn't. It never is.
Because you would've been caught by now if you weren't as smart as you are.
And you like killing people a little too much to get caught now.
So, when Jack asks you for your name, you give him the same old routine you do with everyone and tell him, “just call me baby.”
“Baby? That can't possibly be your name.”
“It's what you'll call me.” You lean over the counter, giving him a very nice view of your breasts peeking through your low cut sweater. “I like that or babydoll. Especially when I get to call you daddy.”
Tension forms in every muscle in his body.
Because…fuck, he has missed being called that.
Robby never liked it. He was dismissive of Jack's daddy kink, made him feel ashamed for having one so Jack repressed it.
Now here you are, openly feeding into it.
“I should tell you I'm in a relationship.” Jack has to ruin this.
But you don't let him. “Then break up.”
“W-What?” He is so shocked by how blunt your words are that he stammers his own. “E-Excuse me?”
You put your hand on his, drawing a line from his wrist to his knuckles with your finger, swirling the tip around each bone as you tell him in a sultry tone, “come on, daddy. You know you want to, or you wouldn't have said yes to me.”
“W-We've been together for years.” It feels like a poor excuse once Jack says it aloud.
You shrug, not caring at all. “So?”
“He's…” Jack doesn't even know what he was going to say because your hand comes up to cup his face, lifting his chin to look at you.
“He's just your boyfriend.” You brush your thumb over his lip, smiling when his jaw tightens in your grip. “You don't need a boyfriend when you could have me.”
For fun, you step closer, wanting to see how he'll react to your lips being only an inch away from his.
His reaction is on par with a man his age who has been out of the game for a while. “You're at work.”
“If you kissed me, I wouldn't mind getting fired.” You playfully bite your lip, purposefully making it swell so he's more enticed than ever. “Do you want to kiss me?”
Jack should say no. He definitely should say no.
He's in a relationship. A shitty one, where Robby is cheating on him but he made a commitment.
One that he'll need to break if he's going to say yes.
“I—” Jack is rendered speechless when you nuzzle his nose with your own, giggling at how flustered he gets because he thought you were about to kiss him.
“God, you are so fucking cute.” You want to ride him until the next morning. “Can you just break up with him already?”
Why is Jack even considering this?
Maybe because he knows it's rational. He caught Robby cheating on him with that younger resident, Dennis Whitaker. He hasn't confronted Robby about it yet.
Jack knows his relationship is over.
So, why is he clinging onto it when there's a gorgeous girl right in front of him that's practically throwing herself at him?
He should forget about Robby, like he has been trying to do these last few days.
He can do that by fucking you.
He will do exactly that.
“Fuck it.” Jack pulls out his phone and against his best judgment, he shoots Robby a text.
With a video of Robby and Whitaker from Jack's hidden camera in Robby's apartment.
And the only text he sends with it is: It's over between us.
Then, once it's sent, Jack grabs you by the throat and tugs you to him, kissing you.
You were not expecting the sudden aggression. But, it's incredible.
Like Jack is finally able to enjoy himself for once.
You like how tight his grip is, how you're certain if it was any tighter, he'd bruise your neck. You like how he's eager to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth the moment you let him.
You slide your underwear off under your skirt, tucking it behind the counter before you end up getting it wet. You're already raring to go, just from this feverish kiss.
You'll surely have to fuck Jack now.
“Let me lock the door.” You say all breathless against his lips. “Unless you want people to walk in and see you with your hand wrapped around my throat.”
Jack's eyes shift to the door then back at you, trailing down the length of your body to your short skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.
“Do you care?” He asks, his hand releasing your neck from his hold, and you smirk in response.
“I'd let you fuck me right here if you wanted to.” You're getting fired anyways.
Might as well enjoy the taboo of it while you can.
“Do you have a condom?” Jack should not fuck the first person to give him attention but especially not without protection.
You laugh at that. “Did you fuck your ex with a condom?”
Of course Jack did and he is thankful he did because he has no clue how long Robby has been cheating on him for. He could've gotten something unknowingly.
Maybe he doesn't feel too shitty about breaking up with Robby now…
You snap your fingers in front of Jack's face, breaking him from his thoughts. “I'm going to take that as a yes. I trust you're clean. You are a doctor, after all.”
“Are you?” He has to ask.
“A doctor? Definitely not.” You laugh again, earning a glare from Jack.
“Clean.” He emphasizes the word.
You pull out your phone, showing him the test results along with proof of your IUD that you got from a doctor friend of yours who works at a clinic a few states away. You always test after every sexual encounter.
You'll likely head there again after this because from the look in Jack's eyes when they meet yours, you've got him hook, line and sinker. “Did I pass, Doc?”
“Why do you want this?” That insecurity of his leaks out.
“Hmmm.” You tap the rim of his untouched glass of beer before following the line around it. Once, twice, trailing slow circles around and around, for no real reason.
Jack is mesmerized by how strange your movements are. He's never met anyone like you. Someone who could entrance him with a simple motion.
Your words draw him further into your spell. “Because I know when a man is dying to fuck a nice pussy.”
You pull your finger off the rim then and pick up the glass, hovering it over the drain behind the bar in front of you.
“The question is: are you going to fuck me with a beer in your system or stone cold sober?” You slowly tip the glass, baiting to see if he'll stop you from pouring out his drink.
Jack doesn't. He lets you pour the bubbly amber liquid down the drain, setting the glass aside when you're done.
Then, he snaps at you. “Go to that booth and spread your legs so I can see that nice pussy of yours, babydoll.”
Your lips curve into a wicked smile, “now how did you know I'm not wearing any underwear?”
“Because a slut like you wouldn't.” He snaps again, his tone harsher now. “Go.”
You lick your lips before skipping over to the last booth in the bar. The one furthest from the door. Also the one that is out of the line of sight of the only camera.
So, the doctor is aware of the blind spots.
You wonder where he learned to be so diligent.
Is he ex-military? Must be.
For the sake of cleanliness, you throw a freshly washed tablecloth over the table before you hop onto it. Doing exactly as Jack desires, you spread your legs for him to see that you were not lying to him.
The owner of the bar will have a fun time with that lace pair of yours when they find it later.
But not as much fun of a time as you're about to have because Jack walks over until he's standing right in front of you, staring down at the sight before him.
You have the nicest pussy he has ever seen in his life. He wants to know what you taste like. What you look like when you're cumming.
If you're this gorgeous right now, he knows you'll be breathtaking when you're out of breath from cumming on his tongue.
He nearly drops to his knees when you use your hand to part your folds for him, giving him a clear view of how wet you are as you say in that sultry tone of yours, “is my daddy going to eat my pussy or not?”
Jack holds back because he's done giving someone else the reins. It's been a long time since he got to be the one in charge. He wasted too much of his life trying to please Robby.
Right now, he's going to focus on himself and what he wants.
And what he wants is for you to beg him to touch you.
“Ask nicely.” He instructs and you can't help how giddy you feel hearing his stricter tone.
You want to be a brat but you decide Jack must've suffered enough in his last relationship.
You should make his life easier by submitting to him.
It's what he needs right now.
“Will you please go down on me?” You ask so sweetly that Jack swears his teeth might rot. “Pretty please?”
“Is that what my baby wants?” He leans forward, hands gripped on the corners of the table, fisting the cloth beneath him. “For her daddy to make her cum?”
You nod eagerly. “Yes, please.”
Jack slides into the booth and gestures for you to adjust. “Scoot over here.”
You listen without any hesitation and once your legs are in his reach, Jack yanks you closer to him by your knees. His face hovers so close to your pussy that you can feel every exhale he takes.
He feels parched. He hasn't had anything to drink yet. And the sight of your slick is enticing him too much for him not to give into his need to taste you.
You let out a breathy little sigh of pleasure when you feel his tongue drag along the length of your folds before settling at your clit, giving it a light flick.
“Can I touch your hair?” Your hand aches to feel those soft looking curls he has.
“Say please.” Jack is so fucking hard right now, it's unbelievable.
His cock wants to burst out of his pants when you respond so beautifully, “please, daddy.”
He nods and you gently lace your fingers through his hair, reveling in the feel of it. You play with his curls as he leans back in, his tongue dipping into you this time. You don't hold in your voice, a moan leaving your lips immediately.
It's like heaven to Jack to hear you react to his touch. He never liked how quiet Robby could be in bed. It made him feel inferior, like he wasn't doing a good enough job.
Especially after seeing how vocal Robby could be in that video.
It pisses him off that—
Jack winces when you tug at his hair hard all of a sudden. “What the f—”
“If you're going to eat my pussy, can you focus on me?” You don't like that his mind is elsewhere.
Jack realizes how he's acting. He's doing what he dreaded from Robby. You deserve his undivided attention, like he deserves yours. And you're willing to give him your attention.
So, Jack apologizes, “I'm sorry, babydoll. It won't happen again.”
“It better not.” You pull him towards your pussy. “Now you have to make me cum, to show me you'll keep your word.”
He licks his lips then smiles, his mind locked in this moment with you now. “Don't worry. Your daddy is going to make you cum real good.”
He finally feels confident again, especially when you cry out his name the moment his lips seal around your clit and start sucking on it. He alternates between that and swirling circles around your clit until the tension in your core coils up to the point of no return.
“Please don't stop.” You're gripping his hair tight, keeping him against you as he plays with your clit just right. “Please let me cum, please.”
Jack does let you, pushing you right into your orgasm with every flick of his tongue on your clit. Your eyes roll back when the pleasure shoots through you, your body bathing in the heat of it.
It was a great orgasm but Jack knows he can do better. He can make you cum harder than that.
So, he tells you, “get on your knees.”
You bite your lip, looking up at him with the same amount of lust he has for you. Then, you, like the good girl you are, listen, flipping over, getting on your knees for him. You give him a wonderful view of your ass and your dripping wet pussy and he groans, kneading his cock through his pants with his hand. He could fuck you right now. Nothing is stopping him.
Besides this desperate urge to make you cum your brains out.
“Tell me how you like it.” Jack doesn't want to do the guesswork.
And you don't mind being honest. “I like it rough.”
“Yeah?” He smacks your ass all of a sudden, drawing a yelp from your lips. “How rough?”
“Harder than that.” You wouldn't mind wearing his handprint on your ass for the next few days.
“Rub your clit for me and don't you dare cum.” Jack demands as he slides out of the booth.
You do as you're told, playing with your clit as you watch Jack walk behind the bar counter to wash his hands in the sink. You find that oddly endearing. He doesn't want to touch you with dirty hands. You appreciate that.
He might prove to be more fun than you originally thought.
Jack sits back down behind you then slaps your ass again, this time even harder as he scolds you, “you're barely rubbing your clit. Do better.”
“I'm sorry.” You touch yourself the way you usually do, a bit more heavy handed. “But if I keep doing this, I'm going to cum…”
“You cum when I tell you to.” His hand strikes you again. You definitely have an imprint of his hand now…
Your whole body is shaking from the throbbing sensation of your now sensitive flesh and the ache between your legs, which Jack quickly resolves when he thrusts a finger inside of you.
His finger is so thick that you're hardly prepared for him to add another one so quickly, prying your pussy open when he pushes them deeper inside of you.
“You're clenching so tightly around your daddy's fingers.” Jack curls them, trying to gauge where he should touch you. He knows he found the right place when your legs start to buckle. “Is this your weak spot, babydoll?”
He presses his fingertips exactly where you need him to so you beg him, “right there, please touch me right there.”
“Cum as much as you'd like.” He wants to see you wrecked.
You cum so hard when he pounds his fingers right where you need him too. You cum again when he smacks your ass while his fingers are still inside of you.
“More, please.” You haven't felt this good during sex in a while. It seems like you and Jack are quite compatible.
And he is happy to give you what you want as long as you give him what he wants. “Do you want daddy's cock buried in this tight pussy?”
“Yes.” You repeat the word over and over as he continues fucking you mercilessly with his fingers. “Please, I want your cock. I want to cum on your cock.”
“You're going to cum on my fingers first. I want to see you squirt.” He will make you. He's well aware of where he needs to touch you to make it happen.
And he likes your nervous response, “I've never…”
It's his turn to get you all flustered.
“Then you will now.” Jack grips your ass with his free hand for leverage as his fingers start moving quickly side to side, stirring up every inch of your pussy with the pads of his fingers.
You can't seem to stop the orgasm that hits you hard enough for you to see stars in your vision. It crashes through you uncontrollably and you squirt when his fingers pop out of you. He likes the sound of you panting from the intensity of cumming that much.
Jack likes knowing that no one else has made you cum like that before.
You're in a bit of a daze, your head swimming from the rush of pleasure, which is why you don't register him grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lap. It isn't until you feel the tip of his cock pushing against your entrance that you wake up from the bliss, startled.
“You can take it.” He eases you down onto his cock. “Lean on me, babydoll.”
You lean your back against his chest as you sink down onto him. You didn't even get a good look at his cock but you can feel how big he is, stirring you up inside like his fingers had.
You breathe out a sigh of relief when he hilts, impressed you managed to take him all the way. You haven't felt this full…ever. He must be the biggest cock you've ever had.
“You took me so well.” He praises you, his hand resting on your lower belly, his fingertips pressing down on where he's resting inside of you. “Do you feel how deep I am?”
You nod, gripping the edge of the table, needing some kind of leverage so you don't collapse from how good he feels buried inside of you. Your eyes stare at the wet spot in the tablecloth, where you came.
Heat rises to your cheeks at the sight.
Did you really cum that hard?
You feel Jack's lips kiss a line from your shoulder to your ear, distracting you from the thoughts swirling your mind. Then, he whispers, so low into your ear, “now imagine how good it'll feel to squirt on your daddy's cock.”
You might not survive that.
You may have initiated this but usually it's more fun to just mess around with someone before killing their ex. You normally don't cum this much, sometimes not even at all. It's mostly supposed to be a memory to touch yourself to afterwards.
But right now, it's looking like Jack is going to be a memory you'll likely never forget.
So you might as well make it unforgettable. “Can I turn around?”
“Why?” He wonders aloud.
“I want to kiss you.” You're honest.
Now Jack is wondering why his heart skips a beat at how cute of an ask that is. He lifts you off of him and helps you straddle his lap while facing him. He guides his cock back inside of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest flush against his, letting him enjoy the sight of your breasts in that low cut sweater of yours.
He wants to rip it off of you. He wants to see you naked.
You can tell what he wants, which is why you lean in and whisper against his lips, “you can have me naked in my bed after this.”
“You want to fuck more than once?” Jack wasn't sure if that was still on the table.
“If you can make me cum like that again, I don't see why not.” You nip at his bottom lip before giving him a kiss. “I like you, Jack.”
Jack reaches up with both hands to cup your face, liking how you relax into his touch. He likes you too. Much, much more than he should.
He barely knows you and yet he wants to see you again and again.
Because you make him feel at ease.
You kiss him so naturally, like your lips were made to be kissed by his. The two of you sit there kissing in that booth, your hips rolling against his, grinding his cock deep inside of you. You ride him just like you wanted to, your lips never wanting to part from his.
You definitely will need to do this again. You're enjoying yourself too much not to fuck him again.
Somewhere along the way, Jack tosses you back down onto the table so he has more space to pound his cock inside of you. He's getting closer to his orgasm, so he needs you to get close to yours. His thumb swipes your clit back and forth as he fucks you, making you rasp out his name beautifully.
“I'm going to cum, Jack.” You can't hold back any longer. “Please cum with me.”
“I want to see you cum on my cock first.” He wants to see you make a mess.
Jack starts fucking you rougher, driving his cock deeper inside of you and you nearly tip over the edge from it. But it isn't until he wraps his hands around your throat and pressing his thumbs down on the center of it that you burst at the seams, cumming so hard when you can't breathe.
You claw at his muscular arms as he continues to choke you through every rough thrust. Jack has always liked it rough, always enjoyed the light look of fear mixed with pleasure. He finds yours to be the most beautiful he's ever seen.
Especially when you're unable to stop cumming beneath him, your eyes so glazed over from the pleasure that he could probably snap your neck and you wouldn't even realize it. You'd be too lost in your head to notice.
So he has to bring you back, loosening his grip on your throat just enough for you to be able to respond to him when he asks you, “do you like getting your pussy fucked like this, babydoll?”
You nod, smiling softly up at him. “Yes, daddy. I love it.”
“Tell me to go harder.” He's going to cum when you do.
“Fuck me harder.” You want it too.
“Good girl.” He leans down, kissing you again as he thrusts wildly inside of you like an animal in heat, no longer holding back his need.
You cum when you feel him pumping every ounce of his release deep inside of you, warmth filling your lower belly. You haven't let anyone cum inside of you this much in a long while.
You're in absolute bliss, which is why you don't hear the door to the bar open.
But Jack does, so he pulls a gun out of the back of his waistband and points it at the person at the door. “Get the fuck out or I'll shoot you.”
The door slams shut immediately after that and you laugh so hard, breaking from your daze a bit. “What the fuck, you had a gun on you? While we were fucking?”
“I grabbed it before I went to wash my hands.” He figured he should be safe than sorry.
The bar isn't in the best neighborhood…
“Just don't shoot me in bed, okay?” You pat his chest, trying to nudge him off of you. But he won't budge. “Jack?”
“You aren't afraid of guns?” He noticed you didn't flinch when he pulled it out.
You're noticing that he's paying a little too much attention to you while his cock is still resting inside of you. Meaning you can't hide the way his question makes your body tense up.
“I grew up shooting them.” You lie because you are not going to explain to him that you took many lessons to learn how to shoot so you could kill people easily.
“Are you a good shot?”
“Are you going to keep your soft cock inside of me or can we have this conversation over breakfast?” You tap at his chest again and thankfully he moves this time.
Jack puts his gun away in his backpack and then comes back to you with some wet wipes he carries in his bag. You take them into the bar's bathroom to freshen up a bit and then go to grab your things, since your shift is over. You leave behind a note saying you quit and that you don't need your last paycheck.
You aren't planning to stay in this city much longer, anyway.
Something that proves difficult because you end up sleeping with Jack every day since then.
Even on the day you kill his ex-boyfriend, Robby.
You had to make sure to do it on a night where Jack was on shift, so that he had an alibi. You saw him the next morning because he has made it a habit to come over to your apartment after work now.
A habit that will end rather abruptly soon.
Because Jack keeps asking you too many questions you can't answer.
Like why you don't have much furniture. Or why you won't tell him your name. Or why you aren't looking for anything serious.
For the first time, you actually feel bad for what you've done. This was supposed to be a one night stand. A little fun, to help him move on.
That's all it was supposed to be.
But then you found the hidden camera Jack installed…
It's fresh, not even a day old. You know that for a fact because you religiously scan your surroundings for any kind of tampering. In case the cops are onto you and you need to bolt.
You realize then that Jack is not normal.
You should've known that from the jump but you ignored the signs since you figured you wouldn't ever see him again.
So, when you leave without a trace, Jack goes crazy.
It's bad enough that no one has heard from Robby in days. Jack went over to check Robby's apartment but he wasn't there. He asked Whitaker if he had heard from Robby but he hadn't either.
Two people in Jack's life have disappeared all of a sudden.
But Jack only seems to care about you.
Because a few days after you cleared out your apartment and left the city, Jack gets a visit from the police that solves what happened to Robby. They ask him where he was the night that you killed Robby and he tells them that he was at work. Then, they tell him that they found Robby's dead body at the bottom of the river.
A clean bullet through the head. Execution style. Like a professional hit.
Since the officers are friends of Jack's, they reveal a little extra detail that they probably shouldn't. That a similar kind of killing happened a year ago just a few cities over.
Same exact gun. Same exact kill shot.
Right between the eyes.
Whoever it was made their victims look at them in the eyes as they killed them.
“What else do you know?” Jack doesn't know if he's asking out of grief or curiosity.
“Apparently, when they interviewed the dead person's ex, they had been convinced by some woman to break up with them a few days prior to the person dying.” The officer shrugs at Jack.
“Did they get a name?”
“Just said to call her “baby”. Isn't that strange?”
Jack maintains a perfect poker face because if he didn't, the officers would know that Robby's murder would for sure be connected to that other murder. But he doesn't say a word about it.
He doesn't know why he protects you.
He just does.
You have no clue how close you were to being caught, or at least put on the radar more than you should be. But you always lay low after a kill.
You have a long cooling off period, an erratic one because you only kill if the universe has you stumble on a miserable person in a shitty relationship. Another saving grace as to why you haven't been caught just yet.
You stay indoors mostly, at the house you own under your real name. You never kill anywhere near where you live. Your neighbors just assume you're off on business all the time.
The only regularity you have is visiting the clinic to see your friend to get tested. You're certain Jack is clean but you had to make sure. You did have a lot of sex with him before you left him.
“By the way, how's the IUD?”
You groan then say, “actually, can you take it out? I don't plan to have sex for a while and I'm sick of the heavy bleeding.”
You got the copper IUD recently and it has been making your periods unbearable. You wouldn't mind a break from it.
So, you get it removed and then spend the rest of the week curled up in bed from the pain.
It's moments like this where you wish you weren't alone.
The life you live can get a little lonely at times but you doubt you'd find anyone who would be okay with what you like to do in your free time.
Though, maybe you should just ask the man that's been hovering over you while you sleep for the past few nights.
Jack is very open to keeping you company.
It took him forever to find you so he definitely isn't going to let you get away from him again.
He had to use every bit of his brainpower to remember the clinic name on your test results sheet. From there, he installed a camera across the street from it so he could catch you when you inevitably visited.
After you did, it didn't take much for him to be able to smooth talk his way into the office by pretending to be a delivery person so he could snoop through the appointment log and find your real name.
Along with your medical file.
And he sees that you currently aren't on any birth control.
Giving him the perfect way to keep you tied to him forever.
You notice the slight tilt in your wall outlet. It's obviously been tampered with. But you can't figure out by who or why…
Because no one should know where you live. The cops definitely shouldn't.
So who…would?
You try not to show that you know there's a hidden camera there. You just go about your day like you normally would. The camera hasn't been there long. Maybe a few hours.
Whoever put it there did it while you were asleep.
You don't know how they managed to get past your cameras.
It would require them to have extensive knowledge of surveillance—oh fuck.
You know exactly who it is.
Because you only know one person who is a veteran with a background in military surveillance.
Though, you can't help but wonder why Jack would go out of his way to find you.
Sure, the sex was great but you literally killed his boyfriend. There's no way he doesn't know by now. He's a smart guy. He has friends in the police since he works with SWAT. He would've figured out it was you who killed Robby.
Could he be here for some kind of revenge plot? But if that was the case, he could've killed you in your sleep.
You doubt Jack is the torturing type. Then again...you do remember the little sadistic streak he had going on. You can still feel how much your ass stung from all of his spanking.
But again, why would he go through the effort of going halfway across the country for you?
What's his endgame?
Is it…you?
You shake away that thought. Again, you doubt you could ever be in a relationship with anyone.
He's here for some reason. He's watching you for some reason.
You won't delude yourself into thinking it's more than some kind of morbid curiosity of his. He hasn't ratted you out to the police yet so there is something he wants.
So, you decide to check to see if it's you he wants. Just to be sure.
You install a hidden camera on a vase of yours and add some flowers to it to bring into your room, placing it perfectly in the corner on a cute little side table.
Then, for fun that night, you touch yourself.
You do it purposefully where Jack can get a nice view of your pussy through his hidden camera and you make sure to cum while moaning his name.
Then, you fall asleep wearing only your favorite nightgown, leaving yourself still dripping wet between your legs.
And sure enough, when you wake up the next morning and head out for the day so you can check your camera footage, Jack was there in your room last night.
With a syringe.
You stare at the video, baffled at the sight of Jack injecting you with a sedative. Then, you watch as he goes down on you for hours before he finally fucks you.
You decide then to put in earbuds so you can listen to the audio.
And it's full of crazed thoughts of his that surely you should not know.
He rants about how you made him crazy for you. He talks about the things he wants to do to you, the things he will do to you.
Like fuck a baby into you in your sleep…
He tells you that it's all your fault he's like this because you seduced him.
So you have to take responsibility for your actions. You have to let him have you. It's only fair.
You've never encountered anyone with this kind of obsession before.
It should scare you.
You should be worried for your life, especially when you hear Jack say that if you don't learn to love him back, he'll kill you like you killed Robby.
But you've always liked to play with fire.
Which is why that night, you do the same thing you did the previous night.
You touch yourself to the memories of Jack.
Then, for the fun of it, you say to yourself as you cum, “I wish my daddy was here to fuck me.”
And you scream when Jack comes out of your closet with a gun in his hand.
“Be quiet, babydoll.” He shuts you up right away when he flips off the safety. “Or I'll shoot you.”
You weren't expecting him to be in your walk-in closet.
How did he get in there without tipping off your camera?
Unless…he knew about it this whole time…
Fuck. Of course Jack did.
He wanted to see what you'd do if he spilled every sick thought out of his head. He expected you to run far away, to be afraid of him.
But you're just as sick as he is, touching yourself to bait him.
Now, he needs to know how far you'll let him go.
“Don't stop because of me.” Jack climbs into bed, hovering over you, his gun pointed right between your eyes. “Keep touching yourself. Let your daddy watch you cum.”
“You only want to watch?” You slide your hand up the length of your body. His eyes follow the ripples you make of the silk you're wearing, the motion so intoxicating. “You could have more than just a look, Jack.”
“Take it off.” He wants to see you bare beneath him.
You obey without hesitation, slipping your nightgown off. Jack scans every inch of you, imagining how you would look with his bite marks all over you. Or with the indent of his pistol pressed into your skin.
He drags the gun down in a straight line, from your forehead to the middle of your breasts, the cold metal causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushes the tip of the barrel against the very center of your body, leaving a nice little ring there.
“I own you now.” He says as he slides the gun back up, resting it against your lips. “Your life is in my hands, babydoll.”
But he knows his words are just words.
Because the truth is, you own him.
With that daring smile of yours and that seductive gaze you give him before you part your lips and pull the barrel of his gun into your mouth, tasting the harsh metal on your tongue.
The moment you start sucking the tip of his gun, Jack kicks off his pants. He needs to be inside of you right now.
You moan against the metal when you feel him drag his cock along the length of your slit before pushing so easily inside of you. He groans when he hilts, letting out an almost frustrated huff at how good you feel wrapped around him.
“Did you miss your daddy's cock?” He smiles when you nod. “God, I missed you. Don't ever leave me again, baby.”
He pulls his gun from your mouth so you can tell him, “you can kill me if I ever run from you again.”
Jack smacks your cheek lightly with his gun as a reprimand. “Don't say something like that.”
“Why?” You pout at him, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him in deeper.
“Because I might actually do it if you ever try.” Jack's threat is real and he likes how you clench around his cock in response.
“I'd let you.” You owe him for keeping your secret. “I'm all yours, Jack.”
“You better be.” He's sick and tired of not having someone who is his entirely.
You place your hand on the ring he made on your chest, tracing the dip in your skin as you make your promise, “you own me until this fades away.”
Jack smacks your hand away with his gun so he can press it back against the center of your chest, digging the mark further into your pretty skin. “Then I might as well shoot you so you can wear that scar for life.”
“You could just buy me a ring.” You flash your left hand at him.
You bite back a giggle when his cock throbs inside of you. “You'd marry me?”
“You'd marry me?” You ask back, earning another one of his annoyed glares.
“Stop doing that and answer my question.”
“I'd like a better proposal than you holding a gun to my chest but yes, I'd marry you.” You let out the chuckle you've been holding in and Jack basks in how wonderful it sounds.
He tosses his gun aside so he can grip the sheets by your head, staring down rather fiercely at you, lust raging in his hazel eyes, “I'm going to fuck you until the sun's out.”
You pull him in closer so you can press a soft kiss against his cheek before whispering, “just until the sun's out?”
He scoffs at that. “You don't want to leave this bed, do you?”
“Not while my daddy's home.” You smile brightly.
Jack likes the thought of that. Of moving away from Pittsburgh. Of making this place his home. Of making you his home.
“Is your friend's clinic hiring?” He asks and you laugh so loud at him.
“Can we just fuck already and then browse job listings after?” You're aching to get railed.
“Someone's being needy.” He rolls his hips against you as a tease. “You don't like keeping your daddy's cock warm while we talk?”
“I'd rather be cumming on it.” You grind your hips up to meet his, desperate for some more friction. “Please fuck me.”
“I might fuck a baby into you if I do.” He's not wearing a condom and you aren't protected anymore.
“You didn't seem to give a shit about that last night.” Your lips curve into a devilish smile that matches the one on his face.
“Touché.” He pulls his cock out of you almost all of the way before ramming it back inside, causing your whole body to shake from the feeling. “I'm going to make sure you get pregnant now.”
Jack then makes it his goal for the night to edge you until you're whining and pleading for him to let you cum.
But he keeps waving off your desperation, saying, “you'll have a higher chance of getting pregnant if you cum hard when I do.”
“You're torturing me.” Your body is hot to the touch and you need to cum.
“Payback for you leaving me.” He considers you both even now.
“I promise I won't ever do that again so please let me cum.” You can't wait any longer.
“Fine.” He slips out of you completely, drawing another whine from your lips. “Flip over, baby. I'll breed you like you want me to.”
You quickly get on your knees and you feel his hand push down on your upper back, having you press your chest against the mattress, burying your face into your pillow. You dig your nails into your sheets the moment you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.
You cum so hard when he slams the entire length of his cock inside of you from behind, your legs quivering from the intensity of it. Your body won't stop shaking because Jack smacks your ass as he fucks you deeper into your mattress, causing tension to coil and burst inside of you.
“Oh fuck—” You muffle your screams into your pillow when you feel his fingers pushing into your pussy along with his cock, filling you up more than you can handle.
“You can take it.” He says with another harsh smack of your ass, which lets him slip his fingers in deeper, curling them as the tip of his cock pushes against your womb. “You're going to cum so much for me, aren't you?”
You nod into your pillow because it would be impossible not to cum from the way he's abusing your pussy like this. You yelp when he slaps your ass even harder.
“I expect a response.” He slows his thrusts until his cock and fingers are just resting inside of you. “Are you going to cum for me?”
“Yes, daddy.” You practically pant out, your mind growing fuzzier by the second.
“Good girl.” He rewards you by fucking you with both his cock and his fingers until you're squirting all over him. “Just like that. Keep cumming, baby.”
“I can't—” You're going to pass out if you keep cumming this hard. “Please, I can't—”
“You can and you will.” He gets rougher now, sending you spiraling, gasping, reeling from every harsh movement.
Jack is pounding into you with so much force that your mattress is shifting beneath you with each thrust. You're seeing stars, your vision going dark, your body bathing in constant waves of pure pleasure that can't seem to end.
Then, you feel Jack's hand against the back of your head, shoving you down into your pillow, cutting off your air. You flail beneath him, trying to stop him, trying to breathe but you can't.
You can only cum. That's all he'll let you do. You're only allowed to take the pleasure he gives you and that's it.
You'll get to breathe when he says so.
“I love my slutty babydoll.” He rams his cock as deep as he can as he pumps hot ropes of cum inside of you. “Taking my cum so well inside her tight pussy. Did that feel good?”
He tugs you up from your pillow by your hair, letting you finally gulp in air before you reply with such delight in your tone, “yes.”
“Want to do it again?” Jack is still hard. He could fuck you until he's soft.
“Please.” You say all breathless and beautiful. “Never stop.”
Jack doesn't give you a break all night, which is fairly reminiscent of all the times you two had sex before. He has too much stamina for a man his age and you have too much determination to let him think he's wrung you out. Even though he definitely has because your pussy is dripping copious amounts of his cum by the time the sun is out.
But when you wake up from your nap, you're completely clean, dressed in a nice pair of cozy sweats.
And there's a morning after pill next to you with a glass of water and some painkillers.
No Jack, though.
“Jack?” You ignore the pills, getting up despite the weakness in your legs.
There's no way he left, right?
You slowly make your way through your house and then notice that the door leading to your basement is open.
Fuck!
Adrenaline spikes through you enough for you to move quickly down the wooden stairs to your cellar, seeing the door to your hidden basement also wide open.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—
You sprint in and see…Jack, standing in the middle of your trophy room, where you keep all the personal effects of the people you've killed. They line the walls, spanning at least a decade of murders you've done.
“You did all this?” Jack turns back to look at you, furrowing his brows at how out of breath and panicked you look. “Everything alright, baby?”
“I…” You don't know what to say.
Because surely whatever you and him have is over, right?
He's going to turn you in, right?
Why wouldn't he after seeing how many people you've killed over the years…
Maybe because he's crazy about you. To the point where this doesn't bother him in the slightest.
But he can tell you're worried so he steps up to you, pulling you into his arms for a hug.
“We're okay.” He pats your head gently. “I don't love you any less.”
“Really?” You ask, both about this and about the fact that he just said he loves you.
“If anything, I'm impressed.” He had read through your logbook, where you wrote down the reasoning behind each kill. They were all terrible partners who hurt the people they were supposed to love most.
“Don't say that…” You shouldn't be praised for your compulsion.
“I'm just stating the obvious.” Anyone would be impressed that you managed to get away with this many murders.
As fucked up as that is…
“Jack…” You're unsure if you believe that he actually accepts the fact that you're a serial killer.
But he reassures you. “I won't tell a soul. I'm not going to let them arrest my fiancé.”
You are left absolutely speechless at that which makes him chuckle.
“God, you are so fucking cute.” He cups your face with his hands, pinching your cheek. “Lighten up. I'm not leaving you and you're not leaving me because if you try, I'll kill you before the FBI gets the chance.”
You look up into his eyes then say, “promise?”
“I promise.” He leans down then to seal that promise with a kiss.
Because now you're stuck with him and all his craziness.
And you wouldn't want him any other way...
a/n: freak4freak nation is back, baby! I had a lot of fun with this one (though I always have fun so this one was just super duper fun!) because I just wanted jack to be so touch starved and nuts that ofc he would be okay if you were a serial killer! that man is a lover boy fr ~
word count: 14.2k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, fem!reader, sex work (obviously!), age gap (20/40), size difference (he calls you “little one” and tosses you around a bit oop-), coercion, lust/love at first sight, misogyny (by other ppl, not pope), very insecure!reader (bc ppl are mean! but don't worry, pope takes care of them), murder (re: previous), inexperienced!reader (and pope loves that you are), praise kink, first kiss, unprotected sex, squirting, fingerfucking, forced orgasms, loss of virginity (on camera!), threats of anal (but no actual anal play!), choking, breeding kink, cnc/rape roleplay, fear play, sex toys, humiliation/degradation kink, he matches your freak (and you bring out his), kind of a slow burn all things considered
summary: andrew cody, better known as his stage name “pope”, is a rising star in the porn world. people love his gritty, dark, aggressive demeanor. so when you, an amateur porn producer, pitches an idea to him that aligns a little too well with his kinks, he finds himself wanting to only work with you.
to the point where he won't fuck anyone on camera that isn't you…
a/n: oh porn star!pope, he has been on my mind and I just had to write him out. he's too yummy (especially when he's fucked up)!
hope it's a sick read ♡
Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills.
Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.
The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week.
They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star.
But it pays the bills better than robbing people.
It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles.
So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun.
It's all for work.
That is, until he meets you.
You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs.
It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age.
“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set.
Could you be his newest co-star?
Why is he…excited over that prospect?
Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once.
He's curious to know what your pussy feels like.
Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one?
Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera?
He wants to make you cum for real.
But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.”
“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you.
The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.”
Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost.
He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before.
Now, he's even more curious about you.
So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so.
You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was.
“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?”
“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would.
“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute.
“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.
You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.”
“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.”
“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up.
Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop.
“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are.
Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves.
You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity.
You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.
It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…
Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help.
But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind.
“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.
“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever.
“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly.
“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.”
You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.
You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.”
“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”
Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”
You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before.
And it's Pope, of all people.
He never invites people over.
His house is his sanctuary.
But he wants you alone.
He wants to get to know you more.
He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own.
“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek.
You must look so flustered right now.
Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else.
He'll have to put on a good show for you.
“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response.
Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that!
Did he really just…
You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work.
You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!
But there's something different about seeing him in person.
About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable.
Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her.
That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot.
It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too.
But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual.
Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot.
All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done.
You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.
But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you.
Pope just likes your scripts…right?
That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written.
You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.
You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much.
Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal…
But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.
“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.”
“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.
“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…”
“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that.
In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is.
“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.”
“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”
“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath.
“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.”
This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you.
You don't know how to react to it…
“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”
“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.”
“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again.
Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you.
You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.
“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”
That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.”
“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips.
The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.
“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”
“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him.
“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”
This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit.
When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair.
Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment.
Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs.
“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.”
“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing…
You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage.
“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.”
His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should.
“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way.
“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.
One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill.
He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting.
“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.”
“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?”
You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”
That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.”
You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him.
His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already.
“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.”
So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss.
“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.”
“Okay, okay.” You know he's right.
You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen.
So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety.
Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves.
You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all.
Just the gentlest little tap on his lips.
Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you.
So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down.
Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away.
It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core.
You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap.
Just the way he wants you to be.
“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.”
He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it.
Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are.
Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much.
“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.”
“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin.
You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…
“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.”
“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him.
Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.”
His precious…
Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true.
What could you offer him that he can't already get?
Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip.
“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.”
Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words.
His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite.
He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you.
You know how big he is. Porn star big.
Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before.
Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already.
“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”
“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.”
You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…”
“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”
“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”
Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure.
“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.”
He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again.
Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit.
You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…
Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased.
“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it.
You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would.
But you want to cum.
It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself.
You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope.
So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.”
“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?”
Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous.
“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—”
“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no.
He likes that you're so easy to convince.
“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.
“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”
“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”
You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name.
“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.”
“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”
You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop.
“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”
Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand.
It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away.
In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm.
Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to.
“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.
You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight.
Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?”
“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life.
You thought that was just something that happened in porn…
“How sorry?” He wonders aloud.
“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.
“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”
You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants.
“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.”
You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth.
He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself.
Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.
You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…
It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?”
“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.”
“W-What?” You weren't expecting that.
“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno.
“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested.
“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else.
He only wants you.
“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.
But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.”
“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best.
It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.
“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”
Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off.
You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.
You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours.
“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest.
You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all.
It's oddly…sweet.
“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.”
You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag.
“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.”
You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.
“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure.
You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum.
So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful.
He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth.
Your first time swallowing his cum.
You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release.
“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera.
“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”
“You did.” You say the only correct response.
Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”
You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip.
“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you.
"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach.
“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.”
You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?”
Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?”
You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”
You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.
“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”
“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?”
“Pope—”
"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name.
You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew.
Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him.
Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before.
He'll have to change that.
“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”
“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from.
“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show.
But you can't want that.
Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.
So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”
“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you.
“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.
“Why not?”
“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break.
“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words.
“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for.
“Answer the question.” He's more stern now.
You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his.
But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”
“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.”
“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night.
“What?” He parrots you.
“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making.
“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.”
You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…
“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer.
“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.”
“You want to…” You're speechless.
Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible.
“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?”
“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?”
“You gave me a great blowjob.”
“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”
“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.”
You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom.
“What are we doing here?”
“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now.
He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you.
“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest.
You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous?
It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.
So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you?
You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.
Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.”
“Is that what you think I'm going to do?”
You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.
“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?”
You shrug. “I don't know…”
“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want.
“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest.
“Tell me.” He wants to know.
“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.”
“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?”
You nod.
“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting.
“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.”
“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking.
“Andrew, I'm serious.”
“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.”
“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?”
“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal.
You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours.
Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts.
“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.”
“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good.
He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.
“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.”
It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms.
But you are.
Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before.
There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to.
He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide.
Does he need to hide them from you?
The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his.
Shall he test you?
You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck.
“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen.
And you can't believe how turned on you are.
Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept.
Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert.
So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?”
Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead.
“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!”
“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.”
In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison.
The one that yearns for the dark.
Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this.
The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.
You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope.
This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him.
You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality.
Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere.
Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers.
And now, he has to fuck you up.
You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to.
You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.”
“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh.
You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you.
Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.”
“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.
“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up.
You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.
He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you.
You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair.
It smells like him. You like that a lot.
“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?”
You nod. “Refreshed.”
“Want some water?”
“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing.
Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?
Would he even—
Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours.
When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place.
“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has.
Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer.
“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that.
Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?”
You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.”
That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.”
You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts.
He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching.
You like Pope, a lot.
So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this.
It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…
“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”
“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer.
But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”
“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.”
You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.”
“We just met.” You remind him.
“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations.
“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”
Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.”
“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth.
“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that.
As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you.
Especially with you.
“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing.
“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.
You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear.
“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you.
It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.”
“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you.
He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before.
He would give it all up for you.
But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”
“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you.
No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice.
“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.”
“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.”
You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?”
“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”
“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before.
How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down?
Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera.
“Why don't we practice?”
“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera.
“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”
“You would…wait that long?”
“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him.
You nod. You'd like that a lot.
So, that's what you and Pope do.
You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.
He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning.
And Pope thanks you for his success.
He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.
It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them.
He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off.
It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue.
You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you.
You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you.
You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.
“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.”
“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though.
You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star.
But you urge him against it.
It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone.
You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account.
Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore.
He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.
He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it.
Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone.
But he belongs to you.
And you're starting to feel bad about it.
You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.
These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body.
You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go.
You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes.
But you don't know Pope.
Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore.
If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you.
Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you.
You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.
Your behavior is making him lose his mind.
He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this.
Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse.
Even though Pope's life feels empty without you…
So empty that he has to fill the void somehow.
And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his.
You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.
But apparently, some people don't like this video at all.
He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs.
They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil.
Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.
Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you?
These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one.
Pope will handle it.
He'll handle each and every one of them.
Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore…
You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately.
You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?”
“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would.
Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf.
This is easy. He'd do anything for you.
The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark.
You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised.
He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again.
As long as you belong to him.
It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far.
And it sells like hotcakes.
People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time.
Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you.
That frightened expression never leaves your face.
Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?”
And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.”
You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.
But now you're…scared.
More scared than you've ever been.
Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough.
His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals.
But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…
“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat.
Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?”
“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?”
“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”
“Andrew, that's not funny.”
“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.
He has to be joking. There's no way…
You can't be here if he's being serious.
“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms.
“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”
Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs.
He knows you want him too.
You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday.
Even if you're afraid of it right now.
You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.
“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting.
“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”
“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.”
“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.
But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.”
And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly.
“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”
“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.
Has Pope been taking his pills?
He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is?
You love all of him, don't you?
Don't you?
“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move.
“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be.
“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”
“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.
Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake.
You seem ungrateful though…
“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”
“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”
“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now.
“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.”
You are in complete disbelief.
Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people?
People who specifically were rude and nasty to you?
Do they even deserve to live?
You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you.
You shouldn't encourage this behavior.
You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you.
This is fucked up, beyond fucked up.
It's your wildest fantasy come true.
But some fantasies should stay fantasies…
Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.
Is that really a bad thing?
Can't you just…enjoy being his?
Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now.
And it makes you sick how much you like it.
“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.”
Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that.
He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged.
“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”
Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear.
“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”
Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.
The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before.
Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up.
Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't.
You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.
That's when you start to actually panic.
Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex.
But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want.
He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now.
Live on camera.
You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are.
You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you.
He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down.
“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.”
“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around.
He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out.
The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”
You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy…
“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?”
He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”
“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?”
You nod reluctantly.
“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced.
“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull.
“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”
He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear.
Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.”
“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one.
“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.”
“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?”
Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips.
He has missed the feel of your lips on his.
It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed.
“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.”
“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now.
You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.”
“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do.
“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”
“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further.
But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.”
His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.”
“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin.
“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already.
When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.”
“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.”
You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.
You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like.
“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you.
“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.”
“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud.
“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it.
“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.”
“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you.
“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.
Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute.
“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”
He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”
You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst.
“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”
Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera.
“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.”
You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice.
And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break.
“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again.
You're so overstimulated…
Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.”
Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core.
Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him.
So he has to pull out every trick in the book.
Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you.
“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.
“Please.” You want him so badly.
Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick.
“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.”
Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly.
“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.”
Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this.
“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”
“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?”
He growls low. “I love it.”
His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes.
“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.”
You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”
The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles.
He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react.
You just cum. That's all you can do.
“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”
His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.”
You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight.
And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?”
Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release.
You don't want it to end.
You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life.
Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.
“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”
“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose.
“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now.
“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!”
“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.”
You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck.
Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy.
He can't possibly quit now!
Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers.
Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers.
You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.
He needs you to have his baby.
You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you.
It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release.
The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive.
Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything.
And you're happy to see him like that.
So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed.
He surely won't once he finds out.
And you're looking forward to it.
a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)
summary: Brendon Park has no patience for small talk, distractions, or uncertainties. Unfortunately, for him, you happen to be all three of those.
w.c: 5.2K
warnings: the complexities of being Brendon park, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, character study kind of, no physical description of reader, flirting (Brendon’s way of flirting), medical inaccuracies, sunshine-ish!reader?? Only with Brendon though, grammatical errors
author's note: reblogs, likes, asks, and comments are greatly appreciated. enjoy! Sorry the ending may feel a lil rushed but... this was just for fun! will go back to edit this soon! It’s 3am lol
Brendon Park was notoriously an asshole. everyone who worked at the PTMC knew that first hand. he could make you cry with just a single, unimpressed stare. he knew he was one. It came with the job of being a surgeon.
Surgery required the upmost precision because the human body was a machine. It required perfection and nothing less.
With a high stress job that required him to be perfect in every single aspect that he did, he expected the same thing from his colleagues. Including naive, stupid medical students and residents. He had no patience for incompetence-excuses.
Perfection meant everything to Brendon. It meant that there was no room for mistakes. Mistakes were a luxury reserved for people who weren't good enough. Every single decision made in his OR had to be deliberate.
Every incision had to be exact. He expected-no, he demanded excellence because anything less than that had consequences.
Residents called him ruthless. Others called him an asshole. What they failed to realize was that he simply had standards. Standards that they failed to reach. If they wanted him to coddle them, they should've chosen a different field of medicine. If they wanted encouragement, they should've stayed downstairs and sought out Abbot or Robby.
Because to him, excellence was expected not rewarded.
He had no time for coddling. He had no time for making other's feel better about themselves for their lack of discipline. He wasn't interested in intentions, potential, or excuses. Results and accuracy were all that truly mattered to him. The operating room wasn't a classroom. It certainly wasn't a therapy session. It was a place where the excellent thrived. It was a place where if you hesitated, you were done. It wasn't a place for the ordinary.
Because patients did not care if a resident's feelings were hurt. They did not care if you thought, if you didn't know, if Brendan looked at you like you were nothing.
What they cared about is if they would be able to walk again. They cared about whether their arm would be back to normal. They cared about whether they could play football again—if their career could potentially be over.
If someone couldn't handle criticism (and disdain in Brendan's case), then they had no business being in his OR. The scalpel didn't care about feelings. Anatomy didn't care about feelings. The unconscious patient with an amputated arm certainly did not care about feelings either.
And most importantly, neither did Brendon.
Because if he smelled a single hint of hesitation, then he was out for blood. Hesitation meant uncertainty. It meant that there was gaps in your knowledge that needed to be filled before you even stepped into his OR.
It meant that you didn't study enough, weren't prepared enough, and hadn't practiced enough.
You were simply not enough.
And Brendon did not need someone in his OR, being uncertain. Uncertainty led to mistakes. Mistakes that could have been prevented if you didn't second-guess the knowledge that should have been drilled within you before you entered his OR.
And for that matter, he expected excellency.
Orthopedics was precision. Measurements mattered.
Alignments mattered. Angles mattered. If a screw is placed a few millimeters off, a reduced fraction would not heal properly. It would be permanent. It would mean patients would live with the consequences that was created in his OR after everyone else got to go home like nothing.
He had spent years of studying until the backs of his eyes burned and until his mind felt numb. Years of refining techniques, repetition after repetition, understanding the human physiology-until precision stopped becoming an effort. It became natural to him and expectation.
And everyday, he maintained that standard. He expected the same thing from his residents, his fellows.
In his field, there was no room for guesses or approximations. A crushed femur or patella wasn't fixed with intention. It was fixed with alignments, measurements, and perfect execution. Because millimeters, angles, alignments, and stability mattered the most. Every single screw that's required to stabilize a bone had its own purpose. Its own position. Every reduction of a fracture had to be exact.
Years ago, when he had made a mistake-small, practically insignificant, fixable, and forgettable in everyone's eyes.
But he remembered it clear as day.
He corrected it immediately. His old attending-now retired-had laughed and patted him in the back. It's okay, he had said. Years of teaching unprepared, unconfident residents had made him accustomed to seeing mistakes.
But it wasn't okay. Not to Brendon at least. It didn't make him breathe easier knowing that his old mentor wasn't upset. It ruined his day. And he punished himself internally for making a simple, insignificant mistake.
He never made another one after that.
So yes, while his standards and expectations may be exceedingly high and unattainable in many eyes-Brendon saw no reason to lower them. He believed patients deserved excellence and nothing less. No one should expect that from him either.
He was respected, feared, and avoided. His word was absolute-it was law. Residents learned quickly to steer clear of him, to speak when spoken to, and to keep conversations very brief. He didn't want to have small talk. He wasn't interested in knowing how your day was or how you were doing today.
He preferred to conversations that were purely medical, nothing personal. It had to be the point, precise, and clear. Because if something could be said in five words easily, then it was unjustified for you to speak ten more.
And according to the unlucky ones, asking him if he had any plans on Christmas was apparently enough to land you on his shit list.
His OR wasn't silent because he expected silence. It was only silent because he was silent. The only noise that was constant was the sound of him brutally hammering a screw into the bone and the sound of music playing.
Music that depended entirely on his mood.
On very rare occasions, he did allow you, the anesthesiologist, to choose. Those were rare occasions.
Those were not moments of generosity. They were controlled exceptions and were rare for a reason.
(The day this happened, it took an ounce of willpower for the surgical crew to not openly gape at Brendon. To them, this was an act of generosity. They understood this was Brendon playing nice. A form of an olive branch. He was being nice!)
It wasn't a courtesy, or a gesture of familiarity but because you had earned a level consistency he respected. Because you both had a mutual understanding of precision, perfection. Your decisions were consistent. They were precise. You did not hesitate when it mattered and you didn't speak when it didn't.
You understood what needed to be done and you never faltered in your decision-making.
Everything you did was concise. Your actions were deliberate. Controlled. It did not matter if it challenged the dynamics of his OR. If it was correct, than it stood.
You did not disrupt it without reason.
He recognized the type of person you were because he was exactly like you. While he had his expectations in his department, you had yours within yours. He's seen you with your own students. You weren't as harsh as Brendon but your words carried their own weight. You didn't just correct mistakes, you exposed them. They lingered. They hurt. And your residents remembered them long after the moment had passed.
You upheld your own expectations. You wanted just as much perfection as Brendon because patients deserved excellency. They did not deserve mediocrity. They did not need to hear excuses. Because they did not care what you felt or what you thought. They cared if they would survive a surgery, if the operation succeeded, if they would feel the pain that would come from a scalpel under anesthesia. Because they trusted you with their lives.
Therefore, they deserve nothing but the best. More than the best.
You're sitting in your chair by head of the operating table, next to your anesthesia machine and monitors. You have a cross word puzzle book in your lap, held steady your pink clipboard. Like every other anesthesiologist, you're calm. But not in the way you blend into the background.
It's more deliberate than that. Your presence is quiet, not absent.
You do not position yourself to be noticed unless the situation requires it. You do not fill the silence with unnecessary speech like other anesthesiologists. You stay within your means, crossing out words with your pink highlighter, anchored to head of the table.
He's in the middle of reducing a fracture fragment when Brendon inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of blood filling the surgical field.
Immediately the sound of beeping fills the room. The numbers of the monitor are dropping significantly. You lower your puzzle book down on your chair. Your eyes shift to numbers beside, focused and immediate. You stand up.
Everyone near Brendon stiffens. They recognize it instantly that something was going wrong. You gaze over the surgical curtain and look at Brendon.
"BP's dropping." You state calmly.
He doesn't look at you. His eyes never stray away from his hands and what he's mechanically doing with them.
Without breaking a sweat or focus. Brendon motions to his surgical tech.
"Gauze."
There's a brief hesitation before she places it in his hands. He looks at her briefly, scrutinizing her for daring to even hesitate.
She freezes and quickly mutters a quiet, "Sorry.." He ignores her apology and continues what he's doing.
Again, you're looking at the monitors before looking back him. "Saturation is at 92."
"Noted." He says. He continues what he's doing. He's done this multiple times. He knows what he's doing and he knows what the numbers on the monitors say.
He doesn't panic, he isn't worried. He could tell that the resident next to him is sucking in his breath, sweating profusely. If he wasn't so focused, he'd roll his eyes. Fear would only cripple you in these case. And that meant making mistakes because you can't think.
You're still standing, staring at him expectantly as he works diligently to fix the current issue.
"BP is still trending down. 88 systolic."
"Cause?" Again, his eyes still don't stray away to look at you.
“Likely retraction. Volume is unchanged." You respond.
"Ease retraction."
The resident holding the retractors hesitates for only a second before he complies, loosening his hold. This mere second was enough for him know that hesitation didn't go unnoticed. He knows-just as everyone in the room knows-that this will be corrected later. Outside this room, in a different context, there will be consequences.
The sound of rushed beeping slowly dissipates into a more rhythmic sound. You look at the monitor one last time. Satisfied, you give a small nod at Brendon before grabbing your pink clipboard, then sit back down in the chair.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze wanders and it lands on you. You’re sitting there, pink highlighter in your hand as you cross out another word. You’re composed and unaffected by the tension that follows him.
It's silent again in the room. The only constant is the music. Tension and perhaps anxiety lessens in small increments. Even the resident exhales a small, very quiet sigh of relief and his shoulders lower.
Outside of his service, the silence was never the same.
You weren't always the anesthesiologist that would be assigned to his cases. Sometimes you were pulled in at nights with Walsh. Other times, you would be with Shamsi. Normally it was for a day where you wouldn't be on his case. It was never more than a day.
It often varied. You didn't seem to mind. You liked the variety. Every surgeon was different and the music taste was sometimes interesting.
But people began to notice something. When you weren't assigned to his case, the difference in Brendon was immediate.
Resident's noticed first. They noticed how the atmosphere shifted, how it deteriorated quickly under him if your presence wasn't there to stabilize the rhythm of the room. Small mistakes seemed to be corrected loudly. His silence was heavier, borderline uncomfortable. It was demanded.
Unfortunately for them, you wouldn't be on his cases for a week or maybe longer. You'd been on call for the night shift. It was then that they truly noticed the change in his behavior.
He became worse.
Your absence became the bane of residents' existence.
His OR, despite already having its own expectations, became brutal. It was unforgiving in the way where the most experienced scrub nurse that had been working under Brendon for years began to hesitate. Residents quickly learned that during your absence, things like breathing too loudly or moving too slowly would be enough to be scrutinized.
Sometimes, it would be enough for them to get removed off the case.
Brendon knows something is wrong with him. He understands that his behavior has been borderline aggressive, even for his standards. He finds himself feeling irritated by little things. Residents have been dismissed for insignificant mistakes he normally would have corrected. His routine felt disrupted and he didn't know what it was that was causing it.
At first, he blamed the cases. Then the residents. Then it was the schedule.
Until he caught himself lifting his gaze lift from his surgical field to the head of the operating table. Again.
And again, every single surgery. Only to find a different anesthesiologist sitting there. Not you.
Every time he would enter his OR, his eyes would instinctively search for your pink clipboard that would be balanced on your lap. Instead he was greeted by a book of sudoku.
The irritation would unfold almost immediately.
Brendon Park does not do idle chit chat. That is well known amongst his peers and those that work under him. He does not care about what is polite and what isn't. He doesn't care about how you are doing. He does not care about what your plans for Fourth of July will be.
He cares about getting to the point without beating around the bush. He cares about clarity and things that could be said within five words or less. He wants to know the vitals of patients. Whether the amputation sight was clean. What bones required surgeries.
But he finds himself wanting to speak to you. To indulge in the simplicities of small talk. Of knowing how your day is going. If you had any plans for Fourth of July. His interactions with you outside of the OR become simple.
Questions that are direct, they're straightforward and they wouldn't beat around the bush.
Of where you were. Of who had stolen you from right under his nose for their own needs.
He finds you sitting in the nurses' station in his department on a chair with a tablet in your hands. Next to you is a cup of coffee, to which he identifies is from the break room. Your pink clipboard is also next to you.
"You weren't on my service last week."
You look up upon hearing his deep voice and small smile appears on your face once you realized it was him. It's subtle. Uncomplicated. He thinks that you look beautiful.
The realization is immediate and unwelcomed. It makes him clench his jaw.
You turn your body fully to him and lower your tablet down to give him your full attention. If you're surprised that he started a conversation with you, you don't show it.
Most people did.
You look tired. Not physically tired-though he's sure that you are-but weighed down in a way he doesn't know how to identify. The bags under your eyes are slightly darker than usual. Your shoulders seem to carry a tension that certainly wasn't there a week ago.
He noticed it immediately from just this interaction. It's just noticeable. It's a detail that he's sure other surgeons would be able to notice. Small details, minor deviations, out of the norm. Just a change that other's possibly overlooked.
He hadn't.
A part of him questioned why he paid so much attention to this. He didn't remember the last time he paid this much attention to anyone outside of his OR.
Because that's what made him a good surgeon, he reason. Able to notice minute details like this while other's couldn't. That's all it is. It's so obvious.
"No, I was on call for nights."
"Neurosurgery?" He asks.
You blink in surprise. You didn't think he noticed you.
Rather, you didn't think he even cared enough to notice.
You nod in response, unsure whether to answer him vocally. The rumors of Park The Shark and his issues with small talk didn't go unheard for you.
Brendon studies you for another moment. He wants to ask you things. Things that were uncharacteristic of him.
Subjects that he normally strayed away from because he didn't care to know. But he wants to know. He wants to know so terribly that it's leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. That makes him want to smack himself in front of a mirror because he isn't like this.
Past romantic interactions like this never left him like this. He feels like his body is malfunctioning and that he needs to somehow perform a factory reset because - this isn't him.
Attraction was simple. It was predictable. It was easy to understand and compartmentalize.
"You look exhausted." There is no sympathy in his tone.
It was a statement of fact. It was an easy observation.
The same way he could easily identify a hairline fracture on an x-ray.
Yet, this doesn't feel like it's meaningless.
Your smile widens into something more. He doesn't know how to describe it. It's genuine, he supposed. It's terrifyingly beautiful. He feels hooked, lost in it.
"I'm exhausted, yes. The night shift does that to you, yknow? Especially having to listen to jazz on repeat for days."
A grin pulls at your lips.
"I think I still prefer your playlist a lot more than other surgeons so far. Dr. Park."
You tilt your head up and look at him. And you really do look at him, your eyes scan his stone-cold face and observe him. You take all of him in. You're not afraid of him. You don't look like you want to run away from this interaction. Your shoulders are relaxed and you lean into your chair more as you really look at him.
You're amused. "I actually feel alive in your OR, Dr. Park."
Brendon stares at you. For a moment, he forgets to answer. The sense, the feeling of malfunctioning is stronger now. It's almost like he is unable to respond.
Which is the most concerning because he always has a response.
Finally, he inhales through his nose.
"That's because my playlists are actually better."
These words left him before he could think. Before he could stop himself from speaking them. It was dry, so matter-of-fact. He realized too late that it was his lame attempt at a joke. At teasing. But the horror is instant.
A brief moment of silence.
Your eyes widen ever so slightly for only a fraction of a second. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
Brendon doesn't react outwardly. But he registers the way your expression shifts from recognition to amusement.
He had made a joke. You laugh once more much more quietly until you settle down with a soft smile on your lips. You look like you've accepted something that he hasn't.
"Oh, yeah? I'll trust your medical opinion on that then." Brendon exhales through his nose but the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. A detail that didn't go unnoticed by you.
The interaction didn't take long for it to be shared amongst his department. It only took one nurse and a resident to notice. A shift in tone they weren't supposed to notice. A sound that didn't belong in the halls that Brendon Park walked in. Laughter was shared between nurses, techs, and residents. It was never shared with Dr. Park.
But curious minds that had nothing better to do stayed curious.
They spoke in hallways. In the break rooms. In shared on-call rooms.
"Did you hear that Dr. Park made a joke?"
"What- There's no way!"
"Well, she laughed."
"And he smiled!"
A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor made by one bored nurse and resident. Because there was no way that the renowned, asshole of an orthopedic surgeon with a major stick up his ass was capable of cracking a joke. Let alone making someone else laugh.
Or even smile.
But the consensus amongst his residents was clear.
"Brendan Park-The Shark-practically smiled."
The news spread quickly like rumors often do in hospitals. He hears about it the same way he hears other rumors. Indirectly. It starts with an R4 hesitating to speak to him. A nurse nearly smiles at him before deciding not to.
Even Abbot and Robby pause when they see him in the corridor of the ED. A joke was forming between them-Brendon can clearly see the way they glance at each other with knowing smirks.
But it never comes out. They focus on the incoming trauma that they called him to look over. He registers the way Ahemed tries to shift his position in front of the betting board. The way Perlah, Santos, and Princess stare at him and whisper to each other in Tagalog. The word "anesthesiologist" doesn't go unnoticed by him either.
He continues moving through the department as he always does-precise and unaffected in appearance. This was out of his control. Things were unraveling and he already disliked it.
He's sure you're aware of it as well.
If the way you looked at him sometimes-amused, calm, and equally unaffected by whatever everyone around you was overanalyzing —is any indication. You meet his gaze too easily in passing corridors. Long enough to mean something between the two of you. But not long enough for others to deem is provocative.
Because you both move on as if it meant nothing. As if it was just two colleagues greeting each other politely.
This, specifically more than anything, was what made people notice.
You smile when he nods at you in greeting. It's brief, practically unnoticeable because of the way your expression smooths over as if your smile was never there to begin with. It was deliberate. It was for him to notice.
But your residents noticed. They quickly pick up on it first. A glance of one of your R2s in his direction then one towards you when you pass by. Some will look at both you for a brief second before looking back down to their charts with a knowing smile.
As of now, you look better than the last interactions you've had. Your shoulders no longer seem to bear that tension you had before. He pauses in his stride as you both come across each other in an empty corridor.
"Dr. Park," you greet him. Your expression is composed-professional-but the small smile that seemed to be reserved only for him flickers in and out before you suppress it.
He nods at you. "Tomorrow. You're on my service."
You let out a soft exhale that resembled a quiet laugh, your smile widens briefly.
"You're getting very predictable, Brendon."
You said his name. It's simple. Casual but lands with more weight than it should. Brendon stops and for a moment, what he feels is akin to a robot malfunctioning—he really looks at you. His head is turned slightly to stare at you. He doesn't speak. He simply takes all of you in.
It's affecting him in a way he doesn't have a logical explanation to. He is well aware that these new found sensations in his body are becoming exceedingly difficult to compartmentalize, which is the problem. Because Brendon Park does not operate without it.
For the first time again, he isn't sure how to respond None of the options in his head feel correct. He could ignore it. He could pretend that he didn't hear the way his name rolls off the top of your tongue perfectly.
You hold his gaze, knowingly.
"Don't use my name like that." He isn't reprimanding you. He isn't upset by the use of his name. It's a more of a constraint for him. A warning of what would happen if you continue doing it.
You tilt your head slightly. You're clearly amused by him again. You don't step back or get intimidated by his response. You should. Everyone else would. You're studying him and it feels like you're stripping him down to his core. Like you know what he truly meant.
Somehow, he feels that's worse.
Brendon sharply inhales through his nose, his eyes still haven't left yours. A beat passes by.
"...Not here."
He doesn't elaborate any further. He doesn't explain what these last two words truly mean. He continues walking to the opposite direction of you. Leaving you left to your own thoughts, amusement rather.
His next surgery is with you. It's on Wednesday.
He knows this because he looked at the OR schedule ahead of time. Once. Then once more. Then again. Until he was positive that no one had changed your name overnight. He knows his behavior is ridiculous. It's unbecoming of a surgeon of his caliber.
Brendon Park does not need to double check a surgery schedule. He looks at them once and memorizes them and moves on. There was no need for him to triple check if your name was there.
You are assigned to his case and that should be the end of it.
But it isn't. Because he finds himself looking forward to seeing you in your chair and your pink clipboard. Seeing you cross out words you found in your crossword with the bright neon pink highlighter you always bring. To see the way you would smile at him-subtle and only meant for him. You are aware of the effect you have on him.
But seeing your name on his cases isn't important as the real reason he's been checking your schedule. For the past few weeks, everyday. And everyday for these past few weeks, you both had different days off. Nothing was aligned and lately, his residents have noticed the mood he's been in because of that.
But today he checked the schedule. Every Sunday, the schedules get updated. And immediately he goes to find your name-hoping to find aligned days off.
You're both walking out of his OR simultaneously down the corridor that led you to the elevator. You're both silent but maintaining the aura of professionalism you both normally keep. He waits to say something until you're both in the elevator.
"You have tomorrow off." He states. "And the day after."
Matter-of-fact as always. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was accurate. It was direct. He knew your schedule because he memorized it.
You blink at him and you nod, slowly and for the first time-you are confused. This dance between the two of you has been predictable, in a way. You have learned the language that comes with understanding Brendon Park.
The nuances and the significance of his words, his attention.
You're not understanding him. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly.
"You've been working a lot of hours." Brendon says. "Too many, actually."
And immediately, the fact was wrapped with concern.
No, it was care. His wording was precise. It was deliberate like it always was with Brendon. You finally understand and you look at him with more than amusement, you smile. This time it's wide and it wasn't subtle. It was loud.
You're beautiful, he thinks.
"You know, normal people would just ask me to get dinner, Brendon."
Brendon pauses and he stares at you. His gaze is heavy and his fingers twitch. He's sure of himself this time. For the first time, he knows exactly what he wants to say.
There is no hesitation. No uncertainty that would cloud his judgement and years of knowing. For the first time in a long time of knowing you, the answer comes easily.
"Would you say yes?"
You grin widens instantaneously. Finally, no more subtle glances in the OR. No more interpreting intent and words like they contained double meanings. No more pretending that what this is was purely professional.
Especially when the lines of professionalism have slowly blurred for the both of you.
You bring your palm forward and you squeeze his bicep.
You're bold but it doesn't matter anymore. Not when he already has the words he wants to say. The feelings he wants to express.
"What do you think?" You ask teasingly.
"You've been checking my schedule for weeks, haven't you?"
Brendon closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Then for the first time since you've known him, he looks at you with almost fondness mixed with exasperation.
"My schedule hasn't lined up with yours."
You stare at him with awe. Then you burst into loud laughter because he didn't even deny the fact. His response was an admission. That he was obsessively checking when your days off would align. To prepare for this.
"That's really your defense?"
"It's a factual statement." He responds.
"Yes-" You pause. "but you've been checking."
He holds your gaze and he clenches his jaw, inhales sharply at your statement.
"Yes."
His admission landed harder than anything you've heard.
It was real and it was profoundly like Brendon to not beat around the bush. To cut to the chase. To not make excuses. He was precise with his words.
The grin on your face couldn't get any bigger. This was the real you. The side that not many got to see. Just as this side of him was the side that no one but you got to see. It was reserved for you, jusy like the side you only showed him was reserved for him.
"Dinner." Brendon says.
You raise a brow at him. "Dinner?"
"And coffee." Brendon nods. "Tomorrow."
“Oh, and coffee? You really want to see me twice in a day, huh?” You grin. "So you're finally asking me out?"
Immediately, Brendon sighs and brings his hand to his face. "Apparently, yes."
You beam at him and you give his bicep one more squeeze as the elevator doors open to your floor. You wave at him as you exit the elevator.
"It's a date then!"
Warmth settles in the pit of his stomach as he stares at your face before the doors close. He presses his back against the wall and he looks down at the floor. It's quiet and it is just him. Slowly, a smile makes its way to his face and lets out breath that resembles a soft laugh.
“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad
Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph
I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back
I'm always on my own.”
-All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. fic has been crossposted on ao3 and is linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist | ao3
“Your family’s in town?”
You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries.
You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.
“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”
“Dinner circuit?”
You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”
“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”
You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.”
“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”
“So your fucked, basically.”
Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.”
“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”
“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”
You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”
He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”
“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”
“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”
“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”
“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”
“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”
“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”
Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”
“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.
“Mom?”
“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”
“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“
She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.”
“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“
“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”
You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”
“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“
“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”
“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Jack.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures.
Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.
“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.
“You work with my daughter?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”
Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke.
She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.
“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.
“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“
You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.
Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.
“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.
The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.
“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“
“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”
“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”
He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”
You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”
“Are those desired outcomes?”
“Mostly.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”
It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack.
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”
“You could.”
“Wipe out my entire family?”
“Take me to dinner with you.”
Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious.
“Are you joking?”
He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—
“No.”
You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“
“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”
What. The. Fuck.
“No.” You gape, incredulous.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“
“Jack.”
You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“
“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”
“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”
“In the ED, obviously.”
“How long have we been together?”
“Month and a half.”
“Why are we even dating?”
“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.
“Have you… thought about this?”
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”
“Are you rich?”
There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile.
“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”
You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”
“But you do?”
“They’re my family.”
Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere.
You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?”
“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”
“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”
“Beats drinking beer in the park.”
You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.
“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”
“Flowers?”
“Naturally.”
“You pay?”
“For every meal.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Navy blue. Mine?”
You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.
“Will she really be that upset about it?”
“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”
“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”
“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.
“Deal.”
—
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.
You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go.
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—
“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.
“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.
“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”
You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”
“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.”
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You could swap me with someone else?”
“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”
“Touché.”
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”
“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.
“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”
“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”
“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”
He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“
“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.
“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”
“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”
Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”
He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.
“You smell good.”
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.
“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”
You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.
(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”
“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”
“Fair point.”)
By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.
At least, that’s what he says.
“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”
“Singing your praises, of course.”
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable.
The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying.
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.
You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:
“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“
You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well.
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.
“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place.
“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”
Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”
Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.
“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“
“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”
Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”
Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”
You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.
“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.”
Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.
“How’d I do?”
You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.
To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:
“Do you really wanna do this right now?”
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for.
“So. Dr. Abbot—”
“Just Jack is fine.”
“—How long have the two of you been dating?”
“A month and a half.”
“Why’d you start dating?”
You take a generous gulp of your wine.
“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in.
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.
That’s going in the mental folder.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear.
“Mr. Abbot—“
“Either Doctor or Jack works.”
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.
But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.
This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.
“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?”
Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot.
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.
“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.”
For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way.
He’s perfect.
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look.
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide.
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.
“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”
Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
“Jack?”
“They didn’t even talk to you.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”
You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.
“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“
“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”
Oh.
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”
Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”
“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”
“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”
Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?”
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
“Of course I remember.”
There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present.
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone.
Jack just keeps looking at you.
He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.
“You’re so much more than them.”
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.
“What?”
“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.”
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.
“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“
“No.”
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.
An old habit.
Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.”
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“
“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.”
“Jack—“
“Please.”
You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain.
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.
“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”
You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?”
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.
(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.
You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better?
“You have that look on your face.”
You frown. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
“It’s freaky when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always know what I’m thinking.”
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?”
“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad.
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.
Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger.
“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?”
The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it.
He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.”
“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”
“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”
“Maybe I‘ll—“
“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.”
You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.
“Goodnight.”
He gives you a little smile of his own.
“Goodnight.”
—
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you.
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.
“This really isn’t a good time—“
“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.”
“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”
“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.
“She fight back at all?”
“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.”
“Christ.”
“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”
“Fuck. Do you think—“
“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.”
“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?”
“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”
Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.
“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”
“It’s different.”
“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”
“You lost me on that last one.”
“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Bit late for that.”
“You could pull back.”
“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”
“She is a grown woman.”
“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.
“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”
Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.”
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.
“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.”
“I save lives too.”
“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”
“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.
—
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.
It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest.
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:
“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?”
And:
“What’s Jack like on a date?”
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him.
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.
(“…I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”)
It’s all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.
But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else.
It’s how they treat you.
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too.
But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different.
It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal.
“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?”
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
“I’m not hiding from you.”
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”
“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.”
“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.
You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing.
It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen.
“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”
He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give.
“I’m just worried.”
“You? Worried? No.”
You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”
“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.
“Why do you care?”
The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place.
You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do.
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.
“Why do I care about what?”
“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.”
It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for.
He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight.
“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”
“But why?”
“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?”
You snort. “Guilty as charged.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh.
“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”
You frown. “It is.”
“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.”
You scoff. “So this is about my family.”
He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They are.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“It’s not a competition.”
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because it’s a big deal to you.”
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you.
It’s Jack who speaks first though.
“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.”
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.
“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.”
“We will?”
“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out.
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him.
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head.
“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself.
That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.”
He would. He totally would.
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
–
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years.
The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.
It’s as frustrating as it is hot.
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment.
It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out.
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.
At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like.
“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.”
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.
“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”
Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."
“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.”
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.
“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.”
He smiles thinly. “None taken.”
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.
So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?”
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.
“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.”
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.”
Your blood runs cold.
Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”
It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”
“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning.
Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”
Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t.
“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.”
Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.
“He cheated on me with my best friend.”
At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.”
“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”
Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.”
“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.”
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.
By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.
“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?”
“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.”
“Oh. That was nice of you.”
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.”
“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.”
“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.”
“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.”
You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”
Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.”
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same.
“And what about me?”
Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmm. Nope.”
“How come?”
"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.”
“You think you’re wrong?”
“Still can’t figure you out.”
“And how can I show you that I mean it?”
That’s. Hmm.
“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?”
“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”
“Competent?”
“That’s the word.”
If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it.
“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.”
“Are you like Bob the Builder?”
“I’m a doctor, so no.”
“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.”
“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”
“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?”
“No.”
‘Then yes.”
“You sure? I wasn’t lying.”
“I know. But I like your cooking.”
You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.”
It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation.
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.
His gigantic apartment.
“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.”
“Its not that big.”
“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.”
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober.
“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”
“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.”
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.”
Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.”
Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.)
Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.
“Looking at the sparkles.”
“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”
“You made vodka pasta?”
He shrugs. “You said you liked it.”
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.”
Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not.
“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.”
“M’ not fallin’ asleep.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
“What’re’you’ making?”
“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Because I don’t want you to throw up.”
“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.”
“You drink often?”
“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.”
“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.”
“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”
“It won’t be when you wake up.”
You whine, curling away from him.
He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”
“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”
“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”
“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”
“I like sleeping on couches.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.”
You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”
Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”
“It’d be weird to wake up here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.”
“What would we even do in the morning?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re my guest–”
“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?”
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.
“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.”
Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.”
The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–
“You okay there?”
“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.”
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.
Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”
His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.
“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Good. Like man.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me sweetheart?”
“Because you’re a sweetheart.”
“I am?”
“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.”
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.”
“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.
It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.
“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.”
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.
He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say.
You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.
–
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit.
You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place.
“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”
“Okay. No need to rub it in.”
He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.”
“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.”
Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?”
“...Yes?”
“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?”
You’d nodded.
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.”
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.
The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with.
He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.
“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.”
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.
“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”
Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.”
“True. But what if?”
“I’m not going to help you spiral.”
“Why not?” You whine.
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.”
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.
Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.”
“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”
“But–”
“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.”
Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face.
He looks up when the door opens. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation.
Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.
It can’t just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.”
“So it is.”
“Guess I owe you big time, huh?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.”
“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.”
You lapse into silence.
Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”
“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.”
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“You won’t be.”
A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.”
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.
“You do.”
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you.
“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.”
“You think,” He drawls, “I might.”
“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry.
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.
“Come here.”
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.”
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”
“More than a little?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.”
“Use your words.”
“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning.
“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.”
You frown. “And how would you have put it?”
“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.”
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.
You frown.
Wait.
“Have you known I liked you this whole time?”
Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”
He’s known since the second week?
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.”
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.
“Can you take a compliment?”
“No.”
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.”
“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.”
“How kind of you to share my bed with me.”
“I have been told I’m kind.”
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.
It’s just like your dream.
Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
