I read entirely too much fanfiction and still manage to read actual books and work a full time job! I've been a dog groomer for most of my life and hope to continue to do so for as long as my body let's me!
My mains are Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (together, separate, together with a 3rd), but I'm a big fan of the Winchesters (not together for gods sake). I'm sure I'll think of more to add!
I like posting ideas for stories, because I'm not great at writing them. So, if you see one you like, feel free to do something woth it and tag me!!
summary: the ER knows you're married, pregnant, and hopelessly in love with your husband. so when brendon keeps hovering around you, everyone's convinced you're having an affair.
pairing: brendon park + attending!pregnant!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, workplace misunderstanding
notes: based on this ask from anon, tysm for requesting!
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
The first rumor started because of a protein bar.
Not because of anything dramatic. Not because someone saw you sneaking around hospital corridors or caught you pressed against a wall with Brendon Park's hand around your waist.
No.
It started because at two in the afternoon, during a brutally understaffed Friday day shift in the ER, you looked up from charting and said with exhausted fondness:
"My husband is going to kill me if he finds out I skipped lunch again."
And Dana, who had worked enough years in emergency medicine to survive on caffeine and spite alone, snorted.
"Husbands," she said. "They worry too much."
You smiled to yourself while typing. "Mine's worse now that I'm pregnant. Yesterday he tried to meal prep for me."
"Oh?" Santos asked from the next computer. "How'd that go?"
"He labeled every container by protein count."
"Sounds intense," Santos muttered.
"He is intense," you agreed easily. "But he means well."
Nobody thought much about it then. Because everybody in the ER about your husband.
Well, sort of. They knew he existed. They knew he packed your lunches sometimes. That he texted reminders for vitamins. That he apparently folded laundry with terrifying precision. That he hated when you worked overtime but still stayed awake until you got home anyway.
They knew he rubbed your swollen feet after shifts. They knew he was "ridiculously overprotective." They knew he called you "doctor" sarcastically whenever you forgot to take care of yourself.
They knew you adored him, but they didn't know his name.
And somehow, over months of working together, nobody ever asked. Or maybe they had once and gotten distracted by a trauma alert halfway through.
That was the thing about the ER. Conversations happened infragments.
So your husbands became this faceless mythical man everyone pieced together from tiny details.
And because you were basically sunshine in human form (You were the warmest, most patient, endlessly kind person), everyone imagined your husband accordingly.
Probably some sweet elementary school teacher. Or a soft-spoken accountant. Or maybe a stay-at-home husband who baked sourdough and wore cardigans.
Definitely not Brendon Park. Absolutely not him.
The first time most of the ER really met Brendon was during a motorcycle trauma.
The ortho pager had gone off twenty minutes earlier and everyone was already stressed. The patient had multiple fractures, a discolated shoulder, and enough road rash to make the interns pale.
Then he walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered. No greeting, no wasted movement, just immediate assessment,
"X-rays," his voice cut through the chaos.
Someone handed them over. Brendon studied them for maybe three seconds.
"We'll prep OR two. I want vascular on standby."
Ogilvie beside him started talking. "So we were thinking—"
"No," Brendon interrupted without even looking at him. "You were guessing."
Silence. Ogilvie visibly shrank.
"Comminuted tib-fib fracture with displacement. If you'd waited another hour, he'd lose perfusion."
The room went still. Not because he was wrong, but because he was terrifying.
Then his eyes shifted toward you. And the entire atmosphere changed so subtly that nobody noticed it except maybe Santos.
Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. Brendon's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.
"You've been here since morning," he said flatly.
"Hello to you too."
"Did you eat?"
The room paused.
You looked midly defensive. "Yes."
"You're lying."
"I had crackers."
"That's not food."
Ogilvie who'd just been verbally executed stared between you both in confusion. The Shark did not do conversation, yet here he was arguing with you about crackers.
You rolled your eyes. "I'm busy."
"You're pregnant."
"And?"
"And you require actual nutrition."
Santos coughed to hide a laugh. Brendon ignored everybody. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a protein bar beside your keyboard without saying anything else.
Then he turned and walked away. No goodbye or no explaination. He just left.
The ER collectively stared at the protein bar. Then at you. Then back at the protein bar.
Santos finally broke the silence. "...What the hell was that?"
You unwrapped the bar casually. "He gets grumpy when I forget to eat."
"You know Park the Shark?" Santos asked slowly.
You looked confused. "Brendon?"
The entire station froze at the first-name basis.
"What do you mean, Brendon?" Santos asked.
"That's his name."
"No one calls him Brendon."
"Oh," you took a bite of the protein bar. "I do."
After that, people started noticing things. Little things.
Like how Brendon only ever lingered in the ER when you were there. How he answered everyone else with clipped professionalism but always gave you full sentences.
How you somehow never seemed intimidated by him. Everyone else treated Brendon like a shark circling bloody water, you treated him like an annoyed housecat.
One afternoon, during a particularly miserable shift, you were sitting at the station rubbing your lower back.
"God," you muttered. "My husband bought six different pregnancy pillows."
Dana laughed. "Six?"
"He said the first five didn't have the right feeling."
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't even want to know."
Then Santos frowned. "Wait. Wasn't Park carrying a giant package into the parking lot yesterday?"
You didn't look up from your charting. "Probably."
"And didn't he get irritated at at someone who bumped into him because it caused him to drop it all?"
"Oh, that was ours."
Silence.
You blinked up. "What?"
Santos stared at you carefully. "You and Park live in the same building?"
"Oh." You smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah."
Another silence. Santos looked deeply concerned now.
"You're... close with him?"
You laughed. "I mean, I would hope so."
Nobody knew what to say to that. Because there was no way. No way.
You were married, pregnant even. Completely in love with your husband, whoever he was.
And Brendon Park looked at most human interaction like it personally offended him.
Yet somehow he kept appearing around you like a shadow, like it was gravity.
The rumors exploded after an incident at the cafeteria. You had been off your shift for exactly eleven minutes when Brendon walked into the cafeteria still in his scrubs.
And everyone noticed that. Because Brendon never went to the cafeteria (He barely seemed to consume food). He scanned the room once and found you immediately. THen walked over carrying a tray.
Without asking, he switched your coffee with a different one.
"You can't have that much caffeine."
You looked offended. "It was half-caf."
"It was basically battery acid."
"You tasted it?"
"You left it on the counter this morning."
Brendon sat across from you naturally, like this happened every day.
You pointed at his tray. "You got fries?"
"You wanted fries."
"I mentioned fries once."
"You cried about it."
"I was emotional that time."
"You threatened divorce."
The tables surrounding you stared. The conversation sounded disgustingly domestic.
Brendon pushed the fries toward you first before touching his own food. You stole half of them and he didn't complain.
Actually, he watched you eat with this faintly distracted expression that nobody had ever seen on his face before. Like he was making sure you were really eating.
Then your phone buzzed. You checked it and groaned.
"The husband says I forgot my appointment tomorrow."
Brendon immediately said, "Ten-thirty."
You looked at him. "I know."
"You forgot."
"I remembered eventually."
"You remembered because I reminded you."
The silence at the table became defeaning, like somehow everyone was staring at you. Brendon glanced around once, clearly unimpressed by the collective lack of intelligence.
Then his pager went off. And before leaving, he reached down and adjusted you chair closer to the table because you'd been sitting awkwardly with your belly.
The movement was instinctive, like he'd done this a million times. And it was weirdly intimate.
The second he disappeared, Langdon sat on the seat that Brendon just occupied.
"Oh my God."
You frowned. "What?"
He leaned forward carefully. "Are you having an affair with Brendon Park?"
You nearly choked on a fry. "What?"
"That man practically tucked you in!"
"He's just—"
"You literally just talked about threatening him with divorce!"
"My husband!"
"Exactly!"
You stared at him in disbelief before realization dawned.
"Oh my god."
"So, you are!"
"No I'm not, Frank."
"Then why does The Shark know your OB schedule?"
"Because he made it."
Silence. "...Made it?" Langdon repeated weakly."
"He color-coded the whole calendar."
He didn't speak. Then you laughed, actually laughed. Because suddenly the misunderstanding was hysterical. But before you could explain, a trauma alert blared overhead and the conversation died instantly.
Unfortunately for you, the rumor did not.
Within a week, the entire ER thought you were secretly involved with Brendon.
Not openly. Nobody confronted you directly again because you seemed so genuinely confused by the accusation.
But people whispered. The evidence kept piling up. Brendon carrying your bag without asking, appearing whenever you mentioned cravings, glaring at anyone who stressed you out, standing suspiciously close during procedures if you looked tired.
And worst of all? The way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention.
That's what really convinced people. Because Brendon looked at everyone else like they personally wronged him. He looekd at you like you were something precious.
Then one night, the ER was hell. Every bed was full, three ambulanced inbound, a drunk patient screaming in triage.
You were exhausted, hormonal, and dangerously close to crying. Then one of the newer interns snapped at you.
"Can we get another attending to handle this? Dr. L/N clearly isn't keeping up."
The station went silent. Your exhaustion sharpened into humiliation. And before you could answer, a voice cut through the room.
"No."
Everyone turned. Brendon stood near the doors, having apparently arrived seconds earlier. The intern straighted nervously.
"Repeat what you said."
The poor intern paled. "I didn't mean—"
"You questioned an attending physician with ten years of emergency medicine experience while you can barely place an IV."
The room became deathly still. Brendon's voice never rose which somehow made it scarier.
"You will either assist competently or get out of her department."
Her department. The possessiveness in those words hit everybody like a truck.
The intern muttered an apology. Brendon didn't even look at him again. Instead, he turned to you.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
Brendon's hand briefly touched the underside of your belly as he adjusted your position from the station edge.
It was gentle. So different from the cold surgeon everyone knew.
And suddenly Santos understood. Not the affair, but something else. Something much bigger.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
Dennis looked at her. "What?"
But she was staring at Brendon. At the wedding band hidden beneath his gloves as he reached for the chart. At the identical band you wore on a chain around your neck because pregnancy swelling made your fingers ache.
At the way you entire body relaxed when he was near. At the way he knew every tiny thing about you.
Not like a lover, like a husband.
"Oh my god," Santos repeated louder.
You looked up. Brendon looked annoyed already, like he sensed where this was going.
Santos pointed between the two of you. "You're married."
You blinked. "Yeah?"
Brendon closed his eyes briefly like this was exhausting.
You looked genuinely baffled. "Who else would we be married to?"
Chaos. Absolute chaos.
"You let us think she was cheating on her husband?!" Santos yelled at Brendon.
Brendon looked unimpressed. "That sounds like a you problem."
"You never said—"
"Well, nobody asked."
"You literally acted like you hated each other!"
You burst out laughing. "What? No we don't."
Brendon looked down at you. And for the first time ever, in front of the entire ER, his expression softened completely.
Not subtly or barely there, but fully. Warm eyes. Affection. Something that was gentle.
Park the Shark was apparently somebody's husband. Somebody's incredibly devoted husband. And somehow that was more shocking than if he'd announced he killed people.
And somehow, from that day on, things became infinitely worse. Because now everyone noticed everything.
The quiet touches. The instinctive teamwork. The fact that Brendon always knew where you were in the hospital. The way he softened only for you.
The way you could make the scariest surgeon in the building carry your snacks and hold your coffee and rub circles into your back between traumas.
And worst of all?
Now the ER knew that every horrifyingly domestic story you told about your husband had been all about Brendon Park all along.
Which completely destroyed their ability to fear him properly anymore. Especially after they heard him answer your phone one day with:
"Baby, why are you calling me from upstairs?"
thank you for reaching until the end! i'd love to know what you thought about this story anddddd if you'd like to see more ;)
Summary: After transferring to the Pitt in the middle of your fellowship, you manage to impress PTMC's meanest surgeon with your bubbly confidence, leading to you both catching feelings.
Tags/Notes: fluffy fluff, silly trope time, idiots in love, grumpy/sunshine, misunderstanding trope, kiss cam trope, getting together, cutesy feminine reader, kind of an airhead outside of medicine, also described as short sorry tall baddies, praise kink, oral (m), fingering (f), size kink, piv, riding/cowgirl, mini hitachi, doggy style, headlock during sex uwu, biting, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, creampie, D/s if you squint, aftercare
Content: medical (and hockey) inaccuracies out the wazoo, canon-typical
A/N: that mean doctor has bewitched me and i actually had so much fucking fun writing this fic
Word Count: 14.2k
While you finish preparing your patient presentation for the incoming orthopedic surgeon consult on the case you’ve been working all day, Dennis Whitaker, who’s been assisting you, groans under his breath as he catches an imposing figure approaching. “Fuck, our consult’s the Shark.”
“Of course it is.” Shen, who’s been in the corner half-supervising you since he completely trusts your work as a fellow, tells Whitaker, “This kind of damage? He eats up cases like this. The Shark’s never gonna let someone else-”
You turn to both of them, hold up a hand to shut them up, and ask, “Who?”
“Dr. Brendon Park,” Shen explains like he’s telling you about an upcoming horror movie. “He’s the head orthopedic surgeon.”
“Haven’t met him yet,” you reply. Drawbacks of circumstances forcing you to change hospitals in the middle of your fellowship; you don’t know the whole team like you did back in your residency. With a final few glances through your day’s meticulous work, you wrinkle your brows and check, “I thought Torres was head of orthopedic surgery.”
“No, she’s the nice orthopedic surgeon. The Shark only deigns to come to what he calls ‘the butcher shop’ for juicy cases.” Shen shakes his head and says, “I’m gonna dip before he gets down here. I’ll grab Robby to supervise.”
“You’re leaving? Why?”
“Park can actually stand Robby.” Shen shrugs and tosses his gloves in the trash. “I made the mistake of suggesting an amputation when it was possible to salvage a limb and the Shark’s always down my throat when we work together now.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years.” Shen pushes the door open and says before heading over to the hub to grab Robby, “That thing you’ve heard about sharks having three-second memories? Not accurate. PTMC’s Shark never forgets. Don’t fuck up your first impression.”
Your wide eyes turn to Whitaker. “Well, that was comforting.”
Jesse, who’s been supporting you on and off when you needed more hands than just Whitaker’s, tries to offer, “Park’s not so bad.”
“Yeah, because you’re a nurse,” Whitaker replies. “He likes nurses. Respects them. It’s other doctors he thinks are stupid.”
You screw up your face with confidence and nod sharply. “Then I won’t be stupid.”
“Good luck with that,” a deep, clear voice says behind you. You turn and nearly bump into the center of a very broad chest. Very broad. With matching biceps and traps threatening at the fabric of his blue scrubs. He’s easily a whole head taller than you. And his face. Oh. Good face. Lots of masculine, rugged angles. It’s not that the ED is lacking in arm candy, but most of the doctors down here aren’t so…biteable. You’re fighting not to ogle as his voice draws your eyes back up to his mouth. Which is a nice mouth. Under a nice nose. And a heavy brow with pretty blue eyes so sharp you feel a little light-headed under their intensity. “You’re new.”
Robby slips into the room behind him and hugs the wall, posture much straighter than you’ve seen. He doesn’t look scared the way Whitaker does, but there’s a clear expectation about what the interaction’s going to be: Efficient, intense, clear. Robby says bluntly, “New fellow. Recent relocation.”
Park’s eyes narrow, taking in your pink shoelaces, perfectly applied makeup (including shimmery gloss) despite being elbows deep in the shift, and the pastel-heart-patterned long sleeve beneath your scrubs. “We haven’t met.”
You take one quick, deep breath and remind yourself there’s no reason to be scared. You don’t play hospital politics like the residents. You’re a fellow, a real goddamn doctor. This is your case. Your save. You’ve got it. So you introduce yourself with a friendly smile and explain, “I started here last month. Just haven’t had a big sexy skeletal trauma to dangle in front of you until today.”
Park cracks what almost appears to be a smirk. Committing your name and your pretty face to memory, he says, “Welcome to the team, pipsqueak. Try not to butcher any bones and we’ll get along fine.”
“No problem.” You bounce slightly on your feet. “Shall we get started here?”
His chin cocks slightly to one side. You’re not shrinking. Not bashful. You’re smiling. That’s rare. He doesn’t mind. Arms crossed over that massive chest, he orders, eyes sweeping the room, “Tell me what we’ve got.”
Whitaker looks to Robby. Robby looks to you. You nod and list off, “Mr. Jacob Westman, thirty-seven-year-old green energy tower technician, brought in by ambulance after falling from an electrical tower. Freak accident. Alert and responsive on arrival but no sensation in lower extremities. Lead doctor on the case – that’s me; I’ve been point for Mr. Westman all day – chose to sedate for pain management and stabilization once significant spinal injuries were identified. The most severe salvageable damage is in the cervical and thoracic, but I don’t necessarily agree with the interpretation from the ortho radiologist that-” Robby clears his throat to stop you there. Sheepishly, you finish, “Vitals are within safe range for operation to correct cervical and thoracic fractures and dislocations."
Robby offers, “So essentially, the approach is-”
“Hold on.” Park looks up from the chart and focuses squarely on you. “What did the radiologist say? Why did you stop there?”
You glance over at Robby, who’s shaking his head with pleading eyes. But it’s your case. You’re the one who gave up your lunch break to pore over the imaging. So you let your eyes rove back to Dr. Park’s and tell him firmly, “Your radiologist feels that the lumbar injuries causing Mr. Westman’s paralysis are completely inoperable through traditional methods. I was advised to defer to his opinion.”
Brows furrowed, he eyes you seriously. Almost…amused. Like he’s watching a puppy try a new trick. “What’s your opinion, doctor?”
Behind Park, you see Whitaker shake his head and grimace like you’ve just signed your own death certificate. Even Jesse is gripping his clipboard a little more tightly.
“I suggested that, even though it may be riskier, a series of nerve grafts and transfers could return the patient’s ability to walk.” Your voice lowers a bit and you try not to let your wobbly ‘bleeding heart baby doctor’ voice come out. “Mr. Westman is a highly-trained, highly-educated specialist in a type of engineering only a handful of people in the country can do. Work that’s absolutely critical for the development of renewable energy sources. When I was going over everything with his wife, Jenna, she told me that he loves his job more than life itself. That he would risk everything to regain use of his legs.” You swallow hard and pinch back tears. It’s something that always annoys you; whenever you really, really care about something, you start to cry. Eyes averted, you wrap up, “I know that the kind of procedure I’m suggesting would be much longer and much riskier on several levels and that it’s not at all my place to-”
Park shakes his head and cuts you off, “Show me the scans.”
You quickly brush past him to the nearby screen and blow up the images.
Dr. Park lets out a low whistle as he flips through the X-Rays, head tilted slightly as he gives the scans his full attention. He asks you a handful of questions and you answer them as best you can, all the eyes in the room burning the back of your head. You watch the wheels turning behind Park’s eyes; this is his passion, his favorite thing, his reason to wake up. You love seeing people in that state where all they’re thinking about is what they do best.
Finally, he turns to you and says, “I don’t care what your title at this hospital is. If a goddamn janitor can propose a valid surgical approach for an ‘inoperable’ injury, I want to hear it. Complex spinal reconstruction with multiple fusions, laminectomy, discectomy…fuck, ‘just-about-everything-ectomy.’ Plus nerve transfer. Now that’s sexy. I like it.” Before Robby can thank him for taking over, Park looks you up and down – just a little slow to be completely professional – and asks, “Pipsqueak, you wanna assist?”
You stand up straighter and turn your attention to Robby with wide, hopeful eyes. Looking nothing short of shocked, he nods and does a ‘sure, why not?’ type of gesture. You give a big, adorable grin and say, “Yeah, that would be awesome. I’ve always wanted to see autograft harvesting and transfer firsthand.”
Whitaker shakes his head and mutters, “Freak.”
“Go to the bathroom, eat a snack, and scrub for OR three,” Park tells you, ignoring everyone else. As you nod eagerly and excuse yourself, he slaps Robby on the back hard enough to make him stagger and mutters, “Congrats, Mike, you finally matched a competent fellow.”
Dumbfounded, Robby just says, “Ah, thanks.”
Coming out of the surgery thirteen hours later, you’re glowing like you haven’t been awake for thirty-four hours in a row. Following tight on his heels, you’re practically skipping as you beam, “Dr. Park, that was so amazing. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”
“You’re good,” he says simply, walking through the halls of the surgical wing like he owns the place. “Great calls like that deserve great rewards. Would’ve given you a gold star sticker, but I’m not as soft as Robinavitch.”
“I wish Robby gave out stickers,” you reply wistfully. “That might actually convince me to stay here after my fellowship is up.”
You’re about to say something else when Park turns around and puts one baseball-glove-sized hand on your shoulder. “Unless you want to see my dick on our first day working together, you should probably stay on that side of this particular door.”
You startle backwards as you realize he’s pushing into the men’s room. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry; I sometimes kinda space out when I’m excited.”
Park lets out a laugh. An honest-to-god laugh.
He has a handsome smile.
Even though your face is now about a thousand degrees, you still nibble your lower lip, grin, and call through the door, “By the way, it’s technically our second day working together since that was an overnight surgery.”
Park’s amused, loud voice hollers back, “Go home and get some sleep, pipsqueak.”
When you clock in for your next shift two days later, Dana waves you over right after you’re done putting your things away. She says, “There’s something in your mailbox, if you’d believe it.”
“Really?” You worry a hangnail on your thumb. “Don’t tell me I’m getting served or something.”
“You? Come on, you’re Miss Bedside Manner USA.” She nods over to the doctor’s lounge and explains, “It’s from ortho. Something about that surgery you sat in on last week.”
“Huh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
You scurry off to your mailbox, which you’ve only even looked at once, the day you started. They’re a relic from the days of fax machines and printers. Inside your cubby is a blank, hospital-issue envelope. Upper left corner: Brendon Park, MD, FAAOS. In the middle, in his scratchy handwriting: Pipsqueak. With your lips pursed in curiosity, you rip the top of the envelope and remove the contents.
Inside a folded piece of notebook paper, there’s a card-sized sticker sheet with eight big, cutesy stickers on it. A happy sun, baby ducks, a strawberry, a stuffed bunny. All things sweet and girly. The theme is white, baby pink, sky blue, and light yellow, the same colors as the heart-patterned shirt you’d been wearing under your scrubs. In between the big stickers, a few pastel stars serve as filler.
With a little squeal, you unfold the note and read. Couldn’t find one with a gold star. Close enough. Good job. Happy you’re here.
Underneath, he’s drawn a tiny shark in lieu of a signature.
You melt – just a little.
Riding the elevator up after your lunch break, it’s kind of embarrassing how much your heart is pounding. You’re really not supposed to be doing this. It’s a total violation of protocol – not the sort that would get you in real HR trouble, but definitely the kind that could permanently piss someone off.
But you do it anyway. You gently knock on Dr. Park’s door after checking with the ortho receptionist that he’s in. He makes a sort of grunting sound that you interpret as ‘yes, what?’ Pushing the door open just enough to slip into the opening, you say, “Hi, Dr. Park. Robby asked me to page ortho down for a follow-up on the Westman case, but I thought it would be nice to ask you directly so that they could have consistency of-” When Park doesn’t even look at you, eyes staring intently at the file on his computer, you shrink into the doorway and shake your head. “Sorry; that’s silly. I’ll get back downstairs and send a page like I should’ve to stop annoying you.”
His eyes flick to yours for half a second. His eyebrows go together almost imperceptibly. “You’re not annoying me.”
“Oh. Thanks.” You bite your lower lip and stare at your shoes for a moment. Purple sneakers today, Park notices. Matching the lavender polka dots on your long sleeves. “So, yeah, if you have time today to come down and check his repeat images with me, that would be really amazing. I’m working until six, so no rush. No pressure. I know you’re really busy. And I can definitely just ask Torres if you-”
“I’ll do it,” he interrupts urgently. “Don’t ask Torres. Or anyone else. I’ve got it.” Then he adds, hasty, “Patient outcomes improve when they have a consistent care team. You’re right about that. You can come get me about Mr. Westman whenever you need to.”
At that, you absolutely beam. His eyes go to your lips. Your cupid’s bow and the way it stretches when you smile. A pretty smile, he thinks. Really pretty. You glow, “Okay, perfect, I will. Thank you.”
You linger for a second, one hand on the doorknob as you debate whether or not to say something. He hasn’t returned to his computer screen, eyes just roaming around the room and occasionally spending a second on you, so you take it as an invitation.
“I also wanted to, um, to say thanks for the stickers, by the way.” You lift your water bottle and show him the doodle-style pink star you’d picked out to grace it among your collection. “I really like them.”
“Good.” He’s tempted to lie, say it was someone else’s idea, act like he found them somewhere in the hospital, but he can’t when he’s looking at your delighted schoolgirl smile. “Saw them at Target and thought of you. It was nice to work with someone so…competent.” You swear there’s a slight blush in his cheeks, but it must be a trick of the light. It must be. Then he clears his throat and adds, “I’ll come down to see you- for Mr. Westman’s follow-up in an hour, alright? I have to finish this report and my dyslexia’s fucking killing me today.”
Physically unable to stop yourself from being helpful, you offer, “I could type it up for you, if you want.”
“I didn’t mean to tell you that,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have this disarming thing about you. It’s jarring.”
“Um, thanks?” You tilt your head like a puppy. “Are you not supposed to talk about it or something?”
He shrugs, definitely blushing now and pretending not to be, and replies, “People hear their doctor has a learning disability and get a little antsy. So if you don’t mind, keep that to yourself.”
“No problem, Dr. Park, I’m the picture of discretion,” you assure him seriously. But then you keep spilling out, “But, y’know, I actually read this study from the Royal College of Surgeons that showed people with dyslexia make better surgeons than their peers because of their well-developed spatial reasoning skills, attention to detail, and problem-solving ability – not to mention the resilience and creativity that inherently come from- Aaaand I’m word vomiting. Shoot. Sorry. It’s- it’s chronic, my word vomit. I see a specialist.”
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you now?”
“Yup. My likelihood of remission is incredibly low. Lifelong struggle, really.” You swallow hard and tell him gently, “Um, I had this undergrad student I tutored. He was in biology – pre-med – but he didn’t think he could do it because he was dyslexic. So I did a bunch of research and presented it to him. I’m not, like, one of those cool photographic memory people who remember every study on earth or something.”
“People with photographic memories freak me out,” he says with a chuckle. You wonder if you’re the only person in the ED who’s heard him laugh. More than once, even. Then he says something that actually does manage to shock you: “I’d love the help, if you have time.”
“Yay!” You do this little bouncing thing that makes his head spin. “I’m still on my lunch, so I have a few minutes.”
Voice sounding almost protective, he checks, “Did you eat?”
“Yeah, of course. But I get bored if I don’t have anything to do after my leftovers.” You scooch around his desk and slide between him and the computer, your perky ass directly in his face. With your fingers hovering over his keyboard, you lilt, “Alright, big man, what are we writing?”
It takes Park fifteen seconds to recalibrate, ten of those seconds spent memorizing the way he can see the outline of your tiny thong when you lean forward slightly, the fabric of your scrubs taut over your ass. Then he hastily stands up and puts himself behind the chair, his nosy dick safe from being seen, and says, “Why don’t you take my spot? You’ll be more comfortable.”
You shrug and sit down, throwing your head way back to look up at him with perfect, sweet blowjob eyes. “Whatever you say, Shark.”
The next time Park’s in the ED, his crush on you is completely and totally solidified. It’s horrifying, the way the feeling swirls around his stomach and makes his cheeks hot. It’s not a feeling that’s ever dared encounter him in the workplace and, honestly, not in a hell of a long time outside of it, either.
It’s because you’ve got Ogilvie backed up against a wall, your pointed finger in the center of his chest. He’s a head taller than you, even slouching, but you’re dwarfing him with your energy. Park’s never seen you so brutally animated, eyebrows knitted together and posture perfectly straight. He lingers a bit too close, hugging the corner so he can listen and watch.
Ogilvie’s hands are up in the air, waving, frustrated. “I didn’t do anything wrong! All I did was-”
“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up and listen to me?” With your feet planted firmly in your white sneakers with red laces and your arms crossed in your cherry-printed sleeves, you go on, “I get that I’m a woman. I get that I’m short and cute and girly. I get that you think you’re god’s gift to medicine.”
“I don’t think I’m-”
“I wasn’t done. I get that you struggle to respect me. Idiotic men often do. But let me make one thing abundantly clear: You are a slug of a man-child, James. You leave a trail of slime behind yourself in the form of problems everyone else needs to clean up, you hide whenever things get hard, and you need to blot the oil from your T-zone so you’re less shiny. And invest in a frizz-control shampoo.” While Park stifles a snorting laugh, you go on with the most pointed, cruel voice he’s ever heard from a woman so painfully adorable, “If you ever speak to me like that again, you will envy the corpses you practice on. All you will do clinically is change infected necrotic dressings and disimpact bowels and every other moment of your day will be dedicated to administrative scut so monotonous it makes your vision blurry. I will ask to have you on my service every day just so I can torture you until you question your entire career path. Do we have an understanding?”
Ogilvie is too stunned to speak for thirty seconds straight. Then he swallows and stammers out, “Yes, doctor. I- I understand.”
You nod tightly and add, “I’d like an apology now.”
“I’m sorry,” he says right away. It sounds more afraid than earnest, but that’ll get the job done. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”
“Good. I forgive you.” Then you give him a warm, friendly smile and a pat on the head that you have to rock up onto your toes to execute fully. “Now let’s get back to Mrs. Andrews so you can get another lumbar puncture under your belt before your next evaluation, alright?”
Ogilvie manages to get out, “Thanks,” before you turn around and lead him back to the ED. He looks like a scolded toddler, lip pouted and cheeks red, while you have that familiar unshakeable pep in your step.
And Brendon Park is smitten.
The next week, as you’re sending off a list of prescriptions, you hear Langdon’s voice from the other side of the ED. “Sharkbait, get over here!”
You turn toward Langdon and point at yourself. “Me?”
His eyes are big and begging. “Yeah, c’mon, I need you.”
“I have work to do, Frank.”
“Please?” He clasps his hands in front of his chest like a prayer. “Park’s going to kill me when he sees the state of these ribs.”
Exasperated, you cut back, “What the hell does that have to do with me?”
“You’re Sharkbait,” he replies, mimicking your expression. “When you’re in the room, he’s less of a dick.”
Several craving any time with Brendon, you roll your eyes and stomp over, telling him, “I’ll give you five minutes. Get me up to speed.”
He runs through the patient history with you while you gently palpate the chest.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe as you feel the myriad of fractures all over the ribcage and sternum. “LUCAS?”
“On an elderly osteoporosis patient. Dumbass firefighter meatheads.” He shakes his head and mutters, “It’s basically a bag of bone soup in there.”
“Sounds promising,” Park announces, always knowing when to cut into a conversation. When he sees you, he sighs in relief, “Pipsqueak, thank god you’re on this, too. I don’t have the patience for dealing with Ken on my own today.”
As Langdon talks to Park with you just sort of standing there as an emotion diffuser, Santos and Whitaker watch in wonder from the hub.
Trinity, whose last interaction with the Shark ended with him saying she should switch to a career with no skeletons involved, scoffs and murmurs, “Why hasn’t he ripped her head off? She’s brand new; she doesn’t know how to placate him.”
“Her aura powers are unknown to us,” Whitaker mutters back. “She has some kind of sorcery ability incomprehensible to the masses.”
“I mean, she has nice tits,” Trinity reasons. “She’s smart. Made some good calls in front of him.”
Whitaker argues, “Baran’s brilliant and has great tits. He called her an imbecile last week.”
Amused, Trinity raises her eyebrows. “You think Dr. Al-Hashimi has great tits?”
“Not the point.” A minute later, Park leaves the room with a smile in your direction. You swish over to the hub to grab a new chart and Dennis asks, “What’s the deal with you and the Shark?”
Humming gently, you ask him absently, “What do you mean?”
Trinity cuts in to reply for them both, “Well, I mean, he likes you. Are you two fucking?”
Your eyes startle wide at the idea – tantalizing but impossibly far away. Park is so wildly out of your league you can barely entertain the thought. “What? No! Of course not. Brendon’s not as bad as you guys think. You just have to get to know him.”
Trinity mouths to Whitaker, Brendon?
Whitaker shrugs, baffled, and then muses as the three of you watch Park head toward the OR, “I didn’t realize that was a possibility.”
You chuckle and tease, “Maybe try being a better doctor next time?”
“Brutal, Sharkbait. Brutal.”
That weekend, the Pittsburgh Penguins hosts its annual Medical Worker Appreciation Night. Because Dana’s been nominated as a spotlighted nurse, the hospital sprung for discounted tickets in the name of staff morale.
Robby shepherds you and the other newer ED staff who’d gotten their hands on a ticket down to the PTMC section. When he checks seats, pointing everyone in the right direction, he frowns at yours. “Kid, do you wanna trade spots with me?”
Your brows furrow. “What? Why?”
“Look.”
Your eyes follow Robby’s pointing chin. At the end of the long row, Park’s perched on the edge of his seat, staring down the players doing warmups. He’s wearing a black Penguins hoodie, a black Penguins hat, and a pair of jeans that his meaty thighs battle for dominance with. You’ve never seen him outside of scrubs and it’s becoming a problem very quickly. You shrug and tell Robby, “I don’t mind.”
“You sure?”
“We get along great, actually.”
“That explains the new nickname,” he chuckles under his breath. “I figured it was because you’re a sacrificial lamb.”
Park catches your eyes and waves you over, his lips flirting with the concept of a smile. He can’t bear to say it out loud, can barely even tolerate the thought in his own head, but he’d looked over the seating chart on the HR receptionist’s computer and basically threatened Ogilvie’s life to switch with him (and then swore him to secrecy on similar conditions).
You plop down next to him and nudge him in the bicep. “Hi, Bren, I didn’t think you came to things like this.”
Bren. Nobody’s used a nickname besides ‘Shark’ for him in decades. He shrugs like his heart rate isn’t picking up at the way your arm has to touch his because of how broad he is. “It’s hockey.”
“It’s team bonding,” you tease. “You hate bonding. And teams that aren’t sports.”
“But I like free Pens tickets,” he replies simply. Then he notices your outfit. You’re wearing pants, at least – leggings, because fuck him, he figures – but your arms are agonizingly bare from the elbows down, your yellow tee not doing much to protect your skin. He frowns and asks, “Did you bring a jacket or something? You’re gonna freeze to death in here.”
You shake your head. “It’s not that cold; I’ll be okay.”
“Give it a period.”
“I’m not on my- Oh. They’re called periods in hockey?”
Biting back a mean joke because of your sweet, innocent eyes, he says, “Yeah. Periods. Three twenty-minute periods with intermissions between.
“You’re gonna have to explain everything to me,” you say as you stare at the different parts of the stadium. “I’m not from a hockey town.”
“I don’t mind,” he admits after a second. He adds carefully, “I never get to talk hockey outside of work.”
“No gym buddies to gab with?”
“No gym buddies,” he confirms.
“That’s shocking, considering the biceps of it all.” And the pecs you would honestly motorboat. And the big veiny hands. And the thick thighs you could bounce on for hours. You swallow hard, thankful you don’t have a dick to give away your thoughts. “Are you one of those douchey guys who puts in his AirPods and focuses on his form in the mirror? Oh my god, do you film yourself so you can make sure you-”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he laughs, raising his hands in defeat. “You’ve got me pegged, sweetheart. I have to be strong because I crack femurs all day. And you have to focus on form if you want to get strong and don’t want to get hurt.”
“So no time for gym buddies.” You lilt, sweet and easy, “Maybe you can show me some time. I could use a little more muscle and a little less-”
“No, you definitely don’t need ‘less’ anything,” he protests way too quickly as his mouth goes dry. He can barely tolerate the sight of you in leggings this close to him; he’d burst a blood vessel if you were in bike shorts and a sports bra like his brain immediately supplies. With his neck going splotchy pink, he course corrects, “Lifting isn’t about losing weight or visible muscle. It’s about building practical strength.”
And your body is fucking perfect. If you wanted to change it out of insecurity, he’d drop to his knees and kiss your feet until you realized you shouldn’t change a thing. Your thighs are just the right thickness, your ass downright juicy, your stomach spectacularly soft, your breasts-
Park sucks in a sharp, deep breath and shakes out the thoughts. “I’m gonna grab something to eat before the game starts. Can I get you anything?”
After a second of thinking, you ask sweetly, “Do they have cheese fries?”
“They have every disgusting, greasy sports food you could ever want,” he confirms. “I’ll be right back with some goodies.”
You occupy yourself by playing social butterfly, introducing yourself to everyone you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. When Park returns, he takes a second to admire you running around spreading your sunshine. Then you return to his side and squeal when you see a mountain of loaded cheese fries that make your mouth water in the best way.
Before sitting down to share them with you, Park shoves a folded garment into your arms. “Put this on. I won’t be able to focus on the game if you’re shivering next to me the whole time.”
“Aw, Bren, thank you.” Your voice borders on a whimper as you unfold the classic lacer pullover, black with yellow and tan bars around the lower hem and arms, the iconic penguin himself at the center of the chest. “Just let me know how much I owe you for it – at least for half.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up; it’s a gift.”
“Okay, thank you so much, that’s so sweet, but the suggestion to shut up is incredibly offensive given I disclosed my word vomit diagnosis to you,” you reply seriously, glaring at him.
Park clutches his chest and tells you, “I apologize for making light of your vulnerability with me.”
“I forgive you because of the cheese fries.” You examine the back of the thick, cozy hoodie and observe, “Crosby. Is he your favorite? Or just the cheapest sweater?”
Park smirks (it’s the most expensive sweater) and replies, “Sid the Kid. Best player Pittsburgh’s ever had. Best player in the league, if you ask anyone with a brain. Rumor has it he’s retiring soon; I think that’ll be my first true heartbreak.”
You balk at the idea. “You’ve never had your heart broken? I get my heart broken ten times a month.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You go on that many dates?”
“No, no, no, no dates,” you quickly reply. Too quickly. A little desperately. “But it breaks my heart when I see sad puppy commercials or old people eating alone at restaurants or trailers for romantic dramas at the movies. One time I cried because I could only find one of my favorite socks. I tried and I tried but the second one was just…gone. I couldn’t look at the single one without getting so sad it was hard to-”
“Team introduction’s starting, then the national anthem,” he interrupts gently. Reluctantly. Like he’s actually invested in your rambling. “Put a lid on the word vomit for ten minutes and I’m all yours for a full sock eulogy.”
You giggle and salute as the whole stadium stands. “Yes, sir.”
He rolls his shoulders and pretends that doesn’t go straight to his dick. When you cheer extra loud for Sidney Crosby as he skates to center, jumping a tiny bit like your smile is too big to hold in your body, Park damn near swoons. He wants to sling his arm around your waist and pull you into him, to kiss the top of your head, to, fuck, put you on his shoulders and parade you around or something. He can’t even name everything he wants to do with and to and for you. It’s agony.
Once the game starts, Park takes care to make sure you understand what’s going on. “That’s Ovechkin. You’re gonna see one hell of a game. He’s Crosby’s biggest rival.”
“So we hate him,” you reply obediently. “Got it.”
He smiles at you and confirms, “Yeah, we hate him. Mostly because he’s really fucking good.”
You nudge him with your shoulder and tease, “That’s why people hate you, so it’s good company.”
He barks out a laugh. “Is that why?”
“That or because you never show off that handsome smile.”
With a pout, he counters, “I smile plenty.”
“He said, frowning.”
“I’ll smile when the Pens win,” he promises.
But, despite his best efforts, he does, actually, get caught smiling before the end of the game. In a big, obnoxious way. After the end of the second period, with the game tied 1-1, you watch the kiss cam flying around the arena with dopey heart eyes so precious Brendon can’t rip his eyes away from you. It’s too cute of an expression not to memorize.
You don’t notice he’s staring, too wrapped up in loving to see people in love, until his face lights up the big screen. You’re so shocked that you don’t process just how bright and intent his eyes are, his lips soft and slightly upturned, everything about his expression and posture screaming ‘god, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ It’s the kind of expression kiss cam operators gravitate toward; only men who adore their girls look like that.
Before he can even truly realize that it’s you and him on screen, his eyes widening, you grab him and plant a big fat shimmery lip gloss kiss on his cheek. Then you grin, following it up by blowing a kiss and winking to the camera.
And Brendon Park smiles wide enough to power the whole arena, the apples of his cheek glowing neon pink and he drops his eyes and shakes his head in delight.
The video is immediately saved and sent to the ED group chat by none other than Trinity Santos, naturally. One of the nurses proceeds to forward it to the nurses chat, where it makes its way to the ortho chat. By the time the camera even pans away, the moment has been forever cemented in PTMC history as the first time Park the Shark has smiled earnestly – innocently, even – in front of his coworkers.
Only the whoops, cheers, and laughs from your nearby ED coworkers drops him back onto earth from cloud nine. Park frowns as he rubs his cheek with a napkin, pouting, “You got lipgloss on my face.”
“What was I supposed to do?” You gesture to Trinity and Whitaker, who are pumping their fists in their air victoriously. “Leave my adoring fans hanging?”
With a sheepish wave in their direction to get them to fuck off, he mutters, “I think you’ve permanently damaged my tough guy reputation.”
But you just reply in a sing-sony voice, “You didn’t have to blush.”
“Involuntary response to relevant stimulus.”
“Whatever you say, big guy.”
If he’s honest with himself, his smile isn’t half as bright when the Penguins win an hour later. It only warms back up to critical heat when you wrap him in a hug, gleefully jumping up and down as the puck hits the net right as the buzzer goes off. He’d kiss you for real if you weren’t surrounded by the PTMC staff.
Still, with your arms around the back of his neck, he can’t resist doing something. So he keeps it simple and asks, “It’s been a while since those cheese fries; want to grab dinner with me?”
When you say yes, his heart sings.
After the hockey game, there’s a definite shift in your friendship with Brendon. It’s more playful. Less guarded. The two of you grab dinner together after your shifts whenever Park doesn’t have a late surgery and, if you miss out on dinner, he insists on coffee in the morning. He tells you about his personal life and you do the same, not that it’s hard on your end. Gradually, you start to notice the differences that everyone else in the ED picked up on months and months ago. The way his face goes from hardened to soft when he sees you entering a room. The way his texts have emojis instead of periods. The way he accepts your hugs instead of turning them into handshakes.
Right when you’ve gotten up your confidence to actually ask him out, you overhear him and Robby talking in hushed tones inside Park’s office. The door’s cracked and you’d come up specifically to ask him to go out with you in a few days on Saturday because you both actually have a weekend off.
With an X-Ray in hand, Robby pushes, “Are you sure you can’t do the revision yourself on Sunday? I know you’re not scheduled to be here, but the family trusts you now, and it might be-”
“I told you, man, I’m surprising my girlfriend on Sunday. I’ve been sitting on these ballet tickets for weeks already and I don’t do shit like that,” Park tells him sternly. No room for argument. “You’re in good hands with Torres; she’s as good as me any day – maybe better since people actually like her.”
You don’t wait for Robby’s response. Losing your ability to breathe, you scamper to the nearby staircase and start stamping your way down to the ED. Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No, a million. They fall down the stairs like glass, so heavy you’re surprised you can’t hear them echoing.
Stopping just shy of the ED entrance, you tuck yourself away underneath the staircase to catch your breath, trying not to let yourself cry. Park’s just one of those guys, you figure. Guys with ultra-secure girlfriends who don’t care if they have female friends who drool all over their biceps. Guys who don’t mention their ultra-secure girlfriends because they know what they have at home and they probably don’t even realize you’re flirting because they’re so enamored with their great, successful, probably gorgeous girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing in bed and always satisfies him and-
There are the tears.
Feelings of inadequacy and sadness well up and spill over. It’s hard to keep your sniffles and sobs quiet enough not to draw attention when all you want is to ugly sob over a tub of ice cream and your favorite movie. Only one more hour in your shift. You can make it. Right?
Upstairs, you hear the door squeak open and heavy footsteps traipse down toward you. Familiar footsteps. Of course. He probably saw you running away from his office and is coming to find you because you have the luck of a worm after a rainstorm.
When Park comes closer, he spots your elbow sticking out from behind the staircase. Hiding. You’re still crying, unable to stop yourself until you get it all out. Silently, yes, but with puffy eyes and tiny whimpers and sniffles that escape every once in a while. Tucked up underneath the staircase, you blot at your cheeks with the sleeve of your daisy-patterned turtleneck.
Rage devours Brendon’s insides. He beelines for you and demands with a level of anger in his eyes you’ve never seen before, “What’s wrong? Did someone make you cry?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You try a shaky smile and wipe your face again even though more tears just fall in their wake. “Just, um, I’m on my period and I’m emotional.”
Which isn’t not true. It’s the last day or two and you are emotional. It’s definitely not helping the situation. Park’s a little taken aback you admitted that so freely, but he’s a doctor, dammit, so he doesn’t let it faze him. Instead he offers, “Okay, well, um, do you, ah, do you need anything? I have some ibuprofen in my office if-”
You start crying harder, ugly sobs now at how nice he’s being when he just unintentionally and unknowingly turned you into a 12-year-old girl having her first heartbreak.
Park stammers, unsure how to deal with this situation. “Okay, ah, maybe just a hug, then?”
You nod ardently and he pulls you close with his strong arms. You nestle your face in his chest and breathe deep. If this is the closest you’re gonna get to having him, you’re gonna milk it for all it’s worth. With your nose pressed to his muscles as you start to calm down, you whimper, “You smell really good.”
Still tentative, Brendon murmurs, “It’s Dior. My mom bought it for me.”
Then you start crying even more.
That night, after making some lazy excuse to Brendon for why you can’t get dinner like usual, you curl up on your couch and vow to set some darn boundaries with the guy. You’re only going to get yourself hurt if you indulge in dinners and coffees and stolen gazes and elevator conversations. So you put his messages on silent, only returning them when you actually have a second instead of carving out time. You make a point of ducking into other rooms when you know he’s coming down for a consult, ignoring the desperate calls for Sharkbait from your hapless coworkers.
And by the time you’re clocked out on Friday night, you almost feel better about the situation. Well, that’s a lie. You actually don’t feel better at all. If anything, you feel much, much worse because you don’t have your best friend to hang out with anymore. You’re going to have to resort to drinks with the Pittlings if you don’t find another attending soon.
But at least you have the weekend to wallow.
Walking to your bus stop with Celine Dion blasting in your ears, you try to focus on the pretty sunset and the wins of the shift instead of letting your brain drift to-
Fuck.
Brendon’s standing at your bus stop with his stance wide and his arms crossed like a bodyguard, forearms looking extra delectable in the sunset. He’s not a hallucination from your lovesick mind nor a hologram designed to trip you up on the way home.
You scurry up to him with averted eyes and ask, “What are you doing here? You drive a Rolls-Royce.”
“Yeah, and that Spectre is my damn baby, but you take the bus when you’re ignoring my offer for rides. So here I am.” His eyes drill through your forehead and your resolve. “Can we talk now?”
Weakly, you mutter back, “My bus is in five minutes.”
“You’re not taking the bus. I’m driving you.” The firmness of his voice makes your knees wobble. He nods over his shoulder toward the small park next to the hospital. “We’re talking. Come on.”
Then he takes your hand – you want to throw up – and leads you through the park entrance to a shaded spot under a tree where the light makes his chiseled features agonizingly beautiful. Like a fucking Roman marble sculpture. He doesn’t wait for you to say anything, instead taking charge and launching in, “What’s going on with you? Why have you been ignoring me the last few days? If I did something to hurt you, tell me and I’ll fix it. I know I’m a dumbass about the feelings stuff sometimes, a lot of the time, but I’m not going to mess shit up with you, so you have to let me know what I need to do better.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” you whimper. You hate how pathetic you sound. How downtrodden and heartbroken. But Brendon looks hurt, too, which makes you feel ten times as bad. So you rush out a hasty version of the truth, “I came up to your office on Wednesday to ask you on a date this weekend, but then- then I heard you telling Robby about your girlfriend who you’re surprising on Sunday and it just, like, crushed me so bad even though I know it was so silly for me to think I’d ever have a chance with someone like you in the first place since you’re this sexy strong surgeon and I’m so not but I thought maybe in the last couple months-”
“Woah, pipsqueak, hey.” Brendon cups your cheek in his hand to cut you off once the shock of your words wears off. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Unable to meet his eyes, you start to feel the tears coming. Dammit. You stare at your pink sneakers – the same ones you were wearing when the two of you met, you realize – and let them fall to the ground. After a minute, you manage to admit, “I just- I don’t think I can be this close to you if you have a girlfriend. It’s great that she’s so cool about you having female friends, but I’m just so sensitive and I know that’s not your fault but-”
“Hold on.” Brendon places both hands on your shoulders, staring at you like you’re an alien making first contact. Baffled beyond his wildest dreams, he explains slowly, “You’re my girlfriend.”
Between sniffles and shaky breaths, you whimper out, unable to process anything, “Huh?”
“My girlfriend. Who I’m surprising on Sunday. That would be you.”
Now it’s your turn to go catatonic, eyes wide and shimmery. “What are you talking about?”
“I asked you out to dinner after the hockey game,” he tells you, exasperated in the cutest way you’ve ever seen. Like you’re dumb but like maybe he’s also dumb. “I paid for your dinner. I insisted you get dessert. The whole thing. And we- Sweetheart, what do you think all the dinners we eat together are? Why else would I always be inviting you for coffee? Why would I always pay? I don’t just dump a couple hundred bucks a week on casual coworkers.”
Starting to feel silly instead of sad, you cover your laugh and protest, “I don’t know; I thought you were being friendly! You make $500,000 a year; you should be paying for all your friends’ coffees!”
“$650,000, actually, I have a sub-specialty in pediatric surgery,” he replies as though you wouldn’t drop your panties right here in the park. “More importantly, I am the least friendly person in the entire hospital. Maybe the entire city.” He runs a hand through his hair and replies a bit bashfully, “I kind of figured you like that about me or we wouldn’t be dating.”
The last two months recontextualize in your head in rapid succession. Little moments appear lit up by neon lights that blare, HEY DUMBASS! Brendon tied your shoes last week instead of telling you they were loose, dropping down on his knees right outside the ED where anyone could see just to make sure you wouldn’t trip. He always takes your backpack from your shoulders before walking you to the parking garage and opening the door of his gorgeous navy blue sedan for you. Even the way he looked at you at the hockey game.
God, you’re an idiot.
With your lips parted and your eyes rapidly blinking, you come up with a new protest: “You’ve never even tried to kiss me, Brendon. What the fuck? You should be kissing me all the time! You could’ve been jumping my bones ever since the hockey game; that would’ve made things pretty clear to me!”
“Jumping your bones?” He suppresses a laugh since you’re still flustered. He just kind of scoffs and explains with a shrug, “I guess I’m still old-school about that. A gentleman. I wasn’t picking up signals that you wanted me to, y’know, make a big move. Figured we should take it slow. I mean, you’re new to Pittsburgh, you’ve had some big life changes. And I have a history of being too, ah, too intense for some women. I didn’t want to mess that up with you.”
“That’s actually really sweet, Bren,” you reply, sniffling back tears. Waving a hand in front of your face to cool down your burning cheeks, you pinch your eyebrows together and point out, “Okay, well, then we never did, like, a ‘what are we?’ talk.”
“That’s because I’m 38 years old,” he replies bluntly. “When I’m with my woman, she has my full attention. My devotion. Everything. I don’t need to have that talk.”
My woman. The phrase makes you feel kinda bubbly like soda. You smack him on the chest and poke him, “Clearly you do, dummy!”
After you nudge him, Park catches your hand in his, fingers enveloping yours. Fuck, his hands are so big and sturdy. Then his eyes soften and he kisses your fingers. He leans down slightly to make better eye contact. “Okay, I’ll have that talk if you want it.” Crystal clear, blue eyes positively sparkling with amusement and adoration, he asks, “Would you like to be my very, very official girlfriend?”
You let out an absolute squeal. It’s delighted and silly and so cute his stomach turns. God, how did a girl like you get your claws in him? When you throw your arms around his neck and he spins you around, he doesn’t care why or how. He just cares that the first words out of your mouth are, “Yes, of course, obviously.” You nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, feet barely touching the ground, and murmur against his ear, “This is my favorite night ever.”
“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, princess,” he assures as he sets you down on your own balance. Then he holds your face in his palm and finally bends down to kiss you properly.
But you stop him with your pointer finger in his lips, his eyes widening. “No, no, no, I can’t have our first kiss be when I’m all puffy and snotty from crying.”
He gives a pretend growl but concedes, “Fair enough. Whatever you want. C’mon, let’s get you home.”
Before he turns away, though, you step on your very tippy toes (and then some) and kiss his forehead before asking so sweetly, “How about you come over tomorrow? I know we already have plans Sunday – by the way, I really love the ballet, so good job – but maybe we should have a first date that I know is a first date beforehand?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replies wistfully, still feeling your lips on his skin. On his thick fucking skull. “I’ll go anywhere you ask me.”
Like you asked, Brendon knocks on your door at 3PM sharp. You promised to entertain him and make him dinner and he could absolutely care less about any of the details beyond getting to be with you like he craves. He’d agonized over what to wear to an embarrassing extent, nearly caving and texting his mother for her approval. But that would be a fate worse than death, so he settles on dark jeans rolled at the ankle and a black tee because a little old lady told him he looked hunky when he wore them to the pharmacy a few weeks ago.
You answer the door wearing nothing but the oversized Penguins sweater he bought you, a pair of panties he can barely see under it, and knee-high socks.
Park’s pupils dilate.
In that one look, you can finally see why they call him Shark. He’s a predator latching onto you, ready to devour you alive. You take a step back and he steps forward like you’re pulling him by a string attached to his gut. He doesn’t even notice himself closing and locking the door, too fixated on the expanse of your legs and the Pittsburgh Penguins logo on your chest. He tentatively puts one hand on your waist and sighs reverently, “Yup, this is the singular sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You look away from him, bashful under his praise: “Well, y’know, I wanted to surprise my boyfriend since he’s planning on surprising me tomorrow.” Then your attempt at a sultry voice goes away and is replaced by your usual glittery one when you see that he’s carrying a bouquet of pastel pink, soft orange, and angel white gerberas in the hand not touching you. “Brenny, did you get me flowers?”
‘Brenny’ might be too far, but he can’t bear to tell you that. You could call him anything and he’d accept it. He lifts the flowers up and offers them to you. “Um, yes. Is that still romantic or is it really, really lame now?”
“Still romantic,” you assure him with misty eyes, taking the bouquet and skipping away toward the kitchen.
Brendon toes off his shoes and follows you into the house, not surprised to find the place decked out in pastel colors and soft fabrics and dreamy artwork. You dig through your cabinets to find a porcelain vase you thrifted years ago and arrange the flowers inside of it.
As you place them on the windowsill, you give him a soft gaze, softer than any he’s been on the receiving side of. “This is the sweetest thing any man’s ever done for me.”
Brendon pulls you into a warm embrace, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and says, “Baby, you’re about to have your bar raised, because flowers are the least you deserve.” When your lips part into a shy smile, he asks, “Can I kiss you now?”
You nod eagerly and rock up onto your toes, tilting your chin to get as close to him as possible. Brendon’s gentle, boyish smile makes your heart pound in your throat in the moments before he closes the gap. He takes a second to admire the slopes of your face when you’re gazing up at him like he means something.
And then he kisses you.
It’s eager and bright, the way you kiss after prom night. You have to fight not to smile when he holds your face between both hands, so much desire in his touch that you can feel his resolve to take it slow with you melting away.
Suddenly, at the sound of you giggling for only a second, Brendon’s arms loop around your back. Before you know it, he’s lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You hop up, knowing he’ll catch you, and lock your legs around his hips. When you feel his smooth, cold belt buckle against your panties, you gasp out a moan at the contact.
Brendon chuckles and buries his forehead in the crook of your neck. He groans quietly, “Baby, you can’t make all those little sounds or you’re gonna kill me.”
Breathless, you tease back, “Then you definitely can’t call me baby.”
He smirks, kisses you again, and asks in a lower and more pointed voice, “Where’s your bedroom, baby?”
“It’s right upstairs; if you wanna put me down, I can-”
He shakes his head and keeps you balanced firmly in his arms, walking back toward the staircase. “No point in having these muscles if my girl ever has to touch the ground again.”
As he carries you up the stairs so easily that you’re turning into a person made more of giggles than anything else, you ask him, “Are you gonna carry me around from patient to patient forever?”
“If that’s what you want,” he replies with a laugh as he pushes through your bedroom door. Guiding you down onto the bed, which you’ve meticulously made, Brendon murmurs against the pulse point just beneath your ear, “I’ll give you everything you want, kitten.”
At the tender pet name, you can’t help but moan, encouraging him to touch you as he pins you to the bed just by virtue of how big his body is. He pulls back and gazes down at you so gently. Your heartbeat is slow again, comfortable, safe, but the heat between your legs is undeniable.
Brendon lowers himself down to kiss you once more. The energy between you shifts in that kiss, like he’s become painfully aware of being in your bedroom, your body pliant beneath him, your eyes full of trust and adoration he hasn’t experienced in years. His kiss is slow and sweet and simple. He shifts onto his side so one of his hands can cradle your cheek while the other gingerly takes your waist. You can tell he’s being painfully careful with you, his gentle touch revealing a certain level of fear – that he’ll hurt you or break you or scare you off.
So you reach forward and twine your fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck, gently scratching his scalp, and press your body against his. One leg thrown over his hip so that he can feel the heat of your barely clothed cunt. You arch your back and wiggle a tiny bit so that his hand almost has to move to your ass. He chuckles into the kiss and that makes you whimper. But he doesn’t do more, doesn’t grab or push or demand.
You pull back an inch, stare at him seriously, and murmur, “You’re not gonna break me, Bren.”
Mischief flickers in his blue eyes. He knows perfectly well what you’re asking, even if he’s tentative to give it to you. “What are you trying to say, sweetheart? Use your words.”
Mimicking his own voice, you bat your lashes and offer, “What’s the point in having those muscles if you don’t throw your girl around a little? C’mon, Shark, I know you’re not a shy lover.” You sit up just enough to reach down and lift the hockey sweater up and over your head. Underneath, you’ve got a black lace unlined bra, filled out only by the weight of your breasts, and it’s absolutely sinful. “Touch me like you mean it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, this is one hell of a surprise,” he rasps as he grabs your tits through the fabric, a rough sting buzzing through your body. The sight of his hands against the lace flips the switch in his mind and he’s hunting for blood in the water. “I didn’t know you owned anything black.”
As he pinches your nipples, mean and certain, the fabric of the lace adding a scratchy friction, you gasp, “It’s a special occasion.”
“Yeah?” His hands run down toward your thighs, kneading the thickness of your waist and hips with a greed that approaches true obsession. You lose the ability to think when he bends down and bites the side of your waist, his teeth quickly becoming less and less gentle as your moans get louder and louder. “What’s so special?”
You can only whimper as he roughly manhandles you upwards so that he can unhook your bra, using only one hand. Fucking surgeons. All you can think about is what else those hands of his can do. You’ve noticed how thick his fingers are a million times and now you might actually get to feel them the way you want.
Brendon can see the lust laid bare over you, chest rising and falling faster, eyes wide and waiting, skin prickled with goosebumps. Hooking his fingers beneath the edges of your panties and pulling them down, he teases, “Out of words now, pretty girl?”
You take five seconds to breathe, swallow hard, and order, “Take your clothes off.”
He throws his head back and grins. “Good choice of words.”
While you prop yourself on your elbows for a better view, Brendon steps off the bed and tugs his shirt off first. He even does that thing buff guys do where he pulls it off by the back, his arm muscles offensively large as he reveals his abs. His muscles are less defined than they are sturdy, built not like an Abercrombie model but more like a lumberjack or, y’know, a fridge. The way his obliques cut down into his hips is downright pornographic.
You let out a long breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Perfectly and completely aware, he gives you a hunky grin. “What? Something wrong?”
You bite your lower lip and physically try to stop yourself from staring, but you just keep failing. Because he’s your boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, gradually drawing closer to him like a magnet, you attempt to tease, “Are you always this much of a cocky bastard about your hot bod?”
“My hot bod?” His hands go to his belt and he slowly removes it. Then, once he’s stepped out of his jeans and you’re blinded by the outline of his, yes, proportionally long and thick cock against his black boxer briefs, he says, “Yeah, I always am.”
Eyes greedily drinking down every inch of his body and imagining all the ways you could play with it, you manage to mumble out, “You should be.”
God, he even makes taking off his underwear hot. It must be those damn thighs. Or the everything else. With your eyes trained squarely on his fat cock, mouth actually watering, Brendon steps toward and lifts your chin. “Like what you see, princess?”
With that same confident smirk on his lips, he takes your small hand and wraps it around his shaft. Suddenly you get the whole ‘beer-can-sized-dick’ thing you’ve read in way too much erotica because you can’t close your hand around his girth. “Oh.”
“What? Bigger than you thought? You intimidated?”
“Honey, I think everyone you’ve ever met knows you have a big dick.” Your eyes flick up to his playfully. “And I’m definitely not intimidated.”
“Really?”
“You’ve never intimidated me. Not like you do everyone else.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m so into you.” As you smile coyly, Brendon thrusts between your fingers, watching every miniscule change in your expression – which is rapidly growing less patient. He cups your cheek with his hand and asks, “Want a taste?”
You open your mouth. Obedient, immediate. When his tip touches your tongue, you eagerly lap up a sticky drop of precum and then take him between your lips. Brendon has to grip your headboard hard to tolerate the sight of you sucking him with such a precious, adoring, sweet look in your eyes. It feels like you’re thanking him with your mouth, making the prettiest damn noises for him to memorize and play on repeat.
When you lift your hand to gently tug and roll his balls, Brendon hangs his head and groans, loud and low, gravelly in a way that tickles the back of your mind. “Fuck, baby, that’s- that’s perfect.” Your happy hum in reply makes his toes curl into the carpet. “Jesus, you drive me crazy, you know that? I’ve never been this obsessed with someone.”
You pull off him and beam, lips shiny and slightly swollen now. “Really?”
Brendon pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you, easily maneuvering you so that your head’s back on the pillows and his hands are on either side of your face. He kisses you hard, claiming, and says, “It’s actually become a huge problem for me. You’re all I can think about.”
You giggle breathlessly and ask, “Is that a complaint?”
“Mmm. There’s that little laugh of yours. That’s how you got me,” he groans before kissing you again. “I made some stupid goddamn joke during surgery and the whole team was exhausted but you laughed. Just like that. And I was done for.”
You cover your face, embarrassed and delighted all at once, and remember, “Then I said you have a cutting-edge sense of humor.”
“And I thought that was funny,” he goes on with a fond chuckle. His hands have never stopped roaming over your body, playing with your breasts or digging into your hips. “You’re so gorgeous and perfect I thought that was funny. You don’t even realize how deep you’ve got your hooks in me, baby.”
Biting your lip, you try to come up with something to say to match his sudden deep sweetness, but he stops you from being able to think at all. His lips drag down your neck, biting and kissing in equal measure until you’re squirming and bucking under him. Then, just beneath your ear, he growls, “Can I leave marks?”
The sound you make is nothing short of pathetic. You clutch the back of his head, tugging his hair a bit to push his teeth against your neck, and whine, “Please.”
“Yeah?” He’s grinning, now, but he can’t bear to let you see. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine now?” You whimper and nod, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He murmurs, “Good girl.”
Fuck, you’re soaked.
As Brendon sucks hard over your pulse, branding you with the dark shape of his kiss, his right hand goes between your legs, pushing them apart. Two of his thick fingers dip between your folds to collect your wetness before smearing it over your clit. “All this for me? You’re easy to work up.”
You laugh and tuck your forehead into his bicep. “Are you surprised?”
“Not even a little,” he chuckles. Making sure to kiss you and hold you as his fingers work firm circles around your clit, Brendon purrs, “I’ve thought about all the sounds you must make a thousand times. How you must be so enthusiastic to be a good girl. You’re so easy for me to read; I knew I could get you off better than anyone else.”
You nod against his arm and moan when he finds just the right tempo on your clit, his fingers ridiculously skilled. “Just like that.”
“Whatever you need, sweet girl,” he assures, listening to you and keeping his fingers exactly the way they are. Methodical.
“Brendon,” you gasp as your pussy pulses wantingly around nothing, “I really need you to fuck me.”
“I love the enthusiasm, kitten, but I’m not gonna hurt you,” he replies simply. Reluctantly. There’s a tenderness to his voice that shouldn’t fit with his harsh attitude and masculine features, but it does. It’s him, beneath everything he shows the rest of the world. He drops down between your legs and nuzzles loving kisses over your sensitive inner thighs, worshipping into your skin, “If I’m gonna fuck you to sleep tonight, then I can’t leave you sore from the first time. Let me make you cum before I’m inside you, kitten. Can you be good and do that?”
With your eyebrows knitted together and sweat on your brow, you nod and whine, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” he tells you. It’s insane that a man being offensively cocky with all those smirks and chuckles is so hot. He leans back, sitting between your legs, and begins to plunge his fingers inside of you. Just his two middle fingers have to be as thick as any dildo you’ve used before. He bends at the waist so he can keep biting and sucking on your body, the most brutal on your nipples but sure to get ample coverage over your waist and stomach and hips. When he feels you clamping down tight around him, the pleasure so much you can’t come up with any response besides your body’s natural reactions, he teases lightly, “Careful, baby, my hands are my livelihood.”
Eyes large and glassy, you breathe, “Sorry about that.”
Brendon’s thumb goes to your clit and your walls tighten again. This time, he doesn’t tease you. He works your clit intently, trying to find what he’d found before, and doesn’t rest until he’s right there. Your delicious gasp gives him all the cue he needs. With his thumb flat and firm, he rubs your clit in time with his fingers curling back toward himself. His eyes focus on your expression, each detail, and he’s addicted to your every sound and twitch.
“There you go,” he praises while your pussy tightens up slowly, threatening to snap into sparkles. “That’s right. Just trust me. All I want is to make you feel good.
Your orgasm bursts like waves against a hull, building and building until it crashes over you, rocking your gravity and stealing your breath. Brendon’s there with you through it, his blue eyes a lighthouse, his stupid smirk your shore. His free hand holds you down by the hip as he lets you enjoy the fluttery aftershocks, not quite forcing you into overstimulation but not letting up until you’ve had as much as you can take.
When you’re finally completely breathless and satiated, Brendon slowly withdraws his fingers and then licks them clean. He leans down for a moment and laps at your inner thighs, tasting your tart juices and salty skin. Your hips buck instinctively when he presses one tiny kiss to your clit and then laughs at your reaction, breath ghosting down your hot cunt. With his slick-wet hand, he fists his cock and asks, “How do you want me, sweetheart?”
You take a few seconds to think and admire the view before asking, “Can I ride you? Whenever I’ve fantasized about us having sex, that’s what I’m doing.”
“You can do literally whatever you want to me, baby,” he reminds you as he reclines on the bed next to you. He steals one more kiss from you before you start moving to your knees, collecting your balance. “What exactly do you fantasize about?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you reply as you climb into his lap, hands going straight to grabbing his pecs with your nails digging deliciously into the flesh, “but you have these giant fucking tits I’d like to fondle.” Then, as he laughs, you rub your sloppy cunt up and down his shaft, watching his eyes close and hearing his breath go shaky with lust. “I wanna see your arms when you hold onto my hips and thrust up into me. Wanna feel how strong your thighs are underneath me.”
Brendon shakes his head and snickers, “Wow, I had no idea how much you were going to objectify my muscles.”
“Shut up; yes, you did.”
You roll your eyes and sink down on him, nice and slow, savoring the way he has to resist slamming up to meet you.
He groans, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist, “Yeah, you’re right.”
You’re completely forgotten how to talk. The stretch of him is divine. Everything you’d imagined and then some. You have to be careful not to get too eager too fast because his length is definitely enough to bruise your cervix if you aren’t gentle with yourself while your pussy adjusts to him. Which is sad, considering the only thing you’ve ever wanted in life all of a sudden is to bounce on Park the Shark’s huge cock until you pass out.
Instead, you slowly rock back and forth, your hands flush on his pecs, with your eyes pinched shut and your mouth falling open. Brendon reaches up to hold your chin, forcing you to open your eyes, and checks softly, “Too much? We can slow down and-”
“Shut up,” you order breathily. He smiles, puts his hands behind his head a moment, and enjoys the view of you being a tiny bit bossy. “Feels so fucking good, I promise. Not too much. Just- just- Jesus.”
“Well, they do say he was hung.”
Your laugh is addictively adorable, sounding almost sleepy from the enormous effort of acclimating to him. “You’re so awful.”
Dragging his hands down and resting them on your ass, he coos back, “And you’re sooooo into it.”
When he gives you a quick upward thrust, your response turns into a squeak, “Yeah.”
From there, Brendon helps you out. He knows he’s not exactly an easy man to take in this position – beyond the size of his cock, his thighs and glutes are so well-developed that your knees don’t even reach the mattress on either side of his hips – so he holds you in place and rolls his hips up into yours, slow and precise.
Once he can tell you’re getting comfortable, breaths easy and moans tumbling out again, he murmurs, “How about you touch yourself?”
Eyebrows knitted together, you sigh, “Already so much, Bren.”
Purposefully missing the point, he sighs back, “I guess I can do it for you, princess.”
When his thumb goes to your clit, your nails dig into his chest. Mean pink half moons rise in their wake, but you can’t stop yourself – and he doesn’t mind. So stretched out, your pussy pulses more than it clamps down, each contraction a fluttery thing that’s somehow more intense than the last. He’s grinning to himself as he feels your orgasm approaching fast. You’re so relaxed with him that he can control your pleasure with the ease of a decades-long lover. He’s going to have to teach you to be less trusting, maybe teach you to fight, but right now all he wants is for you to yield to him completely.
You cum with a long, drawn-out whine, sweat shiny on your hairline, and Brendon has to take over completely as your thighs twitch and falter. It’s impossible to hold yourself up through the roiling pleasure that overtakes you in a deluge. Your wetness drips down his balls and onto your bed and you’re not sure you’ve ever been this soaked from how much a partner’s turned you on and worked you up.
“Aw, my sweet baby,” he purrs as you fight to stay upright, your thighs burning for relief in the wake of your second orgasm, “trying so hard to keep up.”
While you let out tiny, cute whimpers, Brendon pulls out slowly and stands up, ignoring your complaining whine at the lack of contact. He goes to your bedside table and muses, “Let’s see what we have here.” Your cheeks burn as he thumbs through your admittedly maybe-too-ample sex toy collection. Taking out your baby blue silicone mini wand, Brendon grins. “Hot, young, single doctor – knew I’d find some goodies in here.”
You’re totally gone by now, anything but your desire to be with him gone out the window, and he can tell. It’s his favorite thing in the world. When he says, “get on your knees for me,” your brain is so mush for him that you do it without a single thought or word, presenting your ass beautifully with a placid smile on your lips.
Brendon yanks your hips back so that he can stand at the foot of your bed – which means he can use all his strength to handle you. Lining up the thick, angry red tip, he tenderly rubs your ass and says, “Tell me if you want more.”
All you can do is nod. Usually he’d press you for words just to hear you beg, but the eye contact you make is full of so much pleading that there’s no need for further clarity. You really are so sensitive; there are tears of pleasure and need brimming at your waterline.
“Don’t worry that sweet little head of yours,” he practically growls as his cock slowly fills you deeper than he’d been able to get without being in total control, “I’m gonna take care of you, princess. Gonna keep this pretty pussy stuffed. Gonna make sure you get everything you need. I promise.”
Gripping your pillow tight as you once again adjust to his thickness, you nod and sniffle, “Thank you, Bren.”
“There she is,” he teases as he starts to slam into you. Each time he bottoms out, it comes with a weak, needy cry. “That’s my sensitive girl. Love that about you.”
“That I’m a crybaby?”
He picks up speed at the word and all it means to him. You’re never prettier than with tears running down your cheeks, making your eyes shiny and your lips wobbly. “You know how much of a confidence boost it is making you cry because of how good you feel?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, princess, I fucking love it.” Brendon flicks the vibrating wand onto its lowest setting and reaching one huge arm around your body to press it to your clit. Your corresponding moan turns into a screaming sob, loud and messy and violently sexy. It’s completely overwhelming and consuming. The way your face contorts from the intensity sends Brendon’s thrusts into overdrive, almost putting all his force into it now. As sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, he urges, “Let it out. Let it all out for me. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”
And you weep.
The catharsis of his cock christening you takes over. You’ve cried during sex before, yeah (of course), but this is different. It feels like pure relief and connection. Your mind is totally present in your body, feeling every single place of contact where Brendon’s sweating skin slides against yours. The vibrator between your legs is making you shake in his arms, but you trust him to hold you up, to give you what you need, to take you through exactly what he wants to give you.
“C’mon, honey, focus, you can do one more, I promise,” Brendon grunts when he starts to feel your pussy weakly squeezing him again. He didn’t think he could get you to this point your first time together, but, if he can, he’s not going to stop.
He leans over your body, mounting you now, primal and animalistic, and wraps his elbow around your neck. The gesture pulls your cunt tight to him and snaps your head back, forcing you to take a deep breath that lights your brain up. Tears slip constantly out of your eyes and Brendon’s drunk on the sniffles and whimpers and moans that choke out of your thickened throat. You drunkenly kiss his arm as it muffles over your mouth.
Then you bite him.
Brendon’s hips stutter and his balls tighten up. You bite him again and again. And you’re not screwing around with it. Your teeth are ravenous on his flush, cutting in nearly enough to draw blood. You’re so thoughtless that you’re just going for whatever’s been put in front of your mouth; it’s irrelevant that it’s your boyfriend’s flesh.
“There it is,” Brendon groans, the pain of your bites sending him spiraling out into a new height of pleasure. “I can feel it coming on. Don’t you dare hold back, baby. Show me how much you can take. Give me another one and I’ll fill you up. I know what’s what you want, isn’t it?”
You nod without releasing his arm from your mouth. Drool spills from the sides of your lips, mixing with your tears, and you’re hurtling into the orgasm more than it’s welling up within you. The thought that really does it, though, isn’t Brendon’s encouragement or the vibrator unrelentingly stimulating your clit. No. It’s the idea that Brendon’s going to cum inside of you. Even on birth control, it’s a sign that he’s claiming you completely, making you his, being totally naked with you in every sense.
Bliss blows your brains out like a volcano finally giving into the pressure. Brendon holds you tight against him with his free hand, so tight that his thrusts are short and deep. The final few, he grinds into you, totally enveloped in your cunt, letting himself feel each millimeter as it grabs down on him and milks it out. When his cum coats your walls, both of you collapse onto the bed into gasping breaths.
Brendon kisses and kisses your shoulders while he goes soft inside of your pussy, gently pulling your chew toy away and shaking it out because it fucking kills in the most satisfying way possible. He makes a mental note to buy himself a long-sleeve to wear to work as he admires the egregious display of total horny thoughtlessness from the cutesy, angelic doctor.
He sits up and then murmurs, rubbing your back softly, “I’m gonna carry you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, okay?”
You nod lazily, eyes half-lidded. You make no effort to help him, which only makes him smile to himself and shake his head. He’d do anything for you already. Cradling you like a baby, he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot and hits the light with his elbow. He’s absolutely done for. Setting you down on the toilet, he orders, “Go pee, baby. No UTIs allowed.”
Under normal circumstances, you definitely wouldn’t be able to pee in front of your boyfriend and you would definitely be mortified by the mere thought. But you’re so relaxed. Your whole brain is like a nice cozy hot tub, warm and bubbly and nothing to worry about. So you do as he instructs without question, some part of your brain acknowledging that he’s correct.
Brendon leans down on his knees, a posture that would be condescending in most situations but is nothing but adoring right now, and suggests, “Now, you said you were gonna cook, but how does delivery on my tab sound? We can get pizza.”
You give a hazy smile and nod. “That’s so nice, Brenny.”
“We’re gonna have to talk about that nickname,” he chuckles, booping the tip of your nose.
You pout out your lower lip. “I’m gonna call you whatever I want.”
“Yeah, alright, tough guy.”
“Mmm.” You lean up to kiss him. “Good boy.”
Brendon laughs and then stands up to fiddle with the handles of your shower until he’s happy with the temperature. Then he guides you to your feet and brings you under the water, not too hot or too cold on your over-sensitive skin. You’re glad you went for the house with the rain shower when you moved, both of you fitting comfortably beneath the stream at the same time. For a while, he just holds you, hands roaming up and down your back, as he kisses the top of your head.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, barely audible above the running water. “You’re gonna turn me into such a softie.”
You giggle, “Or you’re gonna make me a big mean gym bro.”
Brendon shakes his head and reaches for your shampoo. “Maybe we stick to our current roles.”
“I think they suit us,” you agree as he squirts some into his palm and orders you to turn around. With his fingers working devotion into your scalp, you hum gently under your breath and trust him to hold you up. During the course of the shower, you gradually come back to life. Once you’re sudsing his abs with your lufah, maybe being a touch too thorough by going over every spot with your hands, you lilt, “You fucked my brains out. I didn’t know that was actually a thing.”
“I did set a high bar for myself,” he concedes with a self-satisfied laugh, “but I’m guessing it’s only gonna get better from here.”
You stand on your toes and kiss him. “Does this mean we’re doing paperwork when we go back to the hospital?”
“I love paperwork,” he tells you, mock serious. He chuckles and whistles, “My first time to HR for something besides another doctor filing a complaint because I hurt their precious feelings by ensuring my patients get the highest quality care possible.”
“Big bad scary Park the Shark,” you agree as you turn off the water. You gently brush his cheek and coo, “My softie.”
Brendon rolls his eyes affectionately, shakes out his hair, and steps out, grabbing a towel and wrapping you up in it before taking one for himself. With a towel hanging low on his hips, he’s scrumptious enough to have your mind wandering toward round two even though your body wouldn’t even consider cooperating for a few more hours.
You head over to the mirror for your moisturizer and catch a glimpse of yourself with clear eyes for the first time since your sex brain turned off. Looking at the myriad of bite marks littered over your body, the flesh swollen and indented, you laugh, “Jesus, now I know why they call you Shark.”
“Yeah?” Park bares his left forearm to you, the one that had been in your face while he destroyed your cunt, to show off an absolute minefield of neon pink bites, some deep enough that they’re bruising already. Your eyes widen with guilt, but he quickly yanks you close and kisses you hard, nothing but lust and gratitude on his lips. He nips your neck and teases, “They’re gonna have to start calling you Sharkette.”
Michael Robinavitch x Chronic Pain!Reader x Jack Abbot
synopsis: Your boyfriends are drowning in an understaffed ED while you drown in a pain flare
warnings/Notes: discussions of chronic pain and migraines as well as treatment. everyone's journey with chronic pain is their own. Flangst, my favorite. This is much longer than i intended.
wc: 5.4k
You hadn’t seen your boyfriend in three days, which was a feat really when you considered you had two of them and you all lived in the same house.
Flu season was a bitch for patients and doctors alike. You knew that. They were covering shifts for sick colleagues so you tried not to complain, tried not to add to their burden. But sometimes, just sometimes, you felt like you could disappear and they wouldn’t even notice. They hadn’t even sought you out to say hello or goodbye or thanks for the food. It was hard not to take it personally. Especially when you’d been in a pain flare for days and hadn’t felt like doing half of things you had been.
You sat on the edge of your bed and scrolled through the texts on your phone. You’d noticed their responses to your texts getting shorter if they weren’t being ignored completely. As you scrolled you realized you were always the one that initiated the conversation, always sent the first message. Maybe you were just annoying them.
All of you had your own rooms, but you were used to them climbing into bed with you or dragging you into their rooms to sleep with them. Jack hadn’t been getting home until midmorning and Robby was closer to midnight some nights. You were already at work in the home office by the time Jack arrived home but he hadn’t popped his head in to say hello once. Hadn’t found you to say goodbye. You’d tried to stay up for Robby one night and woke up on the couch shivering in the chill at the two in the morning, telling you he hadn’t even noticed. A quick glance in his room showed him passed out in his bed. You could have crawled in with him, with either of them, but you weren’t certain they wanted you to anymore.
The last time you’d seen them, Robby had just seemed irritated that you were in his space and Jack hadn’t listened to a word you said before saying “That’s nice, sweetheart. I’m gonna get some sleep.”
So, you decided to stop. Stop messaging them first, stop seeking them out at home, just stop. The days passed and they didn’t seem to notice. You continued taking care of them for a few days, leaving food to make sure they ate, washing their scrubs, etc. You knew these back to back shifts were hard on them but you were hurting mentally and physically and just so, so tired. You knew you should talk to them, make them see you, but you didn’t want to burden them with anything else.
So, you called your best friend and packed your things, biting back your tears as you walked out the door.
Jack was the first to notice that something was wrong.
He came home just after ten from an extended shift. The house was quiet but that wasn’t out of the norm as you shut yourself up in your office to work. He opened the microwave and frowned at finding it empty. You always left them something, worried they wouldn’t eat unless you fed them. He checked the fridge only to find it devoid of a meal as well. Maybe you were annoyed that he hadn’t eaten the meals the last couple of days, grabbing something at work to combat the hollow feeling in his stomach during his long shifts. He grabbed a protein shake, too tired to do anything else.
As he headed for his bedroom, he paused outside your office, hesitating, wanting to see you, wondering if perhaps you hadn’t been up to cooking today. When your condition flared, you didn’t feel like doing much of anything. But if that was the case, you were more likely to be curled up on the couch. He sighed and eventually moved on without knocking. He didn’t want to bother you just to say hello and goodnight. After a shower, he had just enough energy left to collapse into his bed and crash, far too exhausted to realize it was Saturday and you shouldn’t be working at all.
When he woke a few hours later, he went looking for you, wanting to apologize for not eating the meals you’d undoubtedly left him. Besides, he just missed you. These long shifts were killing him. You didn’t answer his gentle knock at your office or bedroom doors. A glance in the garage showed your car was gone. He looked in the kitchen to find no note. He frowned. None of this was like you. He glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t worry about it now. Half an hour later found him standing by the hub talking to Robby.
“I’m telling you man, something’s not right,” Jack said.
Robby huffed. “Why because she didn’t make you breakfast? Maybe she just forgot.”
“Okay, but she didn’t leave a note. She always leaves a note. She knows we worry.”
Dana looked between them as they talked wondering how two incredibly intelligent men could be so fucking stupid. You’d been in her guestroom for two days now and they were just noticing something was up? No wonder you left their asses. Idiots. She made a sound of disgust.
Both men’s heads snapped in her direction. “What?” they asked in unison.
She arched one brow and pursed her lips. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”
Robby and Jack turned to look at one another and reassess. Dana was your best friend. If she was pissed off at them, that meant you were as well. Shit. “Okay, well what did she say the last time you talked to her?”
“I think she told me to have a good shift,” Jack said with a frown, pulling out his phone. That had been five days ago and he’d responded with a terse thanx. “Uh, Mike, when’s the last time she texted you?”
He pulled out his phone to find much the same scenario as Jack. You usually texted them multiple times a day just to let them know you were thinking of them. “Oh.”
Jack raked his hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. Did anything seem off when you saw her?”
Robby shook his head. “I’ve been too tired when I get home to do anything but shower and crawl in bed. My bed. Figured she’d come to my room if she wanted.”
Jack’s brain short circuited and he froze. “Michael, when is the last time you physically laid eyes on our girlfriend?”
Robby sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know. Earlier this week? I’ve just been so fried I haven’t been seeking her out. What about you? What’s she been like with you?”
“I haven’t seen her either.” His voice was quiet, worried.
Robby’s gaze sharpened. “Like since when?”
Jack bowed his head as he thought. “Jesus. It’s been a week. At least. She sat at the table with me while I ate but I was too tired to even process what she was saying. I didn’t stress about it because I figured she had you.”
“And I was the same way. Fuck.” Robby’s eyes went wide and he pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Fuck!”
Dana hummed in acknowledgment of their idiocy.
Jack turned to her immediately. “She’s obviously said something to you. What did she say? How mad is she?”
She glanced over the top of her glasses, entirely unimpressed. “Since when has that ever worked with me, Jack Abbot? You want to know how mad she is, try talking to her. If she’ll listen. I’m going home. You two better get your shit together.”
Handoff with Lena complete, Dana grabbed her things and headed out the door without looking back, Robby and Jack’s eyes trailing her as she went.
“Oh, our girl must be furious,” Robby muttered.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Robby left his shift when he was supposed to for the first time in two weeks. This matter with you was more pressing. Your car was still gone. He knocked at your office out of habit as he opened the door. Everything you needed for work was gone. Shit. His footsteps carried him quickly down the hall. He threw open the door to your bedroom to find a neatly made bed. Your suitcase and a large amount of your clothes were missing.
Robby pulled out his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste. He called Jack who answered immediately. “Is she home?”
“She’s gone, Jack.” Robby’s voice broke on the words. “Her office is empty. Half of her clothes are gone.”
“Shit,” Jack said. “Trauma’s coming in. See if you can reach her.”
Robby tried to call first. You sent the call to voicemail three times before he gave up.
Next, he sent you a text. Baby please pick up the phone. I want to talk to you. I need to make sure you’re alright.
I’m fine, came not even a minute later.
He heaved a sigh of relief. At least you responded. I don’t think you are. Please talk to me.
You haven’t cared if you talked to me in weeks. Why should now be any different?
God, you always knew exactly what to say to make your point in the sharpest way possible. Please. He didn’t know what else to say.
I moved out two days ago. You didn’t even notice.
Two days? That can’t be true surely. Jesus. He knew you well enough to know that he and Jack had been horribly wrong. You weren’t pissed. You were hurt. That was so much worse. They’d hurt you. They were going to lose you and they’d deserve it.
I don’t know what I can say to that. There’s no excuse for it. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much.
Okay. Goodnight Michael.
No, no, no. That couldn’t be your response. This couldn’t be the end of everything. What the fuck had they done?
Baby please. Just meet us at least. Let us sit down and talk about this. Please.
The two of you will never have the time for that. I can say yes but it will never happen so why bother. I’m done talking.
Please talk to me.
Please don’t leave us.
I love you.
Just give us a chance
All four messages were left on read.
Jack tried next.
Robby hadn’t told him how things had gone until handoff, not wanting Jack to dwell on it all night. While part of him understood Robby’s reasoning, the rest of him was pissed off. If he’d known, maybe he could have gotten you to respond. It wasn’t logical, you weren’t any more likely to talk to him than Robby but Jack couldn’t just give up.
He sent the first text as he walked to the truck.
Honey I am so sorry. Please talk to us.
He tossed his phone on the passenger seat. When he pulled in the drive, he was disappointed to find no response.
I love you. I miss you.
He took a shower to scrub the day away. When he got out, he found that you had responded to his texts with a link. He clicked on it and was taken to a local housekeeping service that did cleaning and laundry. His brows snapped together and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
What’s that?
Figured that’s what you were missing. You can probably find someone to make meals for you too. Or doordash.
Jack scowled. What the fuck? I don’t give a shit about any of that. I miss you. I want you. Not some fucking maid service. Why would you think that?
Are you telling me that you didn’t notice stuff wasn’t getting done before you noticed you hadn’t seen me? It’s been days Jack. Days.
Look I know things haven’t been ideal lately. Mike and I have both been working more than we should have. We just have to get through this and then things will go back to normal.
I don’t want normal.
What?
When was the last time either of you texted me first? Took me on a date? It was a long time before the flu.
Jack frantically scrolled through his texts knowing you had to be wrong. The two of you talked all the time. Another message from you came through.
You just got off shift. You should get some sleep. Goodbye Jack.
Jesus fucking Christ. Now he understood what Robby had been talking about. You were talking like this was over. He wasn’t ready for this to be done. Didn’t think he would ever be.
I’m fine Honey. I’m worried about you and hating myself for fucking this up.
I can’t do this anymore Jack. Not right now.
He tried to text you two more times before switching to phone calls. The third time he called he went straight to voicemail. He raked a hand through his hair and tossed his phone on the bed before dropping back to lay flat. He pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes. How the fuck were they going to fix this?
Two days passed of them trying to call or text and getting no further response from you. They’d managed to learn from Dana that you were staying with her and were ‘doing just fine. Now fuck off’. Jack and Robby stood at the hub just before seven going over the schedule, trying to figure out who would be willing to shift around so they could head over to Dana’s together to beg for forgiveness.
Dana hurried through the bay doors and made her way straight to them. Both of them turned at her unusual behavior. “What’s up with you?” Robby asked.
“I need you both to behave like fucking adults or I’ll get Gloria down here,” she snapped.
Jack’s brows shot up. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”
“Stow it, Abbot.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the department. “Whitaker, grab a chair. Patient being dropped off in the bay.”
Both men straightened at that. “Dana,” Robby said drawing out the word.
She pursed her lips and sighed. “She’s been in a flare for days. Meds triggered an intractable migraine. Neuro told her to come here.”
“Is she okay?” Robby asked then immediately said, “Don’t answer that. Stupid question.”
“How long?” Jack asked already heading for the doors.
She huffed out a breath knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “Three days.”
Jack stopped and turned back. “Three fucking days? And she’s just now coming in?”
“I can’t imagine why she would be hesitant.” Dana rolled her eyes as she moved past him to meet Whitaker at the door.
“What’s open, Lena?” she called over her shoulder.
“Five is all yours.”
Robby and Jack froze as you were wheeled inside. You had an icepack pressed over your eyes, the elbow of the hand holding it resting on the arm of the chair. You were curled in on yourself and had an empty bucket in your lap. Dana shot them a look as she pushed you past them and into your room.
As much as they wanted to invade the room, to check on you themselves, they waited. Dana emerged nearly twenty minutes later. “I’ve got her in a gown and got an IV started for fluids. She’s checked in and waiting for a doctor. She said you can come in.”
They stepped forward and she held up a hand. “Don’t upset her or I’ll kick your ass.”
Entering the room quietly, their eyes immediately fell on you. You were curled on your side, icepack still laying on your head. They split, each one taking a different side of the bed. Jack sat on a stool and wheeled it to your side, clasping your hand in his. You sucked in a breath at the contact and immediately started to sob.
Robby had pulled a chair up on your other side, placing a heavy hand on your back. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”
Jack touched the icepack to find it warm. He moved it aside so he could see your eyes. He wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Why are you crying, honey?”
“It hurts.” You practically whimpered the words. “It hurts so bad. Nothing is helping.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.
Before he could say anything else, Dana came back into the room hands full. She sat the tray full of medication aside and hung a bag of saline to run into your IV. “Doc Reynolds sent in the order for a cocktail.”
“What’s he giving her?” Robby asked as he put on his glasses and headed over to the computer.
Dana ignored him and started filling syringes with meds.
“Well?” Jack asked.
Robby glanced over with a frown. “Toradol, Reglan, Zomig, and Decadron.”
“Jesus.” Jack watched Dana inject the drugs into your IV. “Must be particularly stubborn, huh?”
Another tear ran down your face in answer.
Dana glanced at Robby. “You working or calling someone in?”
Robby ran a hand down his face. “Shit. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded and moved to the computer to make her notes.
Robby went back to your side and kissed your temple. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. Just let me get things settled out there.”
“I need to do handoff,” Jack said, looking between you and Robby.
You turned away from him, careful not to tangle your IV. “I’m fine. Just go.”
The pain in your voice pierced through him. “Honey—”
“Go!” you yelled then winced.
Dana’s gaze snapped over to Jack. “You heard her. Out.”
When he hesitated, she said, “Now.”
“We’ll be back,” he said at the door, turning back to look at you. Dana had her hand resting on the side of your face, talking to you in a low tone. He sighed and left the room, sliding the door shut behind him.
“I feel like we just failed a test,” Robby said, voice tired.
“Yeah.”
You didn’t want to be a bitch, to be unreasonable. You knew your temper was shorter because of your migraine, because of the pain that you had been drowning in for days. The truth was you’d been in a flare for two weeks at this point. You’d been careful with your meds but eventually they’d caused the headache you’d had since you left their house. Stress undoubtedly playing a large part in both the flare and the migraine. You’d only admitted to it three days ago. If Dana knew you were going on five days, she’d beat your ass.
But you’d told the neuro the truth. He’d told you if the cocktail didn’t work, they’d have to admit you for stronger meds. You knew that of course, this wasn’t your first trip to the hospital for a stubborn migraine, but you hated it. All you’d wanted from the beginning was to curl up with one of your men and let them take care of you.
You missed them and they always seemed to make everything better. Well, they used to. It’s why you’d told Dana they could come into the room. You’d hoped they’d choose you. Take care of you. Prioritize you. But once again the Pitt won.
It wasn’t rational. They needed to do their jobs. They were attending physicians. Lives literally hung in the balance. But you didn’t want to be rational. You were tired of always being understanding. Of always letting yourself take a back seat. You were tired of always being the second choice.
Your heart ached when you thought about how long it took for them to even notice you were gone. They didn’t need you. Didn’t want you. Not really. You’d been crippled with pain for days and they hadn’t known, hadn’t cared. Had never once asked how you were doing. Dana had told you that you could stay as long as you wanted but you knew you were wearing out your welcome. No one wants a permanent houseguest.
You wondered how much money was in your savings. You didn’t check the balance often as you were afraid you’d spend it, so you left it and just added to it when you could. You’d need enough for a deposit and first and last month’s rent. Jesus, you hated apartment hunting. Hated apartments. You’d gotten used to the quiet neighborhood where you lived now. You didn’t want to think about it right now, it certainly wasn’t helping your headache.
Your head had that floaty feeling that told you the meds were working. Your thoughts were a little slow and time passed in weird increments but you were still aware.
Dana popped back in after almost an hour had passed. “How you doing, doll?”
“It’s definitely better, but it still hurts.”
She pulled you up on the computer. “Instructions here for another round. After that…”
“Yeah, I know.”
She patted your leg. “I’m going to get you some more fluids and something to drink. Need anything else?”
“Another icepack?”
“Sure. I can do that.” Her gaze ran over you as she crossed her arms over her chest. “They’ve stationed themselves in the hallway, you know.”
You frowned at her. You’d assumed they were working. Hell, Jack might have gone home for all you knew. “What?”
“I told them they couldn’t come back in, not after they made you cry.”
“They didn’t. I was crying because it hurt.”
She hummed in agreement. “And then you were crying because they told you they had to go back to work.”
“That’s not their fault.”
“It is. If they didn’t keep picking this place over you, you would be more understanding when they didn’t have a choice. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset. They fucked up.” She sighed. “But they love you. And you miss them. That’s okay too.”
Another tear ran down your cheek.
“Do you want me to send them in?” Her voice had taken on that mom tone of hers that always made you feel comforted.
“Yes, please.”
She nodded once and patted your leg again. She stepped past the curtain and out the door. You heard her say, “I’m getting another bag of fluids. She needs water and an icepack. I’ll let you deliver them. Don’t upset her.” Then she shut the door.
Jack appeared first, cup of water with a straw in hand. “Just chilled. Don’t want to shock your system.”
“Thanks.” You licked your lips before leaning forward to take a sip. You hadn’t realized how dry your mouth was until then.
He sat it on the table when you finished, his hazel eyes running over you. His hands gripped the railing. “How are you feeling? You look better.”
“Still hurts but it’s better. Dana’s bringing me more drugs in a bit.”
Before he could respond, Robby came into the room. “Hey, sweetheart. One icepack as requested.” He snapped it to activate it and kneaded it before handing it over. You pressed it to the back of your neck with a sigh.
“Here,” he said and folded your pillow so it would keep the icepack pressed where you wanted without you having to hold it. Your eyes closed in relief.
“Where are you at on the pain scale?” Robby asked as his fingers found your pulse on your wrist.
You huffed out a breath without opening your eyes. “Already have a doctor, Robinavitch. If you’re going to stay, you can’t doctor me.”
You could feel him wanting to argue without looking at him. Could practically feel it vibrating under his skin.
“Okay,” he said instead, hand shifting to lay on yours instead.
You opened one eye to look at him in disbelief.
A small laugh fell from his lips and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Honey, I would do about anything you asked to keep you talking to me.”
You hummed and closed your eye. They settled to either side of you, each of them holding one of your hands. Jack kissed the back of the one he held, then Robby kissed the inside of your wrist on the other. Your lips twitched in amusement.
“You can talk. I meant it when I said I was feeling better. Another dose should kill it completely.”
“I’m going to lecture about one thing, then I’ll shut up,” Jack said.
You cracked your eyes to look at him.
“I don’t care how upset you are with us, you don’t wait three days to come to the hospital when you’re hurting like this.”
Your nose wrinkled before you could stop it. Damn it.
Robby’s gaze immediately narrowed. “How long?”
“It started before I even left the house.”
“What?” Jack snapped, the sharpness in his tone making you wince. “Sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologized, rubbing your hand with his thumb.
“Your doctor know that?” Robby asked.
“Yes.”
You could tell there was so much he wanted to say but he simply nodded once and said, “Okay.”
“I kinda like the you that’s trying to stay in my good graces,” you said. Guilt flashed through his eyes but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for your words. They’d earned them.
Dana came in and hung another bag of saline. Jack slid out of the way so she could give you the next dose of meds. She looked between the men when neither of them said anything before looking to you in question.
You grinned. “I told them they couldn’t doctor if they wanted to stay.”
She laughed. “Good for you,” she said before putting them out of their misery. “Same meds as last time. If it works, she can go home under supervision. If not, she’s heading upstairs.”
“Thanks, Dana,” Jack said, voice rough with worry.
She gave you a nod and left.
“Don’t you guys need to go back to work?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.
“Nope.” Robby leaned back in his chair, hand still on yours. “We put in for some of our PTO.”
“And Gloria’s just going to let you do that?”
“She doesn’t have a choice. Told her to get some temps in if she needed,” Robby said. “Neither one of us uses our time. Plus, we’re way over the hours we were supposed to be working the last two weeks.”
Your eyelids began to feel heavy as the new meds swamped your system.
“Hey, open your eyes, baby,” Jack said.
You blinked at him.
“This round working? Can we take you home?”
“Yeah, Jack. Take me home.”
You weren’t certain how much time passed before you became aware of your surroundings again. As you blinked away the slumber, you realized you were in Robby’s bed. Huh. At least you weren’t in the hospital. Seeing a glass of water waiting for you on the nightstand, you pushed yourself up on your elbow. You were halfway done downing it when the door opened slightly, Robby’s head popping into the gap. His concerned expression melted into a relieved smile. “Hey, you’re awake.”
You didn’t answer as you finished your water. You felt so dehydrated which was stupid considering how much fluid they’d given you at the hospital. Robby stepped into the room tapping on his phone which he slid back into his pocket when he saw you’d finished the water. He took the cup from you and set it aside. His fingers instantly found your wrist but he paused, “Can I doctor you for a second?”
“Sure,” you said, a smile teasing your lips.
He’d just finished checking your pulse when Jack stepped into the room. His gaze ran over you, assessing before giving you a bright smile. “Hey, baby. How you feeling?”
“Better. Much better.”
“Good.” He held a fresh glass of water out to you. “Mike said you were thirsty.”
“Thank you.” You took a drink then set the glass on the table. Your attention shifted to Robby who sat on the edge of the bed, fingers still on your wrist. “Will I live, doc?”
He nodded his head but didn’t look at you.
You tilted your head with a frown. “Michael, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, broken. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Your brow furrowed as Jack sighed. “I thought we were going to give her a chance to get her bearings before we got into this.”
Robby sniffed, finally releasing his hold on you only to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “Sorry.”
“Let me go to the bathroom,” you said and Robby hopped up, offering you a hand to help you out. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
You took your time in the other room, taking the chance to wash your face and feel a bit more human. Despite the obvious pain fatigue, you looked better than you had in days. Finally, you took a breath and stepped back into the bedroom. Both men stopped talking as you opened the door and stood from where they’d been sitting on the edge of the bed.
Robby cleared his throat after Jack nudged him. “I’m, uh, sorry about before. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “I’d rather get the conversation out of the way if it’s all the same to you.”
“Oh, thank god,” Jack said, shoulders dropping as tension flowed from him.
You pressed your lips together to keep from snorting a laugh at the incredulous look Robby gave him. He muttered under his breath while he shook his head. He took your hand and led you over to the chair that sat in the corner of the room. “Sit. We have a couple of questions and then several things to say.”
Your gaze moved between the two of them. “Did you practice this or something?”
“Well, you were asleep for almost twenty-two hours,” Jack said.
You were only slightly surprised by that information. The meds always knocked you out. Usually not quite that long but you’d expected it. Jack sat on the edge of the bed in front of you while Robby stayed standing.
“First, Dana said you were in a flare before the headache. How long?” Jack asked.
You sighed, knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “A couple of weeks.”
“Jesus, sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” Robby said.
“What was I supposed to say? Hey, I know you’re incredibly busy at the hospital right now and barely have time to sleep but could you take care of me?”
“Yes,” Jack said without hesitation. He slid forward on the bed a bit. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”
You rolled your eyes. “Be serious, Jack.”
“I am.”
His tone was so sincere you could do nothing but look at him.
“I don’t know when you started believing that you were less important than us or our jobs, but you are not. And we’re so incredibly sorry for anything we’ve done that made you feel that way,” Robby said.
Hot tears rolled down your face before you could stop them. He swooped in immediately making hushing sounds as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll get another headache.”
You sucked in a breath and tried to regulate your emotions. “I know.”
“Listen,” Jack said. “Mike and I have talked about this. We don’t want to start over. We all have to much history for that. But we do want to prove to you that you’re still our priority if you’ll let us.”
You thought about it for a moment. You loved these men. Yes, they’d hurt you, but there was reason you’d fallen in love with them in the first place. Maybe you all just needed a reminder of what that was. Finally, you nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
And prove themselves they did. They cut their hours, focused on making your relationship a priority. As Robby said, the three of you were hopefully going to be together long after they retired. It wasn’t long before your relationship was stronger than it ever had been. To the point that, though you maintained your own rooms on the off chance you needed the space, you all slept in Robby’s king-sized bed most of the time, whether he was home or not.
And the next time you had a flare that lasted for longer than a couple of days, they took turns taking care of you the way you always did for them. They loved you, and they never let you doubt that again.
summary — your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle. (5.4k)
featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!reader, dr. parker ellis, ahmad zidan, mateo diaz, lena handzo, dr. samira mohan (mentioned)
content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, heavy FLUFF v light angst, jealous!reader, jack is obsessed w you, established relationship but you and jack are keeping it a secret, ahmad's betting pool, prob some medical inaccuracies, he calls you love, there’s a made up nurse named julia in this im sorry if your name is julia
(cross-posted on ao3)
9:30p.m.
You can tell from the way she’s looking at him that she’s already under his spell.
You call it the Abbot Effect. All the silver fox has to do is breathe the right way toward a woman and they’re already planning their nuptials.
It’s not like Jack doesn’t make it worse with his sweet smiles, charismatic jokes, and his genuine compliments to anyone who cares enough to listen. When you first witnessed it as a young third year resident you’d thought it was actual attraction. You quickly learned, though, it’s just his personality.
So that’s why you don’t even blink when you notice him leaning across the counter talking to a pediatrics nurse from upstairs, his pearly teeth glittering beneath the fluorescent lights as he lets out a soft laugh. He looks unfairly handsome, especially at this time of night. His dark scrubs fit him a touch too well, and it is a bit hard for you to focus when he moves in your peripheral because your eyes are drawn to the fabric stretching around his forearms. You’ve definitely reached crazy girlfriend status, you think, standing just feet away, trying to look focused on the empty patient chart in front of you but quietly listening into their conversation.
The nurse from pedes lets out a high-pitched, nasally laugh at that very moment and you swear your ears are ringing from the assault. You bring your eyes up to see if you could figure out what was so funny, but her hand’s on his forearm and you suddenly feel dizzyingly sick.
Jack is a good attending, there’s no doubt about that. You started working for him a year ago. He would casually flirt with you in a way that he didn’t with other women. The path to dating followed after that quickly. Soon, you and Jack were spending almost every hour outside of work together. When things got serious–and they did, quickly–some ground rules had to be set.
A year ago, you thought that keeping your relationship a secret would be the best option for you. You thought that it would alleviate any issues involved with HR or people thinking you had slept your way through your residency. You were beginning to think, though, that you would rather have the rumors over having to watch every woman within a quarter mile flock to him.
“If you stare any harder, your eyes might pop out of your skull.”
You flinch when Dr. Parker Ellis’s voice interrupts your train of thought. You turn around to see the woman standing behind you, smacking a piece of gum in her mouth.
“What are you, a ninja? I thought you were with a patient?”
“I was with a patient,” she replies with a mischievous smile, “but as I was leaving, I couldn’t help wondering why you weren’t with one”--she lowers her voice conspiratorially–“could it have something to do with the new pedes nurse hanging out with Dr. Abbot?”
You wrinkle your nose in your best attempt at seeming disgusted by the notion. “I’ve told you before…” you chide the woman, “I’m not into Jack.”
“Sureee,” Dr. Ellis says. “That’s why you’re hiding behind that empty chart in the middle of rush hour. Because you don’t like Abbot.”
“Maybe I’m actually trying to get work done,” you tell her, “like, maybe it’s actually good I’m not playing around when I should be working.”
Dr. Ellis smirks like she knows something you don’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone this far in denial before.”
You roll your eyes at your friend’s comment. Dr. Ellis seems amused by your irritation and that only makes you more annoyed.
She looks like she’s going to say something else, but then her eyes get caught at something behind you. She ducks her head down as if trying to seem busy and her lips barely move as she mumbles: “incoming.”
“--And here are some of my wonderful residents.”
You turn your head so fast toward the voice that you worry you’ve gotten whiplash. You immediately cringe at your overenthusiasm when you remember you’re trying to play it coy. Jack and the nurse stand there, wearing near-identical smiles on their faces.
Jack’s eyes linger on you for a moment too long. They soften and trail down your face. You clench your tablet so hard you’re afraid it will crack under the pressure.
Ellis shoots a nonchalant nod toward them. You just smile, hoping it doesn’t come across as robotically as you think it does.
Jack grins proudly as he gestures to you both. “Julia, meet Dr. Ellis and—“
“Hey, sorry, I’ve got a patient I have to check on,” you interrupt with your best attempt at a pleasant smile, “nice to meet you, though, Jackie.”
The new nurse frowns. “It’s Julia.”
You look over at your boyfriend, who stares at you like you’ve got two heads. You grit your teeth and give the nurse a closed-mouth smile before you duck your head and step away.
Good job playing it cool, you think to yourself as you head toward Central 11. Why are you such a bitch? It’s not Nurse Jolene’s fault Jack is so… himself.
“Hey, wait up—“ Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
You stop and look back at Jack as he lightly jogs toward you. Behind him, Nurse Joy looks around confusedly, probably wondering what soap opera she’d mistakenly stumbled into.
“I was just about to see how my scarlet fever patient is doing,” you tell him even though you know that is not why he stopped you. Perhaps a small part of you hoped that was what he’d ask.
“What was that back there?” Jack says, his light eyes sweeping over your face as if trying to read it like a book. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine… how are you doing?”
“Fine…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowed. You notice, peculiarly, that his eyes seem wider than normal. They dart in between the two of yours like a tennis ball jumping a net.
“Well I’m glad that’s settled.” You turn to walk away when he doesn’t immediately say anything else. “And if that’s all you needed…”
He grabs your arm before you can turn your back and turn tail, and you jolt at the pressure. When he’s got your attention, he immediately lets go. You automatically look to see if anyone noticed the transgression, swallowing nervously.
“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”
You feel yourself soften at the admission. You step closer, but not too close in fear someone might think it improper. You offer him a smile.
“I should be the one that’s sorry,” you say, “I’m just a little on-edge, that's all.” You decide not to tell him that when you saw that nurse put her hand on his arm, you had wanted to kiss him in front of the entire ER staff. Now is not the time for grand admissions like that.
Jack looks relieved. A quick smile flits across his face. “Well, the ER will do that to you.”
“You would think four years in, I’d be used to it,” your words are closely followed by a small laugh.
“Sorry to say, love, but it never gets easier,” he says with a coy grin and your chest flutters at the nickname, “unless you somehow figure out how to turn your empathy off.”
“I hope I never do that.”
There’s a lapse in conversation for a moment too long. You furrow your brows when you notice him looking at you, studying you like you’re a puzzle.
You touch your hair subconsciously. “Something wrong?”
His response is immediate. “No, no, there never is with you,” he says. He leans forward and his voice lowers. “I just can’t get over how fucking hot you are.”
“Jack,” you groan. Despite your attempt at pretending to be annoyed, a small smile pulls at your lips.
“There’s something about you in your scrubs and work mode that really gets me going,” he tells you. “All studious and shit.”
“--I’m leaving,” you say, turning your back. A smile lingers on your lips as you turn away. “Bye, Jack.”
“Bye, love,” he says just loud enough for you to hear as you step away. “Have a good shift.”
12:00a.m.
You think the signs that your shift is about to go from bad to worse lies in the empty coffee maker in the break room.
No good shift starts with an empty coffee maker. It’s just one of those superstitions that you believe in that inevitably and inexplicably ends up coming true. Tonight is no exception.
Your scarlet fever patient barfed all over your scrubs when you shined your light down her throat. She’s only five, so you just have to force a smile and try not to combust. Right after you change your scrubs, an emergency comes in that you have to jump on. It's a stabbing victim. You can’t resectate her. You’re there when Shen tells her parents. Their cries ring in your ears for an hour afterward. Another young kid comes in with a nose bleed that turns into hemorrhaging that you have to seal up–unfortunately, blood gets all over your arms and you have to clean all that off and get tested for Hep B, C, and HIV.
An hour later, you’re clued into the bet.
You’ve just gotten the blood cleaned off, a bandage wrapped around the crook of your elbow where the nurse had drawn your blood. You’re shuffling from room to room, staying on top of patient charts on your quick breaks and updating diagnosis and treatment plans.
You let out a heavy sigh when you feel the back of your neck begin to cramp, the telltale signs of overwork pulling at your muscles.
It’s safe to say that the very last thing you need to hear is what you do next.
You bump into the security guard on shift, Ahmad, when you’re walking. You immediately apologise, but he just shrugs.
“I didn’t know you were on the night shift tonight,” you say to him.
He shrugs. “Yeah, been trying to get some extra hours.”
You give him a pat on the arm. “Just make sure not to overwork yourself, okay? I’d hate to have you end up as a patient.”
“Okay, mom,” Ahmad laughs. “Maybe you should take your own advice sometime, huh?”
You hadn’t realized your overtime had been noticed by anyone other than Jack, who always complained about your absences. You offer a smile and go to walk around him when you notice him going to say something else.
“Have you gotten in on it yet?” he asks. He gestures to a whiteboard in his little office behind him, a teasing grin pulling at his lips.
You can’t help the reciprocal delight that comes across your face. Ahmad’s gambling pools have been a thing since you first started as a resident at PTMC. They weren’t often, but whenever they started up you were always happy to participate. It provided a fun distraction to an extremely bleak work environment.
“What’s it about?” You suddenly grin as you remember something you saw on the way into work that morning. “Oh, is it about what caused that powerline to fall outside the park?”
“Nah,” Ahmad tells you, “it’s about Abbot.”
You freeze. You hug your tablet to your chest in an attempt to keep your hands from fidgeting. Abbot? What could that be about? Do they know…
“Abbot?” you echo. You put on your best attempt at a genuine smile. “What’s he done now?”
“It’s not so much what he’s done, as what he might do,” Ahmad says. You cock a curious brow. “We’re betting on what woman in the PTMC will ask him out first.”
Your blood runs cold. You try to force yourself to smile, but you think it might come off as a grimace instead. You caused this, you try to tell yourself, you were the one that made it a secret.
“Surely there aren’t that many women to list.”
“Eh, you’d probably be surprised,” Ahmad continues, “we have at least twelve right now. People keep adding candidates.”
Twelve. Twelve women that people in this ER think would make a better partner to Abbot. You tug at your stethoscope and your eyes subconsciously dart to your feet. You don’t want to know more, you don’t think you can take more, but Ahmad continues.
“I think most people are voting for Dr. Mohan, but there have been quite a few for… hey, you okay?”
You hadn’t realized your eyes had gotten foggy with tears. You force a smile on your face.
“Sorry, uh, I’m not going to participate,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, “it’s not like I have a bunch of extra cash laying around.” (That part is technically true, but it’s definitely not the reason you’re crying.)
Ahmad continues to look at you like he knows you’re hiding something. He doesn’t press on it, and he nods slowly. You take that as permission enough to leave.
You weave around Ahmad and pretend you don’t feel his eyes staring holes into the back of your head as you do. Nurses and doctors move around you like schools of fish navigating deep oceanic waters, and you’re a shark that they automatically go to avoid. You set your expression as you head over to Ahmad’s office. You glance up and down the busy hallways before you stop completely, peering in through the slats of the blinds to the board.
You see the names Doctor Mohan, Nurse Julia, Doctor Al-Hashimi–it goes on. Your name is the very last addition. There’s only a few dollars under you. Your heart sinks and you feel disappointment roll over you like a tidal wave.
You mull in the feeling for a moment too long, then you force it away. You remind yourself that at the end of the day, you were the one that asked for this. Jack has no role to play in your own self-imposed misery. You, and only you, had been the one afraid of what others might think. You made your bed, now you have to sleep in it.
You don’t want to face this fact, so you instead open up your tablet to check for any new updates on your patients.
4:00a.m.
You stare at the red numbers flashing on the microwave in front of you with bleary eyes. It lets out a high pitched chiiiirp when the meal you’d packed is done being reheated. You grab the container and take a seat near the back of the breakroom.
You put your forehead into your hand and begin to fork through the food you’d packed with a heavy sigh.
The scarlet fever patient was in the ICU now. Her fever had spiked and after the emergency ice bath, she still hadn’t fully woken up from it despite her temperature being lower. A teenage boy had been shot in the shoulder and had waited an hour before coming in. He ended up being fine, but it was so stressful your hands still trembled for thirty minutes after. An older woman woke up with chest pain and rushed to the hospital. She died on your emergency table.
You force another bite of your food into your mouth.
Suddenly, the door to the breakroom opens and Jack waltzes in with that same nurse–Julia–-on his heels. You stab a piece of food particularly hard with your plastic fork at the sight.
“Isn’t that crazy? I mean, I wonder what it is that is making people think we’d be good together,” she says, a huge smile pulling at her lips.
Jack looks over at you immediately as he walks in. You meet his eyes and flinch at the concern on his face. He twists his lips and turns to pull his lunch out of the fridge. You had packed it for him. Jack always insisted you didn’t have to, but you liked doing it, so you always did.
“I think the whole thing is silly,” he tells her. She doesn’t get the hint he’s giving her and lets out another giggle.
You know what they’re talking about–it has to be the betting board. You had checked it at least three times over the past hour. Pure curiosity, of course. It’s not like you were secretly a masochist or anything.
The last you’d checked, Julia’s pool had officially surpassed the lead’s. Yours still hovered around the same amount. A part of you had wanted to put some money down on your name just to get in the running, but you thought it’d probably look weird to see you betting on yourself.
Instead of taking a seat at the other table, Jack walks over to you. “Hey, got room here?”
You look over at Julia and cock a brow. You shrug a shoulder lazily. “Sure, I’m just about to wrap up.”
They take the seats across from you, and you shoot a small smile toward your boyfriend. He rolls his eyes and gestures slyly to Julia, who’s currently discussing all the cases she’s had today to nobody but herself. You laugh under your breath at his annoyance. Knowing Julia now, you wonder if the ER staff’s hypothesis that pedes makes you go crazy was true after all.
He pops open his lunch and you notice him pick up the note you’d carefully written. He smiles lovingly down at it, stroking the creases from where it had been folded. You bite your lip to hide your smile and look down at your food.
“Who’s that from?”
Julia reminds you of her presence by asking the question. You flinch and your eyes shoot up to look at her. She’s staring at the note in Jack’s hands with furrowed brows.
You stop eating mid chew, staring at Jack’s reaction. He hesitates, eyes darting up to meet yours. His lips part, then close, then part again. Julia looks between the two of you confusedly, jealously. The anger at her audacity to feel jealousy roars up out of you before you can control it.
“It’s from me.”
Jack’s eyes widen to an almost comical size. Julia’s mouth drops open.
“You two are…?”
“Yep,” you supply, standing up from the table with a sharp jolt. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself. Oh, and if you could, please stop flirting with my boyfriend.”
Julia nods slowly.
You grab your lunch and dump the rest into the trash. As you put the empty container back in the fridge, you hear him standing, giving apologies to Julia about your behavior before slipping up behind you. You notice Julia leaving the break room as you turn around.
“I need to go,” you say, trying to weave around him.
He just steps in front of you. His arms are crossed in that delightfully sinful way he knows you like, a cocky grin on his face.
“So was I going to be told we are telling people about our relationship now or…?”
You look up at Jack and try to smile but it just feels as stretched thin as you do. You notice him deflate when you pinch your nose bridge in between your fingers.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him, “I should have told you. It was more of an in-the-moment type of thing.”
“You got jealous, didn’t you?” he continues grinning at you like he’s won the lottery. He stretches his hand out to softly stroke your upper arm. You feel your skin tingle where he touches.
“I mean, what girl wouldn’t, seeing her boyfriend get treated like a piece of meat all day?” you scoff, frustration flaring up with your words but falling away with the gentle strokes on your arm. “I think I should be rewarded for lasting as long as I have.”
He tilts his head. “Really?” a grin pulls at his lips. “How would you like to be rewarded, love?” A mischievous flirtation pulls at his words, his strokes now leaving hot imprints on your skin.
You duck your head, a smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. “Jack.”
He lets out a laugh and pulls his hand away. You mourn the touch the second it leaves your skin.
“I still think we should wait,” you tell him softly, “at least until the shift is over. Anything that comes after that can be handled, but I don’t need to have any more distractions today. It’s been bad enough having to see Joanna hanging off your arm all day.”
“Julia,” Jack corrects. You shoot him a faux glare. He chuckles.
“Well, it might be hard…” Jack says, “I mean, I’ve already waited 12 months to tell people you’re mine.”
You pat his arm unsympathetically. “Well, that means you can wait a few more hours, can’t you?”
“You’re really going to make me put up with those flirty EMTs the rest of the night,” Jack deadpans.
“I’m sorry?” you really don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Being in a secret relationship works both ways, love,” he tells you, walking backwards to the door, “you have to be jealous about nurses, I have to be jealous about hot first responders. We both got it bad.”
6:45a.m.
“Waaait, where aaam I?” the young, blonde, completely shitface-drunk college girl asks, her eyes wide and bloodshot to all Hell.
“You are in a H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L, hospital. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” Nurse Mateo says from where he adjusts the blood pressure cuff on her forearm.
You stifle a laugh. Sure, Mateo’s a bit grumpy with the girl, but she had tried to throw a chair at him when she was first admitted. She missed by about two feet, but the intent was there enough that Ahmad insisted on putting a pair of handcuffs around one of her wrists to her bed.
The girl just frowns. “Why’m in a h-o-sss…”
You lean over and pull up one of her eyelids, flashing your pin light into her left eye. It retracts normally, but she hisses like a vampire and pulls away with all her strength.
“You fell and hit your head,” you tell her, “almost got run over by a car. You’re lucky some friendly samaritans stopped to help you.”
She doesn’t reply. She stares at something over your shoulder. You take her distraction as an opportunity to look closely at the cut along her hairline.
It’s got quite a bit of dirt and gravel in it, and is certainly deep enough to require stitches.
“Well, hon, I know you’re drunk out of your mind right now, but I'm still going to let you know what we have to do,” you tell her, trying to get her to meet your eyes, “we are going to have to clean and put some stitches in that laceration on your head so it doesn’t get infected.”
The girl just stares past you. You finally turn. You look through the window to see Jack there, reading a patient chart on his tablet.
Your eyes roll without you even meaning to. Of course, yet another woman is interested in your boyfriend. You’re starting to think you’ll need to get him a neon sign to hang around his neck that says taken.
“She might listen to him better,” Mateo offers, “or I can sedate her. I am not trying to get another code hoola-hoop.”
You look back at the girl who’s clearly very out of it–staring at your boyfriend, even though it’s unlikely she could fully make him out–and let out a heavy sigh. You shrug one shoulder and snap off your gloves in the same swift movement. You stand and leave the room, headed to where your boyfriend stands next to desks.
Once you reach his side, you don’t have to say anything to grab his attention because he suddenly looks up like he sensed your presence. You offer him a weary smile and he returns it in full, turning his body to offer his full attention.
“What’s up?” he asks.
He’s in Dr. Abbot the ER attending mode now, all professionalism and seriousness. You smile to yourself at the memory of your first few shifts as a resident, crushing furiously like half the other women on the night-shift.
“I have an incredibly drunk twenty-one-year-old, BAC of .16%, large forehead contusion,” you say, “and… she’s been making goo-goo eyes at you since she first came in. She’s been fairly combative, so maybe you could come in and ‘work your magic’?”
“What I’m hearing is you want to use me as eye candy?” Jack’s words end in a soft laugh. “Man, maybe I should go to HR…”
You laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. Just a few hours ago, you’d been upset at the very idea of your boyfriend being looked at by another woman. Now, you were using his good looks to win patients over. Screw it, your shift’s almost over. Anyone who tries to take your boyfriend in the last hour of your shift will have hell to pay.
“All I need is for her to be distracted enough that I can put some stitches in her cut,” you tell him with a grin. “Shouldn’t be that hard for you to stand there and look appealing, right? I mean, that’s what you do all the time anyway.”
Jack lets out a chuckle, but he nods his head and gestures for you to lead the way. You grin and walk him to the patient’s room.
The girl’s eyes immediately widen as she sees Abbot step into the room, like she’s looking at a movie star or something. You can’t fault her. Jack in his form-fitting scrubs and hair all disheveled is really a sight to see.
“I got your boyfriend,” you tell the girl, shooting an amused glance to Jack, “now how about I look at that cut on your forehead, hm?”
She continues to smile all dopey and lovestruck as you put on a new pair of gloves and Mateo wheels a cart near you. The spot’s been numbed for hours, so she won’t feel a thing.
As soon as you reach to probe it, though, she shoots away from you.
“Wait, waaait,” the girl says urgently. You stop, eyebrows furrowed as you look at her. “Can’t he do it?”
You sigh and look over your shoulder at your boyfriend. Jack shoots you a smile and a shrug as if to say “I don’t mind” and you can’t say you’re opposed to the idea. Anything you can do to get this girl treated and gone is what you’re going to do.
“Sure,” you tell her, “but play nicely.”
You stand and move toward where Jack stands, gesturing with a slightly annoyed smile toward the girl. “She’s all yours.”
Jack settles down in the rolling stool you abandoned and the girl immediately lets out a high-pitched, excited giggle.
You watch Jack and the girl quietly talking together; him asking her what she was celebrating, her replying that it was her birthday, him asking what she’s studying, her telling him she’s in law school. All through the applying of the cleaning of the wound, the sutures, and then the bandage, the girl is calm and patient. Watching Jack work so nicely, so empathetically toward the girl reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. You stifle the fond smile pulling at your lips. You look over at Mateo and he gives you a shrug.
Your eyes get drawn back to your boyfriend as he stands from the chair and walks your way.
He stops in front of you and crosses his arms. “She’s all patched up.”
You nod. “I’m thinking I might order a head CT just to rule out any head injury.”
Jack smirks like he’d been hoping you’d say that. “Attagirl.”
You follow him out of the patient’s room and into the main foyer. You look around at all the doctors standing by desks and mentally prepare yourself for switching shifts. Dana’s already catching up with Lena, Javadi and Mohan are chatting and updating patient charts from their previous shifts.
You look over at Jack, whose body is angled toward you next to desks.
“You hungry?” he asks you. He’s looking at his tablet to give the impression to any nosey Nancys that he’s not talking to you. You bite back your smile.
You nod, thinking back to the small meal you’d had a few hours ago. “I could eat.”
“Chinese or Italian?”
You angle your body toward him. You draw a hand to rest upon his bicep. He turns his head toward you, surprised.
“I could eat an entire gallon of fried rice right now,” you tell him, a small smile curling on your lips. “How about you?”
Jack’s too preoccupied with the hand on his arm to answer immediately. “Uh, I guess I could get a stir fry.” As he speaks, his eyes draw up to meet your own. You squeeze his arm gently and he leans forward. “Are you coming onto me, Doctor?”
“If I was?” you say with a small smile curling at your lips.
“I’d tell you we still have ten minutes left on our shift,” he says teasingly, “I thought you didn’t want any distractions?”
You pull your hand away from his arm to rest back on the desk in front of you. “I don’t know about you,” you say, filling out the order form for the CT scan as you do, “but I'm tired of hiding.”
Your boyfriend chuckles softly from beside you.
You put the completed form into the outtake area. You go to turn toward Jack when your eyes get caught on a gathering of people near the front of desks. You pat his shoulder to get his attention and then follow the crowd forming near the front.
Ahmad’s at the center of the formation, and he has a big grin on his face. You watch confusedly as Jack weaves through bodies to get to Ahmad.
Your heart drops, now realizing the cause of the big commotion. Ahmad wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulder as he looks around the crowd. “And I’m happy to announce that the person with the highest bids is none other than our wonderful—“
You catch a glimpse of the paper in Ahmad’s hand as he gesticulates to the crowd and the words come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “It’s me?” you say, surprised.
Pleased cheers go around the room. You look between Ahmad and Jack confusedly. Who’d put you in the lead? Last you checked an hour ago, Mohan was still the highest.
“In a stunning turn of events, an anonymous donor broke the tie and put her in the lead,” he continues.
You frown for just a moment as you look around the gathered faces, wondering who would do that, before realization strikes you like lightning. You grin as your eyes dart to Jack who innocently shrugs when your gaze lands on him.
Something comes over you in that instance that has you moving through the crowd to your boyfriend. You gently grasp his face in your palm and place a chaste kiss on his lips. You don’t have a chance to savor it before a few more cheers ring out and you pull away, embarrassed by the display. Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives you a side hug, leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.
“Okay, okay,” Lena says as she breaks through the crowd, “this isn’t an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. You all have patients to see.”
The crowd disperses quickly after that. People give each of you thumbs up and congratulations as they leave, Ellis tells you to ‘find her later’ — obviously displeased about not being the first to know, and soon you and Jack are left alone.
“Well that didn’t go as bad as I expected,” Jack says, squeezing your shoulder once more before releasing you.
You cock a brow. “If you think that’s the last of it, you’re sorely mistaken. Robby hasn’t even found out yet and I think Ellis is going to brawl me in the parking lot.”
Jack lets out a soft laugh.
You look up at him with soft eyes, a small, flirtatious grin curling on your lips. “I’ll see you after rounds are shifted over. Want to order the food so we can have it back at my place?”
“If I ever say no to coming over to your place,” Jack says, “you can just shoot me, okay?”
You let out a barking laugh as you go to leave. Before you get more than a few steps, you look back at him over your shoulder.
“Oh, and tell any women who flirt with you that you’re off the market,” you say, “I’d hate to be fired because I assaulted a patient.”
kinda funny that steve rogers, a chronically ill son of first gen immigrants, was raised by a single mom in brooklyn into an anti fascist progressive man who stood up everyday against oppressors. and that cap 2 was about an AI surveillance state & how easily the government could be corrupted/compromised. and that cap 3 was about accords that would strip enhanced individuals of their autonomy and turn them into pawns/breathing weapons & a tortured POW who was villainized. and how in infinity war steve rogers had become a world wide fugitive doing what he thought was right even if it wasn’t legal.
and then endgame said well on that note, we’re sending him back in time to 1950s (the decade epitomes w trad values and when there was still segregation) and he wouldn’t do anything about social issues or hydra or his best friend being brainwashed bc he deserved to rest <3
the worst part is steve rogers WOULDN’T. he wouldn’t leave sam with the responsibility of the shield without being there to support him. he wouldn’t go back to a woman who died of old age, had her own life and told him to move on. he wouldn’t have ever, not even once, considered leaving bucky — aka his entire world wrapped up in one person — alone, especially after just getting him back. and he wouldn’t have decided that he’d fought the good fight enough and retire in suburbia in the decade epitomes for traditional values aka an antitheses to everything he stood for. the real steve rogers would legitimately hate the man marvel put on the screen in endgame. and yet. and yet
God, no one gets under your skin like House. He's insufferable. Everyone at PPTH hates him. You're pretty sure even his team and Wilson do most of the time. He makes no attempt to endear himself to anyone, which would be admirable if not frustrating. You wish you could avoid giving a flying fuck at every turn. Unfortunately, you're not a legend like he is. You're not completely indispensable.
That means you smile at your coworkers. You pretend not to be bothered when male surgeons favor the work of others over yours, even when you're right. Even when it costs a patient's life because two minutes in the OR went to asking a man what he thought instead.
Those are the days working with kids is even harder.
You consulted on this case because you knew the patient from years ago, back when you were still a surgical intern at New York Presbyterian. And unlike, Chase, Foreman, and Cameron, you actually had some good ideas. Your theories got House to his final answer.
And for the first time in a long time, you were excited. Arguing. Intellectual sparring. You were breathless, heart racing, chest heaving. Your hair falling wild from a claw clip as you raced between floors with lab results and medical history.
Plus, after a late, long night, he wasn't terrible to look at. Tall too.
Too bad he's an ass.
And now he's leaning back in his desk chair, smug as all get out. “Like you’re such a portrait of stability. Pretty sure I saw your picture in the DSM next to daddy issues.”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. His gaze strays to your cleavage, but he has the good sense not to say anything about your breasts. This time. “You’re just mad that your diagnosis was wrong. The great Gregory House, fallen by a pediatric surgeon.”
He snorts derisively. “You got lucky.”
You should leave. He's got your notes to finish the charts, and it's not your problem. But for whatever reason, you can't stop fighting with him. You're not even sure you want to. “Did I? A diagnostician’s greatness is defined by a willingness to look past the biases clouded by other physicians’ shortcomings to determine an effective treatment plan.”
He pauses. “That was…”
“Your paper. Circa ‘98.” Published and award-winning. You're pretty sure it got some extra funding for the diagnostics department, but you're not entirely sure. You won't admit that you've read all of his papers. They're interesting. He's interesting.
But you refuse to tell him that. Not after he all but told you to fuck yourself instead of the words thank and you. Not that they're in his vocabulary.
He rolls his eyes. “Cuddy insisted I publish it. I made sure it was rife with snark.”
“As if you write any other way.” He doesn't. You'd know.
His lips split into a wry smirk. You've got him. He's interested in you. “But how did you quote it?”
“Eidetic memory,” you answer coolly.
A piece clicks into place. He rocks backward in his desk chair again. “That’s why they call you…”
“Doctorpedia? Yeah.” It's not a nickname you picked. You're not a narcissist, and you think your memory is the least interesting thing about you. They call you Doctorpedia because you speak four languages, went to Stanford and then Columbia with distinction, read several thousands words per minute and know enough about a little of everything to get by. It's something Chase started, and then it caught on. It's not stuff you advertise about yourself, though. Unlike House, you don't feel the need to flaunt your intellect.
House tosses his ball in the air, sneaking another glance at you. “Huh.”
You're not leaving just yet. You're hovering near the door of his office, wondering where he's going with this. What he's gonna ask next. “What’s that mean?”
“Means I think you’re wasting your time.”
You scoff. “You’re right. I have patients and rounds—" And there's no way in hell you're going home at a reasonable hour. Your neighbor is gonna have to feed your cat again.
House leans forward, grinning. He knows he's got your attention. “I mean in surgery. You like being a butcher?”
You know he likes to trivialize other disciplines. It's part of his holier-than-thou nonsense. Not that you need House's validation. “I’m not a butcher. I put kids back together—"
He interjects. “But this is exciting isn’t it? Solving a puzzle. Not knowing the answer. Stepping into the OR with a plan is so dull, isn’t it?”
“I’m good at my job.”
A dramatic pause, for flair. “But you could be great. Not as great as me, of course, but that brain of yours… could come in handy. Admit you liked the rush.”
You're not gonna give him the satisfaction of being right. You don't want to be another Wilson, constantly dealing with his pages about fake emergencies, indulging his whims. “I consulted on one case. I liked it fine. Goodnight, House."
You grab the strap of your satchel a little tighter, reaching for the door handle.
“Heard you got passed up for Chief Resident.”
There it is. Your sore spot. He's good at finding them, you hear.
You work your jaw until it clicks. “Yeah. I did.”
You're wondering if he's gonna make fun of you or something. Whatever he's getting at, you're not buying in. “Holmes is an idiot anyway. Only reason he got it is because his parents are donors.”
True. You didn't need to be a genius to figure that out.
His follow up is what sends an electrical current down your spine. Arousal? Anticipation? House folds his hands, appraising you. “You want to be appreciated for what you are?”
Play it off. Don't show your hand. This is how you deal with House. You know it. “You mean, be belittled daily while you add me to your parade of slaves?”
He waves a finger at you. “You’re a junkie, aren’t you? Why not chase the high?”
And, oh, you want to say yes. You want to jump at the opportunity to work in the crown jewel of Princeton-Plainsboro, where people fight tooth and nail for their resumes to get noticed. For whatever reason, he's offering you a chance.
You swallow, pretending to mull it over. Can he tell your heart is racing? “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Prove you’re not a moron and take the job.”
You chuckle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
“Don’t push it. I can still fire you.”
Despite yourself, you smile. A real, small one. “You’d have to hire me first.”
You walk away, a smile spreading across your cheeks, but you don’t look back. Don’t let him see your excitement.
He calls after you, just before you're out of earshot. "Tomorrow. Nine o'clock sharp."
House was right. This was why you went to med school. Using your brain, which never shuts off, for something other than memorizing charts. You can use every book you've ever read, every article and medical journal. You can do something innovative.
Sure, you're a Ivy League trained surgeon. And for whatever reason, Gregory House, with a giant ego, admitted you were capable. He saw you, instead of writing you off like the other surgical residents.
I saw your fake title post! Perhaps ‘Captain Obvious’ any character ofc. I’d love to see it!
⌕ ⠀ park the shark didn’t even have five minutes of screen time…….. and yet, here we are :3 (please send more fake titles)
park doesn't mind his nickname. in fact, he almost doesn't care. it's just a very (un)subtle moniker his colleagues bestowed upon him for his professionalism with that touch of intimidation.
honestly, if park wanted to set the record straight, he'd tell everyone they can directly address him as ‘park the shark’. try it, he won't bare his teeth—
“excuse me, dr. shark? you dropped this.”
ever seen a shark striking fast at its prey? well, park turns on his heel at the same tempo and sees his id badge pinched between your fingers. strange for you, considering he'd tucked it in his breast pocket during the patient's preliminary examination.
“hm, thank you.” he takes it back with care (if making sure his fingers brush against your skin counts as such). “this could have fallen into less ideal hands. if the higher-ups hear about this, they might thank you for helping them avoid that heavy lifting.”
you laugh at his jab. “well, if they're ever open to suggestions, i'll take a raise over doughnuts.”
one day. park mentally files the thought in a folder that's already pretty thick for a man hasn't even been able to ask you out.. as friends, of course.
“well, this might not be necessary. i know mr. graham's safe in your hands,” regardless, you tell him. “but good luck with the leg, dr. shark.”
he clears his throat. “brendon. you can call me brendon.”
“oh.. good luck then, brendon.”
oh, what he'd do to hear you call him by his name again. if only dr. king hadn't summoned your presence, he would have tried to push his luck some more. professionalism be damned, he might have even checked if you're free after this shift.
“way to go, park. getting there little by little.” dana finally speaks up after letting the ortho surgeon have his moment of regret. “next time, don't just drop your id. aim for asking my nurse out right from the get-go.”
park doesn't bite. he doesn't have any more time to, unless he wants to slim his patient's chances for successful limb reattachment..
First-time Mayor Dick Grayson has his work cut out for him in Blüdhaven, but at least he has you by his side — fiercely loyal and devastatingly gorgeous. He just has to figure out how to let you know how he feels — and he is fantastic at feelings.
▸ PAIRING: Mayor!Dick Grayson x F Assistant!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, workplace harassment (not by dick ofc), hurt/comfort, power imbalance (boss/employee dynamic), misunderstandings, blowjob, fingering, title kink (both sides!)
▸ WORD COUNT: 20.1K
▸ A/N: this fic had a chokehold on me, rewrote this four times, deleting 10k+ words, but im pretty happy with how it finally turned out!! first posted fic for dick please go easy on me, he's tough to write. if you enjoyed this fic, please reblog / comment / like!!! i appreciate every single one (esp with these fics hehe <3) bon appetit! shoutout to @unificsation for helping me with the coloring on dick's pic (ha dick pic), @flockoff-featherface for always hyping my love for this man up, and @lunexiax for listening to me crash out for so long over this story. y'all the real mvps!
↤ holiday collection masterlist | main masterlist
Dick Grayson has a problem. It’s not very big. It shouldn’t even be categorized as a problem. For a superhero who has devoted his entire life to solving crimes and defeating villains ten times stronger and bigger than him, one would think that he would be more adept at dealing with his current predicament. Unfortunately, Dick has many talents but addressing this one isn’t one of them.
Because Dick Grayson — boy wonder extraordinaire — has a bit of a crush.
Now, Dick isn’t a solitary soul by any means. He is constantly surrounded by people, by lovers. He has had a string of them and he has managed his relationships with dignity and grace — most of them anyway. He should be perfectly capable of handling something as simple as a crush. Should is the keyword.
When he ran for mayor, he made a mental list of all the potential challenges he would face — having to pander to congressmen and council members, staying alive while heinous characters make attempts at his life (and there have been many), Babs’ wrath when he voluntarily puts his life at constant risk, and the portion of the people he serves who are still skeptical about his wealth and intentions. He had been fully prepared to tackle all of them to ensure a smooth-sailing first term. A smooth first year, even.
What he never anticipated was you.
You. The sunshine. The bright light at the end of the tunnel. The lighthouse that guides this office to greatness. Babs had personally hand-selected you to be his assistant and the designated office manager, which means your job is to ensure that he and everyone on his team stay alive. One would think that that is easy to achieve working in politics, but one would also be surprised by the number of times the team would: a) forget to eat, b) forget to breathe, and c) try to metaphorically strangle each other in a bout of stubbornness over a piece of work.
Your presence grounds everyone. Your purpose is to make sure the gears in the various rooms keep turning, even if you are not directly involved in the policies or initiatives being created. Your light is infectious, your warmth intoxicating.
It starts with something as simple as coffee: a constant whispered complaint in the office, which you easily fix with a bit of research and sweet-talking with procurement. Now, his staff is no longer drinking “sewage water” and instead relishes the delicious dose of espresso every morning.
Then come the team events. Many whined about having to spend more time in the office in this effort of forced proximity. No matter how much people like their colleagues, compulsory bonding does not build camaraderie. However, when they realize how much more they learn about the people they work with, and how they’re getting paid to be in the office and not work, they are more than thrilled to dress up for Halloween or bring in their own concoctions for Thanksgiving. Not to mention, it’s not too hard to bribe people with free alcohol in the workplace.
You deal with every suggestion that comes into The Box, the box that has been largely untouched because of how busy he has been with his actual duties as mayor. Before long, you’re checking off every item on the list and the only remaining complaint is with people outside his team. Unfortunately, sometimes you cannot control those things.
(Though, he does recall Tom from the Department of Health being a complete nightmare, showing up almost every hour to nitpick over something. Now, he has barely seen the man. He wonders if you’ve done something. If you have a dark side he should be concerned about. Then again, anything that gets Tom out of his hair, he may just let slide.)
As for Dick — don’t get him started. He could wax poetry about how incredible you are all day, god knows Babs has been on the receiving end of it.
“Yes, Dick, I know, she’s the best decision I’ve made so far,” Babs would sigh.
Little things from how Dick loathes staplers, how he can’t stand when the office is too quiet, how he likes a second cup of coffee in the afternoon, how he loves to snack on those addictive chocolate-covered biscuits. Each one of his quirks, you accommodate. Every stack of policy pages in folders or with binder clips, leaving his door open to let the organic sounds from his staff filter into his room, a cup of steaming hot coffee with those cookies promptly at three everyday.
Now, Dick never expected too much from you. He thought you were sweet upon first meeting, your nervousness seeping into your voice and the multiple curses you accidentally let slip.
He had stretched out his hand and plastered on a smile. “Dick Grayson. Great to meet you.”
“I know,” you blurted out as you took his hand. Your eyes widened as shame seemingly perforated through every fiber of your being. “I just mean— I know that you’re Dick Grayson. Not that I know it’s great to meet me.” Wincing, you witnessed his face contort to bite back a laugh. “Shit, I’m really messing this up,” you muttered only to realize you’ve gone ahead and said it out loud. “I just said shit. Now I’ve gone ahead and said it twice. I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. I promise I’m not usually this bad. I’m just going to… shut up now.”
Dick laughed, a sound that came straight from his gut. While he is an optimist, it’s rare that he finds himself actually humored. He resisted the urge to tease you further, lest you start crying on your first day. He hadn’t even mentioned how you still had a death grip around his hand, forgetting that you never released him.
Instead, he grinned with eyes crinkled in glee. “Don’t sweat it. You could’ve said fuck and we would have been in real trouble.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I had a feeling I was going to fuck up on my first day—” The silence was deafening. You looked absolutely mortified, Dick absolutely living for this, and Babs like she couldn’t believe this was her life.
You were endearing, but it wasn’t as if you were special. It’s not meant to be an insult; he figured you’d just be another face in the crowd. He was just surprised that Babs spoke so highly of you when you could barely get through an introduction without completely falling apart.
However, you rose to the occasion, and you proved time and time again over the last few months that you are more than capable. It’s not only how professional you are in the office, but it’s the fact that you care. Dick adores people who care; there are not enough of them in the world. He surrounds himself with people who want to do good, but it’s not always the case that they fully and unconditionally care.
But you do and, for that reason alone, Dick finds himself completely enamored with you.
It starts as a simple spark. A flash of light in the dark when he sees you one day. However, that spark feels like it’s been doused in gasoline and his stomach burns with excitement whenever he sees you. He can feel his lungs struggling to grasp oxygen whenever you’re around. It’s as if he is a teenager again with a crush on the pretty girl next door (he never had a pretty girl next door, just Bruce and his bat toys in a cave).
All of his past relationships have been fueled with adrenaline and excitement, each one more intense than the one before. But you — you were stable. Calm and composed. While his life has been focused on weathering one storm after another, you feel like the peace that he has been seeking. The bright, cloudless sky at the completion of a rainy day.
Every time you enter a room, his eyes are drawn to you, tracing over your figure as you float throughout the room. The delicate smile dancing on your lips, the delightful tinkling of your laugh that carries through the air.
Dick can’t help himself from memorizing the melody like it’s the next Mozart.
As the new mayor, he knows he needs to maintain some level of decorum. But as Dick Grayson, all he wants to do is — as the kids say — shoot his shot.
“She has a boyfriend, you know,” Babs tells him after he’s just finished spending the last thirty minutes unknowingly saying his entire monologue out loud.
“She what?”
Babs smirks, leaning back in her seat. “She has a boyfriend. She’s mentioned him a couple of times.”
Just like that, Dick Grayson’s little problem is now a big problem.
Because now he knows he has no chance, but he still has to live in the wake of his feelings, and what a travesty that is.
It would be great if it ended there. Dick could bury this little crush, pretend like it never happened, and engage you as he always would. Like your boss. Your boss with professional boundaries and would never put you in an uncomfortable position, no matter how many times you simper at him, how you always seem a little bit more adorably skittish around him.
Dick isn’t intimidating. He thinks he’s actually rather friendly, especially when compared to the rest of his family. Bruce is broody. Jason is angsty. Tim is slightly better. Damian is… Damian. Dick is all smiles. He’s on pencil cases for god’s sake.
But he can’t quite figure out why you seem so nervous around him.
You seem so at ease with the rest of the team. He sees you catching up with Jill from Community about the new cat she got, checking in with Kevin from PR about his sister’s wedding this past weekend, and even chatting with Carl the janitor about his new haircut.
“She doesn’t talk to me like the others,” Dick sighs, bottom lip jutting out with a pout.
Babs gives him a pointed look. “You know you can be pretty intense. Plus, it’s not like you’re actually trying.”
His ears perk up. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not trying to talk to her.”
“That’s because she always runs out after dropping off coffee for me!” He grumbles under his breath, “It’s like I’ve got a biohazard sign slapped on my forehead.”
Babs sighs, flicking her pen in his direction. His hand snatches it up quickly, years of reflexes built into his every move. “What you need to do is start a normal conversation. Nothing about work. Nothing about policies or — god forbid — your coffee order. Just ask her about… her.”
“You’re really encouraging this? In my first term as mayor? I thought you’d put an electric fence around me to make sure I don’t jeopardize my time in office.”
With a shake of her head, Babs huffs again. “I know you when you have that look. You’re determined. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t heard great things about her boyfriend from the others, so I’d rather that wonderful girl end up with someone equally wonderful.”
“Aw, you think I’m wonderful.”
Unsurprisingly, Dick earns that next pen to his face.
He takes his best friend’s advice. He can do this. It’s just a conversation, he just needs to ask a normal question. A perfectly average question.
“Do you like weather?”
Someone needs to surgically remove his mouth from his body.
You look at him, befuddled and partially amused. “I like weather. Only if it’s a good day. Not too sunny, some clouds in the sky, but bright enough that I can still feel it’s daytime.”
Dick wonders if you’re a saint sent from a church with the patience to put up with his stupidity. “That makes sense.”
Your eyes stay glued on him, the tray in your hand that previously held his coffee and biscuits now trapped between your arms and your body. You’re waiting to see if he’s going to continue and Dick is now struggling to find the words to say. For someone who doesn’t stop talking, he finds himself tongue-tied.
“What weather do you like?”
An angel. He’s convinced. Not just a saint, but an actual divine being.
“Rainy days. I like being able to stay inside, stay warm. I like seeing the rain on my window. I like that crime is lower when it’s pouring, makes my life easier.”
“You’re always thinking about work,” you blurt out, seeming embarrassed by your words after they leave your mouth. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I just— I wonder if you get enough rest. Especially if you’re still thinking about crime rates when you’re thinking about the weather.”
The corners of Dick’s lips twitch in the threat of a smile but he presses them together to stop. The last thing he wants is for you to be scared off because he finds you charmingly amusing. This flustered version of you is what makes his heart ache. Flustered but talkative. While you usually keep your lips sealed in a small smile, you’re now babbling on about how you think he works too hard and how he should really be putting more thought into his health, “not that you need it because you’re fit but— oh my god, I just called you fit, please forget I ever opened my mouth.”
With the tables turned and Dick sufficiently satisfied with how many words you’ve let slip from your lips, he finally puts you out of your misery. “Thank you,” he starts, “for thinking I’m fit.”
Mortification settles on your features.
Before you can find a way to escape, Dick continues, “We’ve been working together for a few months now. We’ve seen each other every single day and I realize that I know very little about you. It seems elitist. And wrong.”
You look shy, shuffling your heeled toes.
“Also, please sit. You must be tired in those shoes.”
“No, no, it’s okay! I’m fine,” you quickly say, eyes wide as you take a step back when he rises to his feet.
Dick winces, “I didn’t mean to keep you. I was just—”
“You’re not keeping me!” The words fall from your mouth and he can sense your explanation coming. “Not in a sense that you’re keeping me, but I don’t mind. Being here, I mean. Just talking to you. I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
Another duck of your head as you hide your embarrassment. “No, this is fine. I want to be here. With you. Not with with you, but talking with you.” You clear your throat, tucking the tray closer against your chest. “I also don’t think you’re elitist. You’re busy dealing with much more important things so that’s the priority.”
“My priority is also to make sure I know my team members, and that includes you. I may come off as intense but I promise I can be fun too. Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays from eight in the evening to six in the morning. All other hours are conditional to my schedule.”
A giggle rises from your throat and Dick grins. “Barbara did tell me about last year’s Christmas incident.”
Dick groans. He wonders why he keeps Babs around if she continues to humiliate him in front of the love of his life. “It was the one time! I promise I’m not usually that intoxicated.”
“Feeding the pot outside your dad’s house with… organic matter certainly is a choice.”
It’s his turn to pink to the tips of his ears. He can feel how hot his face has become in light of this exposé. Remind him to downgrade Babs’ Christmas gift for this year. “Please don’t perceive me in that light, I am not typically that irresponsible when drinking.”
“I think I like you irresponsible,” you smile.
“Well, then perhaps I should consider recreating the incident from last year with the potted plant on the other side of the front door.”
You throw your head back in a laugh and Dick’s chest squeezes at the sight. Your lips are stretched into a toothy grin. “I’ll make sure to stock the holiday party with plenty of drinks then.”
Then it dawns on him— “Wait, I’m here to ask about you. Look at me going on about myself. How selfish of me.” He shakes his head. “I think we should get to know each other. As friends. I think it would be great.”
“There’s not much to know really.”
“I seriously doubt that.” He begins with light questions like where you live and whether you live alone. After you answer with your neighborhood and a confirmation that you live alone, he pauses. “Sorry, I realize how creepy that sounds — asking you that question. It was just a natural follow-up question.”
Your lips tip up, your embarrassment shedding away as your shoulders relax. “It’s okay. It makes sense. I do live on my own. What about you? Do you live alone right now?”
Dick opens his mouth. Technically, Babs lives in his apartment in his second bedroom. He didn’t like the idea of staying in the mayoral home in the city when he has a perfectly secure apartment. Instead, he has been using the residence as an overflow shelter for anyone seeking emergency housing. After all, his unit has a stronger security system than the most secure facilities the city owns.
“I, um, live with Babs,” he confesses awkwardly. “We were roommates before I got into office. Friends for even longer. I didn’t feel the need to move and so we stuck with the arrangement.”
He swears he sees disappointment flicker across your eyes, a slight downturn of your lips. A small pout that his eyes drop to in a moment of weakness. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. He reminds himself that you have a boyfriend still. Even if he isn’t a very good one, Dick doesn’t want to cross any boundaries.
“You two seem really close,” you murmur, so quiet that he barely registers the words.
“Yeah, we’ve known each other for years.”
“Are the two of you…” Your words trail off and he waits expectantly. “…dating?”
Dick has just bitten into a biscuit when he hears the full question, choking on the crumbs that fall into the wrong pipe. You’re quick to jump to action, handing him a napkin as he wheezes to try to get some air into his lungs and some of that biscuit out. “Crap, oh no. No. She’s not— we’re not dating. Definitely not dating.”
“Oh,” you say, your voice a little lighter.
“No, she’s just… a friend.”
“A friend.” The phrase almost comes out as a question, a slow realization. Dick sees that dejected look again in your eyes. He can almost see the gears turning inside your head before things click into place and you tilt your head. “Oh, I see.”
He doesn’t think much of it for a moment. He’s a little slow to take when it comes to reading between the lines, even if he’s rather skilled at it. With you however, it takes him perhaps a second too long before he understands your understanding of his words. “Wait, no. That’s not— whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that. I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking but that’s not it.”
Your tongue darts out nervously to wet your lips and he is momentarily distracted by the sight of your pink tongue swiping across your bottom lip.
“We’re not— nothing like that. We’re not involved in any way. Not romantically or… physically. We have individual bedrooms.” He cringes at the revelation. The thought of him and Babs — it’s not as if he has never entertained the idea before, but they have both ultimately decided that they are better off as partners in crimes. Both in and outside of the office.
The tables have turned once more and he finds you watching him, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Right, of course. I’m sorry. That’s incredibly invasive of me to ask, your love life is none of my business.”
“It could be,” Dick says too fast. He clamps his mouth shut for a second before adding, “I just mean, we could be friends that talk about these things. I want to hear about you and your life. I don’t like to think of myself as anyone’s boss. We’re all a team working towards the same thing — colleagues. Friends.”
“Friends,” you echo with a sweet smile, “I could do friends.”
“Great!” He beams, clapping his hands together. “Friends. How about this – every day, you have to tell me something new about yourself. It doesn’t have to be anything big but I’d love to know more about you, even if it’s something as simple as what you did over the weekend.”
Your face lights up. “I can do that. In return, you tell me something about yourself then. Make it a fair trade.”
“We love a good fair trade agreement,” Dick nods. “It’s agreed then. To us, becoming friends.”
“Friends.”
–
The agreement becomes almost like a secret you both share. A moment between two friends.
The day after, when you come in looking on edge again, Dick wonders if he’s pushed you too far too soon — if he has crossed a line past your comfort zone of interaction with your boss. He emphasizes to you again that you certainly don’t have to go along with his whims, you’re free to say no, an extra weight to his words when he says that it would in no way impact your position in his office. He only wants you to be comfortable with him, the same way you are with everybody else.
“No, I’m not uncomfortable by it, I promise,” you admit sheepishly. “I just don’t know what I should share.”
“How about I start then, if that helps?” Your small smile and nod prompt him to continue. “Let’s see, I spent my evening yesterday calling my brother and trying to talk him through how to cook an egg.”
“Which brother?” You chime in, then look self-conscious again that you’ve interrupted.
Dick smiles softly. “Damian. Youngest but toughest. Our dad’s out of town so he had to fend for himself.”
“He doesn’t like takeout?”
“He doesn’t trust delivery apps. Or delivery drivers. Or the internet that much for that matter.”
You giggle, “Sounds like he’s smarter than both of us.”
Dick playfully rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“Though that feels like cheating when you’re telling me more about your brother than yourself,” you tease, your syllables waver a bit, as if you were worried to nudge at that line you’ve scratched as a boundary.
He hums to himself and leans back, stroking his jaw. “Alright, then I love eating pizza for dinner. So while my brother burned the Wayne kitchen to the ground, I went out and got myself a slice.”
“Favorite slice in the city?”
“Of course, it’s—”
“Marv and George’s!” The two of you exclaim simultaneously, breaking into a fit of laughter.
You give a satisfied nod. “Good, at least now I know my boss has good taste.”
“Could it really be anything else? Alright then, your turn.”
“I didn’t feel like cooking last night so I had a girl dinner.”
Dick cocks an eyebrow. “A girl dinner?”
“It’s when you do a hodge podge of random snacks as your meal. For example, I had leftover garlic bread with some cheese cubes and pickles.” His nose scrunches up automatically at the thought and you laugh. “Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
“Should I be concerned? Is it time to talk about a pay raise?”
Your lips form a small ‘o’ in surprised excitement. “Oh, well, I’m not going to say no to that.”
Dick would like to think that the two of you are making progress, pushing past this mayor-assistant dynamic into one resembling a friendship. You tell him that your favorite flowers are orchids and Dick tells you that his favorite flower shop is right around the corner with the best selection in town. When you find a vase of orchids on your desk the next day, you can only shoot him a grateful smile. You tell him that your go-to restaurant in the city is actually a burger joint not too far from where you live, one that stays open past normal waking hours, and he tells you that his favorite late-night bite is the halal cart that opens in the evening down the block from the office. When he works into dinnertime that week, you return with a bag with two portions for you to share over briefing packets.
For a while, Dick thinks that this ritual would sate his curiosity, but it only fuels it. Each day, he comes in looking forward to what you plan to share with him — if it would be something surface-level that a stranger would know, or if you would open up a little more to him. He tells himself that he isn’t technically breaking any professional boundaries but this whole endeavor has been selfish on his part.
So far, you have made no mention of any boyfriend though. Dick wonders if this man was made up on Babs’ end to give him that final push to talk to you; she knew he’d be curious enough to confirm.
Still, Babs has seen how your interactions have changed. She watches the two of you in part amusement and part cautious optimism. “Playing with fire, Grayson.”
Oh, how he looks forward to feeling the heat.
It’s one of those days that you don’t have a fact on hand, so you end up giving him your grocery list for the week. Dick likes these days because then he plays a quick guessing game of what you’ll be eating. Judging by your current list, he frowns at you, “Are you having another one of your girl dinners?”
A laugh bubbles up your throat. “No! This is an actual dinner.”
The two of you are bickering back and forth on whether canned soup and roasted vegetables could be considered a dinner (Dick thinks that’s not enough nutrition and you tell him that at least you cooked the vegetables) when you realize what time it is.
“Oh! Congressman Wolf should be here shortly. I’ll get him at reception and bring him in.”
Dick gets to his feet the same time you do. “I’ll go with you. It’s my first time meeting him so it might be worth giving him white glove service.”
“Shall I fetch coffee as well then?”
“That would be perfect.”
The two of you continue your discussion on said dinner components as you make your way to the front where Congressman Wolf stands, fixing his cuff links. When he spots both of you, his gaze firms up a tad – only to slide over to you and warm once more. Dick watches the way his pupils expand, the way they look up and down your figure a little too closely. He hopes his instincts prove wrong but rarely is that the case.
“Congressman Wolf, a pleasure.” Dick’s long legs put him a step in front of you and he shields you partially with his own body, forcing the congressman to drag his gaze to him instead.
“Mayor Grayson — can I call you Dick? Seems like everyone else does!”
No, he prefers not to but he keeps his mouth shut for now. “Let’s head on in. We have much to discuss.”
“I’ll get the coffee and bring it to your office. Do you have a preference for your coffee, Congressman?”
Dick wishes you would stop being considerate for one second. His bird senses are tingling and he has the unpleasant foresight of practically hearing the congressman’s thoughts as he eyes you up again. A vile smile stretches across his face. “We haven’t met. I’m Congressman Wolf, and you are?”
You introduce yourself shyly, caught off guard by the man’s unexpected interest in you. Your eyes fly over to Dick for a second, a question in your eyes, but they return to the congressman before Dick could respond.
“My, my, Dick sure knows how to pick his staff,” Congressman Wolf grins. “I’ll take my coffee with one sugar, honey. Thank you.”
Honey? Honey? The man only met you today. This man who keeps looking at you like you’re a piece of meat. It’s not even posessiveness that overtakes him, it’s protectiveness. You’re a part of his team and the last thing he wants is for another sick elected official to drive a promising individual out of politics.
Dick is about to intervene, say something about the unprofessional nickname, when your fingers subtly squeeze his arm. He turns to you and finds you shaking your head with a small smile.
“Certainly, Congressman” is all you say before you drift down the hall to the pantry.
Dick bites the scold on his tongue, the sting enough to temporarily distract him from his irritation. In lieu of giving him the stink-eye, Dick guides the congressman to his office instead. Far away from you.
“You have quite the team, Dick, I may have to consider poaching at some point.” Congressman Wolf’s words have him gritting his teeth as he closes the door. The congressman stands by his desk, arms crossed. It’s a ridiculous show of dominance not to sit down to talk because it forces Dick to remain standing too. He wants to show the fresh, inexperienced mayor that he has the upper hand.
Pressing his lips into a tight smile, Dick only says, “Well, my team is quite loyal and so am I. Unfortunately, you’d have to pry them from my hands before that happens.”
“Well, if you do ever get your hands on one of them…” The congressman trails off. Dick freezes. He won’t give him the satisfaction. He won’t take the bait. It’s a completely unprofessional comment and he knows it but he’ll play it off. “Now, shall we discuss that initiative you were proposing?”
Congressman Wolf is tenured. He’s been in office longer than most people and that’s because his constituents are older, white, and privileged. They like him in office because he keeps them happy. Many progressive bills have stalled due to his protests. It’s near impossible to get him on the liberal side so Dick was more than surprised when his team finally reached out.
Unfortunately, the conversation goes as expected. It’s nothing but a performance of power from the congressman on funding that he could potentially release to Dick in the new year. He wants Dick to beg for it, wants him to cater to his whims and please him. But Dick isn’t a beggar, not unless it’s a woman who wants him on his knees.
It’s supposed to be a quick meeting to review the proposal but the congressman is clearly disinterested. He keeps going on irrelevant tangents that is frankly a waste of Dick’s time.
He needs a breather. The longer this conversation goes, the greater his itch to throw this man out the window. Safety net optional.
“Let me get you a copy of the initiative for your team to look over,” Dick interrupts him when he begins to talk about his golfing this past weekend. “I’ll be right back.”
As he exits the room, Dick takes an imperceptible sigh. He needs to figure out how to get this man out of his office before he loses his mind. However, as he’s walking out, he nearly bumps into you, his hand darting out to swiftly catch the tray in your hands before it can fall. The cups clatter, coffee spilling slightly into the small plate.
“Whoa,” he breathes out the same time you gasp an apology. His brows pucker in momentary concern but a small smile remains on his face. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “Thank you.”
Dick presses his tongue against his cheek as he hands the tray back to you. “Listen, the congressman was completely—”
“Mr. Mayor, honestly, it’s not a big deal. He seems harmless enough. You know what it’s like with these older politicians.”
He does. It doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Alright. Just drop off the coffee on the table. Don’t linger too long. I’m not a fan of that geezer.”
Your lips part in surprise before giggles spill from your mouth. “Don’t think you’re supposed to say that out loud.”
“Oops?” He grins, winking at you. “I’m just going to go grab a printout of that health initiative for him.”
“Oh, I can do that for you.”
Dick shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab it from the community team. Thanks!”
In the time it takes for the documents to print and for him to put them all together, he manages to gain some of his composure back. This is the part of politics he wasn’t looking forward to. He has always been accountable for his own actions and the way he uses his resources; it’s another thing altogether to be collaborating with people with selfish agendas under the guise of the greater good.
Many of these people run for office for the power, not to serve their people. It’s exhausting to play this game. Bruce has taught him the benefits of it growing up, but also ingrained in him that the power he has in his wealth is meant to do something bigger. Something better. Many people severely lack that understanding.
He tucks the papers into a folder and prays that this is enough to send the congressman on his way.
When he returns, he notes that the door is partially closed, a small gap remaining to the room. His stomach sinks as he hurries his footsteps, pushing the door open. That’s when he sees it.
The congressman stands uncomfortably close to you, his face practically buried in your neck, as you strain your head as far away from him as possible. The man’s hand is on your hip to keep you in place and Dick’s sharp ears catch the whisper of “if you want to climb the ladder in politics, I can help get you there if you help me.”
The door creaking open draws Wolf’s attention and he immediately takes a step back, his hand falling away from your body. Your eyes are wide, alert, panicked when they fly over to him. You’re fast to move away from the congressman, shifting closer to him.
“Ah, Dick, I was just telling your assistant here that she did a wonderful job with the coffee.”
But Dick barely hears him. He barely processes his words with the blood rushing in his ears. His blue eyes are not on the vile man before him, but on you. You with your back ramrod straight, your body leaning closer and closer towards the door — your escape. He catalogs every inch of you to ensure you’re unharmed.
Your name rolls off Dick’s tongue. You finally look up at him. The fear chips away as the muscles in your shoulders relax. Dick moves fast, ushering you out of the room before the congressman can say another word.
“Are you— did he— that fucker,” Dick spits out.
His fury doesn’t appear to help the situation when he sees you flinch with his words. He immediately pinches his lips together. He doesn’t want you scared of him. He never wanted you to see him like this. Angry. Upset. He feels like that kid again that only focused on vengeance. Rage driving his every move.
“Sorry, sorry,” he softens with a deep breath, “are you okay? That’s a stupid question. Tell me exactly what he said to you and I’ll take care of it.”
You purse your lips together. “No, it’s fine. Really.”
“That behavior is not okay.”
“I know,” you grit out, “but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I know,” you snip again. It’s the first time Dick has ever seen or heard you this cross. “I know that. I’m not… naive by any means. I know men like him. Unfortunately, they exist. I just— I really don’t want to make a big deal out of this. Talk to him, fine. But I’d rather not escalate — please just respect that decision.”
Dick softens. He knows it’s a difficult decision. There are so many factors that come to a decision like this and if this is what you want then all he can do is listen.
It doesn’t mean he has to be nice in his talk with the congressman.
“Alright, I can’t promise he’ll be in one piece after my chat with him.” Your lips tug up in a smile. “If you change your mind, any time at all, let me know. I’ll be more than ready to take this a step further. Okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper, “thank you, Mr. Mayor.”
“Keep telling you to call me Dick,” he urges, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.
“Keep telling you that feels too personal,” you shoot right back.
Dick is about to respond with a flirty comment when he thinks of two things: 1) given the current situation, it seems highly inappropriate and 2) speaking of highly inappropriate, you have a boyfriend. Supposedly. Regardless, he shouldn’t be crossing any lines.
So he stops himself.
“I should get back to him. Let me know if anything changes?”
You smile and nod at him. “You got it.”
Dick feels only a smidgen bit better, partially relieved that you’re at least okay. No matter what he thinks is best, he has to understand what you think is best.
When he finally steps back into his office, the congressman is sitting there sipping on his coffee. Dick clenches his jaw and hands over the pages. “The initiative. I hope this is something that we can work together on. I’m sure the state will greatly benefit from piloting this in Blüdhaven.”
Congressman Wolf appraises him with a calm, confident smile. One that Dick wants to wipe off his face with his fist. “The good thing about being in our position, Dick, is that we really have an immense amount of control. Power. We have our people. There are a lot of things we can do to make this city of yours better, as long as we’re willing to… accommodate each other’s needs. What we each really want. It takes a village to make things happen, you know. I’m sure we can find a compromise here on what you need and what I want.”
All his life, Dick has been surrounded by people with too much entitlement. Entitlement over time, over money. This lack of consideration has been normalized and internalized to their very natures. Wolf is no different. He grew up in a privileged suburb, never had to lift a finger in his life. He was brought into power by those with power. Now he’s being kept in power for the benefit of these people.
These are the people Dick wants to cleanse from his beloved city.
With a deep breath, Dick begins. “Congressman, you are incorrect on several fronts. The first is that you do not have people. The people have you. These are the people who put you in office, these are people who can take you out. Second, what you and I want does not matter. It is what our constituents need. Our job is to listen and enact. It’s that simple. Last but not least, you may have power but it’s good to remind you that I do as well. I too have power in running this city, and I also have friends — powerful friends. Not only in Blüdhaven, but in many cities where your constituents are concerned. Like you said, it takes a village to make things happen. If I were you, I’d be careful where I put my hands. You don’t want to risk them being cut off, do you?”
The threat is clear. While Dick is seething on the inside, his voice is crisp and calm.
As the cherry on top, he smiles. “Metaphorically, of course.”
A look of genuine terror flickers across Wolf’s eyes.
“Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” Wolf rasps, clearing his throat as he straightens. The man looks smaller now, shoulders hunched as he looks up at Dick. “I look forward to working with you, Dick.”
“That’s Mayor Grayson to you, Congressman.”
“Right, Mayor Grayson,” he quickly says, nodding almost too eagerly, “Thank you for your time today. My office will be in touch.”
Gone is the collected congressman. Wolf stumbles out of his office, tripping over the carpet in his haste to exit. He doesn’t even recognize you as he brushes past, leaving you with a puzzled look on your face. You turn to him and Dick immediately lowers his guard, melting away the irritation etched across his face into one closer to fondness.
“Everything okay, Mr. Mayor?”
He exhales with a small smile. “Everything’s great. I think we’ll find Congressman Wolf to be incredibly cooperative in the future.”
You give him a suspicious look. “Are you sure? It didn’t seem like he was in his right mind when he left. I hope you weren’t too harsh with him,” you frown, “I don’t want you to damage any of your working relationships. That should be your priority.”
“No, my priority is my team and their safety. That includes you. I was just… ensuring that something like this never happens again. I think he got the message.”
“Mr. Mayor.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” Your words surprise him and it likely shows on his face. “I appreciate you standing up for me but also respecting what I wanted. So thank you.”
The last of the ice in his eyes chip away. “You don’t need to thank me for that. It’s the bare minimum to do what’s right.”
“Well, I can’t say that for everyone, so I’m glad that it was you.”
With that, you step away from him, leaving behind faint traces of your floral perfume and a warmth in Dick’s heart that has him reaching for his chest.
–
Dick is never one to mix business with pleasure — or in this case, business with other business. However, when push comes to shove, one must make some compromises. Take tonight for example, Dick might’ve pissed off one too many goons who were robbing a bank. Turns out, they were part of a larger syndicate with many more heads as back-up. Many more heads that Dick was not prepared to fight. So he chooses to hide.
Part of being a superhero with no actual superpower means he has to make strategic calls on when to fight, run, or hide. Fortunately for him, his office at City Hall isn’t too far from where the thieves are chasing him down. He sneaks into an alley, slips through the back door with his access key, and settles into the comfort of his office.
This late at night, nobody is here. He knows because he witnessed everyone filing out of the office earlier, so the coast should be clear—
“Eep.”
Dick freezes, his instincts kick in. Listen closely. De-escalate. He doesn’t hear the safety of a gun being removed. They don’t have a weapon; he doesn’t think any of his staff members have a permit. They could have a knife but Dick is best at hand-to-hand combat. Now, he just needs to see who may have caught Nightwing breaking into the mayor’s office.
On his heel and with his batons in front of him, he slowly turns to face them.
It’s you.
Dick immediately lowers his weapons. Almost too quickly. Quick enough to potentially be suspicious.
“Uhm, hi.” You’re the first to break the silence. Dick needs to give you a lecture on how not to engage masked intruders — and potentially a self-defense class. You should be running, not saying hi. You should be finding a weapon to attack him with, not looking at him like you’re in awe.
Awe?
“I don’t mean any harm,” Dick clears his throat. “I just needed a place to get away from some crooks.”
“I figured,” you say, sounding the furthest thing from scared. “Did you want me to go check to see if the coast is clear?”
Dick groans. “You should absolutely not be doing that. Do you have no survival skills whatsoever?”
A laugh rises from your chest. “Well, I know who you are so you’re no threat to me.”
“I could be an imposter.”
“Quite chatty for an imposter. I don’t think they’d try that. I did hear Nightwing was quite chatty.”
That is when he scoffs. “Nightwing isn’t chatty.”
“Nightwing is referring to himself in third person.” He is, so he presses his lips together in defiance. “What are you doing here so late? Isn’t this, uh, an office? Doesn’t seem like anyone else is working late.”
You smile, lifting up your phone. “Forgot this. Important to keep this handy in case my boss needs me.”
This makes his ears perk up. “Oh, your boss. What’s h— what are they like? Do they give you a hard time?”
“No, no, he’s—” you stop, seeming embarrassed for a fraction of a second, “fine. He’s fine.”
Dick’s lips twitch into a smile. Too big a smile. “Yeah? Just fine? You don’t like him very much, do you—”
“I like him,” you quickly interject, biting your lip when you realize the speed with which you did so. “He’s a good man. He’s… impressive.” Dick presses again on how impressive. “All he wants is to do some good for the city. He wants to make the city a better place, not just for those with thick pockets, but he really does care about those who need it most.”
Dick chuckles, sheathing his batons and crossing his arms over his chest. “He sounds like a fraud. No one does things out of the goodness of their heart.”
“You do.” The answer is fast as a whip. A clean slice through the air. “You don’t do all this—” you gesture to him, “—for the glory. You do it to protect people, to fight for those most vulnerable. It’s not that much different than him. He just does it through more… official means. Systematic change is important too than just brute fists.” You pause, eyes analyzing him carefully before a small smile tugs at your lips. “You remind me a lot of him actually. A little reckless, a little bold. All heart.”
His heart traitorously slams against his ribcage. Babs is definitely going to flag that. Crap, he really doesn’t want her asking questions. Sure enough, his earpiece beeps.
“Nightwing, you copy? Is everything okay?”
He clears his throat, finger reaching up to his ear. “Oracle, copy. All good. Robbery foiled but criminals still at large. I am not in pursuit, we will have to monitor for underground chatter.”
“Copy. Where are you now?”
“At… an office.”
“An office?”
“I’ll be back soon. Nightwing out.”
“Wait—”
Dick switches his earpiece off. He’s going to get an earful from Babs later but he’s more focused on you right now. You still dressed in your business attire, you who’s shifting around awkwardly waiting for him. “Are you heading out now? May I escort you home?”
You bite back a smile. “My car’s right outside. Thank you though.”
“Let me walk you to your car then.”
The silence only lasts for a moment. Dick can’t help himself. Outside of work, this is his chance to engage you as not Dick Grayson, but as two separate individuals who have nothing to do with each other. You’re two strangers brought together by chance.
“So,” he starts nonchalantly (he’s so very non-nonchalant, so he is extremely chalant), “no boyfriend to get you home this late? Girlfriend? Anyone?”
You laugh lightly as you step out into the brisk city air. The cold is biting this season and Dick does his best to shield you from whichever direction the wind is blowing from. “No, I just went through a breakup actually.”
His feet come to a halt. Frozen and rooted into the cement like the ground had swallowed up his boots. “Oh, you did?” He hopes he doesn’t sound too excited, because that would be terrible. What kind of person is he? “What happened?”
Nonchalantly, you shrug. “He said I was getting too fat.”
For a second time, Dick stops moving. “He—” His words are clogged in his throat as he struggles to fully comprehend the words you just said. “He said what?”
You laugh and Dick wonders how you can even laugh in that moment. “He is a bit of a prick, so it wasn’t surprising.”
“And you stayed with him?”
“He had his moments,” you smile softly. “Maybe I have too much faith in people.”
Dick digs his tongue into his cheek. “You know, I could just have him murdered. I have a friend with a house upstate where we can bury the body. I heard their groundskeeper seems real menacing. Real winter soldier type of guy. He’ll do it for a dickhead like your ex.”
Another laugh rises from your chest, warm and bright. Dick feels like he’s sitting in front of the fireplace indulging in your warmth.
“That doesn’t seem like your style.”
“It can be,” Dick grins, “you don’t seem very scared.”
“Please. My boss is targeted all the time. I feel safe with you because you can protect yourself.”
Dick’s heart stutters. He nearly slips in his next step. “You don’t feel safe with him?”
You pause right next to your car, seeming to contemplate that for a second. “I just worry about him.”
“He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
A smile curls on your lips, something almost private. “Well, I wonder.”
“Well, you know, if you’re looking for a replacement for your jackass ex, I am available,” he teases. “I come with a full protection package too with a touch of slightly inappropriate humor.”
Dick relishes in the way you giggle at him. It’s sweet. It’s addicting. He wants you like this all the time. Light and easy around him. No shyness, no tension. It’s just you and him. It’s mind-boggling to see you more comfortable engaging a vigilante compared to him. “As much as I appreciate that, I do actually have my eye on someone else.”
Oh. His heart falls slightly. “That’s disappointing. Who is it?”
You smirk, swinging your car door open. “Why? Are you going to offer to murder him too?”
Dick opens his mouth then clamps it shut, lips stretching into an amused smile.
“That’s what I thought,” you grin. “Have a good evening, Nightwing. I’ll see you around.”
And when you come in the next day, Dick asks, “Tell me, did you do anything interesting last night?”
Your expression flickers only briefly, a betrayal of your feigned indifference.
“Do anything interesting last night?” Dick hums in confirmation. “No, nothing in particular.”
“Really? Didn’t meet any interesting characters?”
You tilt your head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For some reason, Dick falls for you even more.
–
One of Dick’s favorite initiatives is the Mayor’s Santa’s Sleigh event. It’s one that one of his community team members had pitched even before he started his term and one that he has been looking forward to all year. The Santa Sleigh event (which many of his staff has renamed as Santa Slays) collects in-kind donations throughout the holiday season to then distribute close to Christmas time. A little early visit from the mayor dressed up as Santa Claus. He used his personal funds to construct a sleigh structure around a car which he then drives around town to drop off gifts for children at orphanages, nonprofits, and shelters.
The whole team gets to participate as Santa’s helpers, dressing up as elves or in Christmas red, and hand out the hundreds of gift boxes and bags that have been packaged. With things slowing down right before the holidays, the team spent all of this week packing treats and toys for their respective recipients. Of course, the event itself is voluntary but Dick is happy to see the turnout when everyone shows up on a Saturday in support.
“Santa, you forgot your beard.”
Dick whirls around at the sound of your voice. A smile immediately stretches across his face. “Hello there, Mrs. Claus.”
Your lips part, eyes widening at his words. He can’t help it. You’re dressed in a sweet red dress with a matching red coat on top, as well as a santa hat. Dick never thought someone dressed up as the epitome of Christmas could be so beautiful but you’ve proven him wrong.
You look away shyly as you stretch out your hand to offer up his beard. Dick can’t resist asking you for a little more. “Can you help me put it on?”
He watches your throat move as you swallow before you nod and reach up to hook the strings of the beard around his ears, adjusting the position of the accessory until his half his face is covered. You take a step back and make the final touches.
“You haven’t shared anything with me today.”
Your eyes flick up to meet his. Sweet and sharp. Ducking your head, you look flustered again. He hasn’t seen that on your face in quite some time. “Uhm, I grew up knowing that Santa wasn’t real.”
“Oh. Why is that?”
A huffed laugh slips past your lips as you shake your head. “My parents wanted me to know exactly who got me those Christmas presents. Told me that they wouldn’t let some old man take credit for their hard work.”
“Smart,” he murmurs.
“What about you?”
“Bruce never tried to convince me. He wouldn’t really say anything about Santa but we’d still get presents under the tree. I think we had Tim fooled for a bit but he grew up after a while. It’s a sad time when you can’t trick your siblings anymore.”
The corners of your lips quirk up. “I had a feeling you’d be the mischievous one in your family. You probably played so many pranks on them growing up.”
“They’re all too serious,” Dick laughs.
“Well, now you have a lot of kids to surprise. Boy, they’re in for a treat to see Santa come a week early.”
The event is a hit, of course. Not only did Dick get to distribute hundreds of gifts that people have generously donated — supplemented by his own purchases, but he got to see their live reactions. The joys on their faces. The hope that lights up the room. This is the Blüdhaven that he wants to see. The Blüdhaven that he believes in.
Along with the gifts, Dick also made sure to order boxes and boxes of pizza for each location they visited, throwing a mini party for the children and their parents. For the first time this year, his staff don’t look like they’re about to murder him with their bare hands. It’s a thrilling development.
And you — you take his breath away. While he has always known that you’re gorgeous regardless of what color you wear, he thinks red may be your color. Christmas is your season. A time of joy and cheer. Every room you enter, eyes are drawn to you like a guiding light. His included. He can’t seem to draw his gaze away from you even when he’s supposed to be paying attention to the children.
He tells himself it’s because of how you look with the kids around you. You’re on the floor with your legs crossed, one child on your lap and another on your side as you read them a storybook that one of them had gotten in their gift. They look completely bewitched and Dick can’t even blame them. There’s a child on his lap telling him how he wants an expensive game console next year, but his focus is on you.
Not to mention his thoughts. Oh, how his imagination wanders. The last thing he wants to be thinking about is children. Children with you. You’d be so good with the children. Dick knew he would be a father one day but he never really pictured it with anyone specific – until he met you.
You with your big heart. You with your kind smile. You with your gentle voice.
“Santa, Santa, are you listening?” The child on his lap, Jamie, tugs on his beard.
He looks down and clears his throat. “Right, a PlayStation next year.”
Jamie brightens, lips opening to reveal his toothy grin — or his grin with two missing front teeth. “Thanks, Santa! You’re the best.” Then he hops off and scampers off to find his friends.
Dick breathes out, both tired and satisfied from a long day. When his gaze goes to find you again, he finds you already staring back at him. There’s a look of quiet wonder on your face. You smile a little wider when you see him spot you.
“Okay?” You mouth.
He grins. “Okay.”
By the time the last of the gifts are distributed and the last of the children’s requests are taken, the team is sufficiently exhausted. Even so, they are in high spirits. Days like these make what they do rewarding. It reminds them that there are real people on the receiving end of the policies they’re writing, the initiatives they’re proposing, and the services they’re delivering. They opt to go for a round at a bar after, one last drink to toast off the day. When Dick says he’s paying, they opt to go for three rounds. Minimum.
In the end, Dick is left watching in amusement as the group sings Christmas carols at the bar with the other patrons. He leans back against the bar, tipping back his beer again so the cool, bubbly liquid flows down his throat. As he gulps it down, he spots you walking towards him.
You’re quite the sight. Even after the day you’ve had, you still look as beautiful as ever. Weariness lines your eyes but Dick doesn’t think you have looked as stunning as you do in that moment. Maybe it’s the warmth from the day or the adrenaline and endorphins still flowing through his system, but Dick feels his heart palpitate. Good thing he’s not wearing his uniform otherwise Babs would be calling in the big guns.
Speaking of Babs, he doesn’t think he has seen her this relaxed this entire year. She’s got her arms thrown around two people from Policy, belting her lungs out about Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.
“Maybe we should shift this to actual karaoke. I have a feeling we’re going to get kicked out soon and you do not want to see a first-time mayor getting kicked out of a bar in a Santa suit,” you point out when you reach him, standing at a comfortable distance next to him. Not too close to be concerning to the rest of the team, but not too far that he could feel the gap. Still, it doesn’t mean his fingers aren’t longing to pull you closer.
He throws a lazy smirk your way. “Wouldn’t that make for a nice headline? Give us some press.”
“Not the kind we want, Mr. Mayor.”
“Still on that, huh,” he huffs quietly under his breath.
“Would Mayor Grayson be better?” You murmur, eyes twinkling with mischief.
God, Dick wants to kiss you.
“You’re not a caroler?”
“Not if it’s going to get me kicked out of the bar. Smart person told me it wouldn’t be the kind of press we want.” You laugh, shaking your head. Dick watches you fondly, his heart yearning to be near you. To get a whiff of your sweet perfume. To feel the brush of your fingertips on his skin. He inhales deeply, turning with his elbow on the counter to fully face you. “Tell me something else about you.”
Your eyes expand just a fraction, enough for your irises to catch the light. “I already did that today,” you respond bashfully.
“It’s Christmas. Give me one more. Please?”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you chew on it, thinking deeply. His gaze falls to them, to the plumpness of your glossed lips. His finger twitches, thumb itching to hook onto your chin to free your bottom lip for himself instead.
“I’m grateful.” He tilts his head in question. “I’m grateful I got to work for you this year,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve learned a lot from the team but I’ve always admired you from afar. The work that you’ve done for this city. The effort you’ve put into building a family with this team. To get to know you this year, to have you curious about me, it reminds me that you’re human. That you’re real. That all this is real. And wherever we end up, however we end up, I’m grateful that I had this opportunity.”
Dick opens his mouth only to find himself at a loss for words. His throat feels like sandpaper, tongue heavy in the base of his mouth. What has he ever done to deserve you? To even deserve to know you? His chest tightens with something stronger than this measly crush. It’s an affection that he is not yet ready to name, but sits heavy behind his ribs all the same.
At his lack of response, you seem to flail. You quickly turn away, hiding your embarrassment behind the cocktail you’ve been sipping quietly. “S-sorry, that was so awkward. I didn’t mean to— I just— I wanted to make sure you knew. You’ve done so much and I wanted you to know that I see it.”
“Thank you,” Dick murmurs, his body instinctively drawing closer to you. The gap diminishes, close enough until Dick can reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear. His fingers linger a second longer as he swallows thickly. “I’m grateful to have met you. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, for the light you bring into this office. It’s not easy to have hope in a city like this but you remind me everyday that it’s important to do what we do. Important to remember that there are people who care. People like you. For that, I’m also grateful for you.”
It’s his turn to leave you speechless. The look on your face is enough to confirm his words.
The two of you leave it at that, standing side by side, arms brushing as you watch your coworkers fumble around the bar. When the group finally spills out onto the streets, many call cars to go home and you ensure that each one is settled comfortably into their vehicles before you figure out your own journey home.
“Let me drive you home.”
“You’ve been drinking,” you point out with a raised eyebrow.
Dick chuckles, “The same lukewarm beer since I came in. I’ve been sober for hours. Scout’s honor.”
Ever the gentleman, he opens up the door for you and helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Soft jazzy Christmas tunes crackle from his speakers as he drives carefully, following the GPS to your address.
The air is light, like Christmas is around the corner and the world’s worries are slowly ebbing away. He taps his finger on the wheel to the beat, humming along to complement the tunes. As he does so, he continues to sneak glances your way to find you also murmuring the lyrics to familiar songs, your eyes glued to the city lights that blur into colorful streaks outside.
Before long, he pulls up on the curb right outside your apartment building. For a moment, the two of you bask only in each other’s company. Music fills the quiet, easing the questions that linger in the air.
“I should probably—” you start at the same time he goes, “Let me walk—”
“You first,” you blurt out nervously.
“I was just going to offer to walk you to your door.”
“No, you don’t— you don’t have to. Don’t worry.”
“I want to make sure you get home okay. Of course, I won’t if you’re uncomfortable but—”
“You don’t. You won’t. I just mean you can’t ever make me feel uncomfortable.”
Dick’s lips curl into an easy smile. He switches off the ignition before exiting the car and helping you out with an extended hand. Your slide your palm over his to step onto the pavement, thanking him quietly. Dick resists the pull to keep your fingers intertwined and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, fingers balled into fists to stop himself.
The elevator beeps quietly as you lead him to your floor and then your door. There’s a wreath stuck to your door but Dick laughs quietly at your welcome mat. Deck the Halls. Not Your Family. Your lips thin again in embarrassment as heat crawls up your neck.
“Well, this is me,” you say awkwardly, gesturing to your door. “Thank you again for driving me home and walking me back. I appreciate it. Hope you’re not too tired to drive yourself home. Did you want coffee or anything?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you though. Have a good night.”
Dick is about to leave when he feels a snag on his coat and he turns to see your fingers twisted on his sleeve. “S-sorry, I just—” you cut yourself off, biting that damned lip again. “Really, thank you. Please be careful.”
His body shifts automatically to turn to you again, like a flower facing the sun. There’s an expression that crosses your face that keeps his feet rooted to the floor. An anticipation. It’s like the two of you are waiting for something that stands in the distance, close enough to spot but far enough that he can’t get a proper look.
But the more he turns to you, the closer he drifts towards you. His body moves on instinct, taking in every inch of your face. How your features twitch, almost invisible movements if he weren’t paying close attention. His hand lifts to frame your face, tilting you up to look at him properly. His keen blue eyes drink you in, how your pupils widen, darkening your pretty eyes. How your lips part, the skin sticking together only for a second before the quiet gasp pulls them apart.
Dick leans in, watches your eyes slide shut. He hears your delicate inhale, a gasp that he almost misses with how hard his heart is beating in his ears. Your breath ghosts his lips, the scent a cocktail of your syrupy cocktail and your strawberry gloss. Dick can practically taste you as he tilts closer, his lips barely grazing yours when—
Meow.
His eyes jerk open, heart seizing in his chest like cardiac arrest. His eyes land on the cat curling around his ankles.
Shit.
When he looks up, you’re already wincing and putting some distance between you. “That’s Mrs. Norris’ cat,” you say weakly, voice a little strained. You look over your shoulder to check for something then turn back to him. Dick’s heart clenches at the sight of you.
His hand reaches up, an involuntary draw of his fingers to your skin, but you take a step back. A step away from him.
His breath catches. His hand falls away.
“You should go,” you clear your throat, “Mrs. Norris is extremely nosy and she may come looking for him soon. She also gossips a bit too much.”
“Right, yes. Of course.” Dick hears his own sharp intake of breath as he backs away from you.
The heaviness in the atmosphere has evaporated past the lightness, it shifts towards the opposite end with pure discomfort hanging onto every breath. His heart thunders in his chest but he forces himself to look at you, at the same time you seem to be forcing yourself to look at anywhere but him.
“I’ll, uhm, I’ll see you in the office then. Monday.”
“Monday,” you confirm with a tight smile, hand reaching up to rub your other arm. You’ve shrunken into yourself, shoulders curling together like you’re trying to disappear from sight.
Dick feels his heart splinter. This is the last thing he wants — for you to be uncomfortable again around him. But looking at you now, he knows he has sufficiently screwed things up. Babs will certainly give him an earful about decorum and propriety and power imbalance. However, he also knows that she’ll take one look at his face and know that his own guilt would have sucked him dry.
As he leaves that night, all he can think is — fuck, what has he done?
–
Nearly his entire life, Dick was constantly told that he was Bruce Wayne’s greatest success. The one kid that turned out just right. For a while, Dick might have believed it. He likes to think he has made many good decisions, has helped many people as both Dick Grayson and as Nightwing. Even when he thinks it’s never enough, he wants to believe that he has created an impact.
But sitting in his office today, after what happened over the weekend, Dick questions whether he’s even a good person. He buries his face in his hands with a groan.
Babs flinches. “Please don’t make too many noises, I think I’m still recovering from that bar.”
“At least your hangover is temporary. This pain is forever,” he mutters petulantly, pressing his cheek against the coolness of his desk. He hopes that the cold surface would wake him up from this nightmare, but it’s looking more and more unlikely.
Dick spent the remainder of his Saturday evening absolutely losing his mind. He doesn’t get a wink of sleep, instead constantly checking his phone for any messages. From you, from the press, from Mrs. Norris. Anyone. A sign to indicate that he hasn’t completely fucked things up.
Unfortunately, he isn’t so lucky.
Monday finds the two of you awkwardly bumping into each other in the front door and he gestures for you to enter first. He asks you how the rest of your weekend was and you respond with a stilted fine, and yours?
Before Dick even started really talking to you, it was never this painful.
Then you bring him coffee and, when he stands to help you, hand reaching out to take the cup from you, you jerk back so fast you slosh the scalding liquid on your sleeve. Dick launches into action, immediately dragging the fabric away from your skin, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as your other hand holds it up. He takes you to the pantry to run your hand over lukewarm water, frantically looking around for a first-aid kit and stain remover. It takes you insisting thrice that you’re fine and a shove of him out of the pantry for him to leave you alone.
When you return with a fresh cup of coffee, your eyes look steely cold as you leave it on his desk and hurry out again. He doesn’t even get the chance to thank you.
Same thing happens at three when you drop by with another mug and his usual biscuits. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that there are only two cookies instead of the usual five. You look weary, shadows under your eyes like you haven’t slept either.
Remorse gnaws at his inside and he can’t bring himself to focus on work when you’re acting shifty outside. People notice your change in behavior as well, how you seem a little more jumpy, a little more nervous when someone asks you what you thought of Saturday evening. Your gaze would fly over to his office before you would duck your head again, mumbling a response he can’t hear.
Tuesday is much of the same. Reluctant conversations. Avoiding eye contact. Dick looks outside his office window in concern.
His biggest worry however is that he has become what he hated most. He has become another Congressman Wolf. Another man who feels entitled to what doesn’t belong to him. To what he doesn’t deserve. And you — you’re sweet and you’re honest and you’re tough as nails, and he has put you in that uncomfortable position after promising you safety and comfort.
Dick Grayson is officially an asshole and a hypocrite.
But Dick is also a fixer. He wants to fix this. He needs to fix this. So he turns to Babs, the woman who seems to have all the answers. “What should I do?”
“You should talk to her,” Babs says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“She can barely look me in the eye, Babs. I can’t put her in that awkward position of being in a room with just me again. Can you mediate?”
“That feels like a private conversation that should stay between the two of you.”
His fingers drag through his tangled brunette hair. A curse leaves his lips. There is one answer that rests on the tip of his tongue, one that was his last resort, one that certainly isn’t his favorite but is becoming increasingly apparent as the only solution.
“I need you to move her off duty as my assistant.”
“Dick, what—”
“Put her with another team. She’s great. She’s smart, she’s hard working. She can fit in wherever she goes next. Whatever team she prefers, put her there.”
Babs purses her lips. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“You saw her! She can’t even look at me. I don’t want her to—” he takes a deep breath. Hate me. I don’t want her to hate me. “I want her to stay because she’s a fantastic asset.” And because I’m selfish and I want her here. “But I don’t want her to constantly tiptoe around me, feeling like she has to walk on eggshells. I want her to be comfortable. If she decides she can’t even be in this office then I’ll help her find a job in someone else’s office.”
“Dick…”
“I don’t want to disappoint her anymore than I already have, Babs,” Dick sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already proven myself to be a real asshole after what I did. Just… please.”
Her eyes are wary as she evaluates him, eyes critical as she witnesses his desolation. His desperation. She finally relents with a deep sigh. “Alright, fine, I’ll talk to her. But I want to emphasize again that I don’t think this is the way to go about it. I know her, Dick. She’s not… I don’t think she’s uncomfortable in the way you think.”
“Babs.”
“Alright, I’m on it.”
When Babs goes to talk to you, Dick sneaks up behind the blinds of his office window and peeks outside. He observes as Babs approaches your desk and begins to explain the situation, the change. He watches the fissures in your expression, ones that he put there. Your face falls, disappointment clouding your expression as you nod solemnly. You say something back to Babs that he doesn’t hear. Then you twist towards his office, catching his eyes only briefly before his cowardly self backs away from the window in panic.
It’s better this way. This is for the best.
At least, that’s what he tells himself.
From that point, Dick barely sees you. It all goes according to plan. Babs reassigns someone else to be his assistant — the new guy doesn’t make his coffee quite right, he still staples his copies. Worst of all, Dick tries to make conversation but the guy ends up crying in his office over his recent breakup. The mayor spends most of his day handing the kid tissues and patting his back, reassuring him that it isn’t the end of the world, which only makes him bawl harder.
Dick ends up with no alternative assistant day two post-you. He bumps into you in the pantry that same day. Your eyes light up with surprise.
“Mr. Mayor,” you greet him, coughing as you set down your own cup of coffee. “Can I help you with your coffee?”
“No, no, don’t worry,” he swallows thickly, moving instead to work on the machine himself. His back is turned towards you. He can’t bear to look at you. Instead, he focuses on the dark liquid dripping into his cup. “So, the new team is treating you well, I hope?”
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Dick is enticed to turn around then, seeing a flicker of something akin to hurt in your eyes. He wonders if the new team is giving you a hard time, maybe he should talk to Babs about moving you again. Put you somewhere you like.
“Is it not good? Are they not treating you well? Should I talk to them?”
“No! No, it’s not that—" you bite your bottom lip again and Dick’s mind flashes to that night. That fated evening when everything changed. He grits his teeth and forces himself to look away. “I’m fine. They’re great,” you mumble. “Are you doing okay? You have someone helping you right?”
“Yeah, I do,” he says and he resists complaining that the kid is useless and Dick had to send him home.
“Right, good,” you mutter. “Um, well, I hope you’re taking care of yourself. You look tired. If you need anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to lend a hand.”
Shit. He nearly chokes a cry like a kid. He’s as bad as his assistant and he didn’t even go through a breakup. Not really. He just lost the love of his life because he’s a fool. “Thank you. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”
Silence blankets the room again. Dick’s stirring his coffee and he wonders why you haven’t left yet. Then it hits him. He’s an asshole.
“Listen,” he whirls around a little too fast only to find that you have shifted closer to him, a hand outstretched like you were about to tap him on the shoulder. Your hand quickly shrinks back and Dick almost regrets it. But he needs to get this out. “I’m sorry,” he prattles out, “I’m sorry about that night. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. That was completely out of line of me. I understand if you want to report me. I wouldn’t take offense to it. I’ll deal with the repercussions but I just want you to know how sorry I am.”
“Wait, please don’t apologize.”
“No, I need to. That was a boundary I never meant to cross. I shouldn’t have— it was completely inappropriate.”
Before you can say anything else, Babs pops her head in. “Dick, need you in the conference room. Downtown incident, we need your comment and our PR approach.” Her eyes flick over to you. “You too. You’re good with words, come on.”
The rest of the day is spent on lockdown because it’s one incident after another. Dick ends up having to do a drive downtown and speak to the press. Luckily, the Titans were around to help stop those robbers from the previous day. They (robbers) brought out the big guns; luckily they (Titans) have bigger guns. Metaphorical ones. Some literal.
You had insisted on tagging along. “I should be there. In case Mayor Grayson—” you pause, eyes darting around the room, “—or anyone else needs an extra hand.” There hadn’t been time to protest your participation so all of you unceremoniously file into Dick’s car and head out.
Dick and Babs sit up front while you are in the back with the head of PR. He looks at the rearview mirror, already finding that you’re looking right back at him. This time, it’s his turn to get embarrassed so he shifts his gaze away before you do.
After answering the bombardment of questions, debriefing with the Titans, speaking with the BPD chief, and finally wrapping things off with a bow, his day is finally over. Babs gives him a pat on the back, tells him he did a good job before she goes off to continue her work day because that woman doesn’t sleep.
Head of PR is still talking to the press to make sure all the quotes are correct and to provide any additional comments. You on the other hand… Dick swivels around in search of you only to find you’re already next to him. He swallows thickly when you peer at him apprehensively.
“Hey, I think we’re good for the day. No need to return to office. You should head on home, get some rest.”
You shuffle your feet, eyes zoned in on your leather boots. Your voice is low, your fingers are wringing together. “I was wondering,” you start quietly, words barely decipherable, so he leans a little closer to hear, “if you could take me home.”
Dick blinks at you in surprise. “Oh.”
“My car is in the shop and— of course, you’re free to say no. You must be really busy. I was just… hoping you could give me a ride,” you add in a hurry.
This is a bad idea, right? After what happened on Saturday. He can maintain a professional distance. He can try and make this as painless as possible. He’s just being a good boss, that’s all. He swallows the lump in his throat, ignores the thudding against his sternum. “No, I can do that. Come on.”
His actions are familiar, it’s like he’s experiencing déjà vu as he goes through the similar motions from the weekend. He opens the door for you, helps you slide into the passenger seat, and then buckles himself into the driver’s seat.
The drive to yours is silent. The air is heavy with a weight that seems to suck all the oxygen in the room. Dick can barely breathe, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. You’re not saying a thing and that makes him even more nervous. You’ve always been on the quieter side but this type of silence puts him on edge. It’s like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, a single sound would tip the precarious balance. He tries to chance a glance at you only to find your eyes already peeking at him.
His eyes immediately shift back to the road, his hold on the wheel tightening.
When he finally stops in front of your apartment building, he expects you to jump out immediately. His stomach twists. You probably don’t want to be around him after what happened. Stupid, stupid!
“Aren’t you going to offer to walk me to my door?”
The question is like ice cold water down his back. He jerks back in surprise, head turning to face you. You’re looking at him expectantly. Dick’s mouth dries, eyes traitoriously falling to your lips. He needs to fix his self-control. “I could, I just didn’t— I mean, after last weekend, I thought you’d—”
“Please.”
One word. That’s all it takes for Dick’s resolve to crack. This distance that he wants to put between the two of you seems impossible now. He can only nod. Once again, his movements are automatic. You don’t reach for your door. You wait for him to open it for you. Something about that sparks warmth deep in his belly.
Quiet. It’s all too quiet. Dick doesn’t know what to say. The earlier tension sits in the air, breathes down his neck like a ghost over his shoulder. He has never been so stiff in his entire life, limbs stuck to his side, barely moving an inch. Bitterness rests on his tongue like a stranger that won’t leave, lingering a little too long and staining the taste in his mouth.
Fortunately, the elevator rises and dings to a stop on your floor. The hallway is empty this time, not a single life in sight. Your paired footsteps are the only sounds echoing down the hall. Dick feels dread sink in fast in the pit of his stomach. A discomfort he is familiar with, but not like this. Not in the way that it feels almost… hopeless.
Still, when you two finally reach your door — same doormat, same wreath, Dick feels his chest unwind slightly. His relief rooted in a helplessness over his situation.
At least after this, he can head back to the comfort of his home where he can proceed to wallow in a puddle of his own self-pity. Maybe drag Babs into it too with a tub of ice cream. He can have a cheat day. Or multiple cheat days.
Or maybe he can also ask her what’s going on with you, she might know more. He thought you would’ve wanted him to maintain a clear ten-foot distance between the two of you after what happened, but you seem to be seeking opportunities to speak with him, or be around him. It’s not adding up in his mind.
Maybe this is your attempt to make things less awkward between the two of you in the office. Maybe this is your way of checking the temperature to see if your position in his administration. Guilt carves itself deep into his bones. He never wanted you to feel this way. One stupid mistake and now the two of you are standing on opposite sides of this flimsy scale, trying to maintain a balance in this working relationship to keep the office going.
He’s looking at his shoes, hoping that he would hear the click of the door soon or you saying goodbye. However, that moment doesn’t come and he finds himself lifting his head to find you looking at him. There’s an uncertain expression on your face, your lip once again caught between your teeth. There is a safe distance between the two of you, a couple of feet to ease the tension.
But then you take one step towards him. “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
Dick goes rigid, sapphire eyes alert as they assess you. His lips part to respond, only to find that he doesn’t quite have the words. “I— it’s okay, I don’t have to.”
A pregnant pause. Your lips curl inwards in thought before you continue. “I want you to come in for coffee.”
Oh. He feels like he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he wouldn’t mind coming in and speaking to you some more. Maybe this is your intervention that you weren’t comfortable doing in the office. On the other hand, he wonders if it’s appropriate for him to be going into your personal space. The two of you have always interacted in the office and this is him treading on foreign land.
“We could go somewhere else for coffee instead,” he tries to suggest. A neutral ground. Somewhere public and safe.
The corners of your lips tighten a tad. “We’re already here. I don’t mind, if you’re okay with my cup of coffee.”
He loves your cup of coffee. He would be more than okay with it. Instead of debating this further, he lets the uneasiness simmer in his stomach and nods. “A cup of coffee sounds great.”
Your shoulders slump slightly and he can’t tell what that reaction means. Your hands are trembling slightly as you unlock your door and then open it up to let him in. He toes off his shoes by the doorway, noting how your eyes open up just a fraction more in astonishment.
While you busy yourself in your open kitchen, Dick marvels at your apartment. Stringlights line the ceilings, a small Christmas tree sits in the corner by the window. Your couch takes up most of your living room along with a coffee table that looks well-loved with a smattering of books and articles along with used mugs sitting on top. There are framed photos on your console and your walls. There’s a corkboard near the door and he spots your grocery list, some bills, reminders, and—
Mayor Grayson’s Likes and Dislikes
That piques his interest. The paper looks worn, like it’s been folded and unfolded a few times, crinkles along the edges. His eyes are about to scroll down the line items when you tap him on the shoulder. A mug with steaming hot coffee lands in his hands. The brew certainly smells more aromatic than the one in the office.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a quiet sip.
He maintains a sizable distance between the two of you, stepping around the kitchen counter to ensure that he doesn’t crowd you in your own space. He figures the more space the better. He doesn’t want you thinking he’s trying to prey on you or take advantage of you in a situation like this, even if you were the one who invited him in.
Your brows furrow at where he’s standing before you round the counter to stand in front of him. Now there are only two feet of space separating you.
“You know,” you clear your throat, drawing his eyes back to your face from the floor, “you haven’t really asked me to tell you anything about me the past few days.”
He tenses. Your words catch him off guard, heart skipping a beat in panic or thrill — he can’t tell. “Oh, uhm, you don’t have to… do that anymore. I know I had suggested it when you were working closely with me but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or pressured—”
“I don’t—” you jump in, “—feel uncomfortable or pressured. I promise. I want to.” There’s a slight quiver in your syllables and Dick wants to curse at himself again for once again putting you in this strange position.
“Alright,” he swallows. One of his feet instinctually takes another step back, wanting to put a professional separation between the two of you.
Your gaze falls briefly to his feet before flicking back up. Your lips purse, a sour curl twisting your pout, but you don’t address it. “So I’ve missed the last few days right? So I’m going to tell you three things — and I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”
There’s a determination to your voice that makes the hairs on his arm stand. He has never heard this tone on you. This attempt at confidence and boldness, sweetened by the questions at the end of your sentences. It’s endearing. He resists smiling and only nods.
He sees your throat move as you swallow. “First, about last weekend—” Dick winces, you notice, “—I need you to stop apologizing for it. I wanted you to kiss me.”
Dick feels like he’s just been slapped. His heart lurches in your direction, like a desperate plea to get closer. Right now, Dick doesn’t trust his heart or his ears. Because if he heard you correctly, he could’ve sworn you said that you wanted him to kiss you. That would be preposterous, right? You had told him to go. He had tried to kiss you, which was a stupid thing to do for someone in his position.
“Stop that, I can see you doing that thing again,” you say, drawing him out of his reverie.
“Do what?” He rasps.
“Thinking it was your fault. You look like you were about to apologize again. I don’t have a gun to my head. I’m saying this because I need you to understand. I wanted so bad for you to kiss me because I’ve been waiting for it for so long.”
So he didn’t hear incorrectly. His heartrate picks up. Adrenaline spiking in his veins.
“I really, really wanted you to kiss me. But then Mrs. Norris’ cat was there and if her cat was there then she would be looking for him soon. If she caught you out there with me, kissing me, I—” you pause; it’s your turn to flinch, “—she is extremely nosy and she also gossips far too much. I didn’t want to create a scandal for you, especially since it’s your first time in office. I didn’t want tabloids to have something to write about you other than your good work. If she saw us, that would’ve been on Channel 10 within the hour. And I would absolutely hate that for you. I want the public to focus on you and your work. Not on… that.”
Dick wants to tell you that he doesn’t really care about all that, not if it means that he gets to have you, and that you get to have him. If it means that he gets to kiss you, the way you’ve wanted it for so long. Just as he opens his mouth to reply, you hold a finger up in the air in front of his face.
His cock — that fucker — stirs in his pants. That shouldn’t have been as much of a turn-on as it should be. But he still got turned on. Something about you who’s normally so sweet, so careful, taking charge has him licking his lips.
You’re momentarily distracted, eyes nearly crossing when you see that movement, but then you snap yourself out of it. “Second,” you say, your voice slightly stronger this time, “every time you say something you do is inappropriate, every time you think something that happened between us is inappropriate — do you know what I think?” You don’t give him a chance to ask. “All I can think about is how badly I want you to be even more inappropriate with me. All I can think about is manners be damned. Do whatever you want with me. Whatever lines that can be crossed, do it. Because whatever you’re thinking about, I’ve probably thought about worse.”
Dick can’t help the choke that escapes him. Tears almost prick his eyes at your words. He stands there suspended in this realm of disbelief. He must be in another dimension. A dimension in which his dreams come true.
He can barely find words to say, he opens his mouth anyway, but then remembers how you shushed him earlier. His dick stiffens again in his pants. He almost wants you to tell him to be quiet again but he respects you so he does it on his own accord. You mentioned three things. He needs to let you finish.
“Lastly,” you start then stop, eyes widening, “actually, I think I need to hear you respond to the first two in case I’ve completely embarrassed myself to a point of no return. In which case, I will not be saying the third out loud and I will instead see you at the office tomorrow at eight sharp.”
He’s still trying to digest everything you’ve said, but clearly he takes a second too long because then you’re already shrinking into yourself again. Your body shifting away from him. Before you can get too far, not even an inch further, Dick’s hands lash out to catch your waist, pulling you towards him. He doesn’t waste another breath, crashing down his lips on yours.
Christ.
He doesn’t think heaven can feel any better than this. You melt into his touch as his hands slide up to cup the back of your neck, sliding into the trenches of your hair as he tilts your face back to kiss you deeper. You taste like coffee, like strawberries. You taste like the sun on a chilly winter day. Like the kiss of an ocean breeze on a summer day. Like the scent of rain on a crisp autumn day. Like the fluttering of hope in the first bloom of spring.
You taste like every dream he’s ever had, like every dream he never thought he could have.
You’re soft and pliant in his hands, sinking into his touch like quicksand. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you let out a little moan with your parted lips. He slips in, tastes the remnants of your afternoon coffee on your tongue. He breathes you in, takes in that sweet tickle of your perfume that always lingers in the papers you hand over to him. It’s like he’s been trained to drift towards your scent, this inebriating concoction that has him dizzy.
He separates from you only to kiss along your jaw, sensing you tilting your head back further to allow him access. His wet lips drag down to your neck, suckling lightly on your delicate skin. He paints blooming prints on your skin with a mix of teeth and tongue, each mark intentionally placed.
A moan spills from your lips and Dick looks up briefly to see the glossy look across your eyes. His heart stutters in his chest. A question nags at the back of his mind so he slowly extracts himself away from you, grip loosening from your hair and your waist. The dazed expression on your face partially morphs to confusion. He’s wary, forehead creased, when he asks, “Is this okay? Shit, tell me if I shouldn’t do this, if you don’t like it, if I’m taking it too far, because I can stop—”
Your fingers twist in the collar of his shirt to bring him back towards you. There’s a fire in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize, one that sparks the fuse in his stomach. “If you stop right now, I’m going to tie you up and have my way with you.”
Dick’s jaw practically falls open as he stares at you, the hungry, unwavering glint in your eyes. His lips curl into a smirk. “Understood.”
Then he’s back on you. His lips warm, tongue wet, touch firm. He pins you up against the wall. With nowhere to go you, all you can do is squirm in his hold as he slides his thigh between your legs. The muscles clenching to press up to that spot that makes you whine, your nails scratching down his chest needily.
“Please,” you plead. He’s not even sure what you’re begging for but he goes based on instinct alone. He tugs you towards your couch, landing firmly on top and pulling you onto his lap. His hard-on presses between your thighs and Dick groans deep and guttural.
Your body practically molds around him, hands on his chest as he tilts your head back and begins littering your neck with kisses again. Moist kisses that have you whimpering on top of him. Slowly and tentatively, his fingers begin to unbutton your blouse, revealing more and more of your supple skin to him. You’re fucking perfect.
Perfect lips that Dick can’t seem to stop licking. Perfect eyes that droop with every stroke of his tongue. Perfect tits framed by a lacy bra with delicate hemming. Perfect ass unconsciously grinding down on his erection.
“You— you had one more thing,” Dick reminds you, chest rising with a hitched breath. You look at him, eyes still hazy with your lust-addled brain. “One more thing you wanted to tell me.”
Your lips shape into a circle as you remember, irises brightening and glistening with the kind of look that makes his heart skip a beat. “Mhmm.” Then you’re rising to your feet and Dick feels that loss instantaenously, lips morphing into a disappointed pout.
That reaction doesn’t last very long because then you drop to your knees before him, between his legs. Your hands land on his thighs, sliding upwards until he tenses beneath your fingertips.
“Lastly,” you start, your voice silky as you smile up at him. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while. A very long while.”
“How long?” Dick croaks nervously.
“Since the first time I met you,” you admit easily, teeth catching your bottom lip. Dick wants to kiss you stupid again. “Will you let me fulfill this fantasy?”
A groan vibrates up his chest.
Your fingers are gentle and cautious as they unbutton his pants. Your eyes are stuck to where you’re working but Dick sees it as you staring at his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. It only makes him twitch in his briefs. When you finally free the button, he lifts his hips to help you ease both layers down to his ankles.
His cock springs up, bumping against his covered stomach. The little oh you let out nearly has him cumming on the spot. He bites back a laugh as you hesitantly ease your fingers around his length. Your hand is small and warm around him, he resists the urge to fuck up into your fingers. He allows you a minute to just explore and admire.
“You’re so…” The words wither away on your tongue, leaving you with a look of awe.
He didn’t think he was going to get his ego inflated today but you always go above and beyond.
Licking your lips, you begin with a leisurely stroke of your tongue on his tip. It’s delicate, barely a brush. You move down a little bit, almost inhaling his scent, and the sight has him jolting in your hand. You bite your lip to hide your smile as you then stick out your tongue and drag it all the way up from his base to his tip before it circles the tip. Your lips close in again around his cock, sucking lightly. You never once push your head down, no matter how much Dick whines for it. That muscle flattens against the head of his cock and he has to stop himself from jutting his hips up to try and catch the back of your throat. No, you’re taking your sweet time with him.
Dick doesn’t want to know where you learned to tease like this. He doesn’t want to imagine you doing this with anyone else. In his head, you’ve always been his — and he yours.
He doesn’t have to think about it too hard because he’s far too distracted with how tight and warm your mouth is around his sensitive, aching cock. He’s been hard for days probably. His days taken up by his mayoral duties, evenings by his patrol. He hasn’t had his hand on his cock for a while. Little did he know, it would’ve all been worth the wait if it meant that the first contact of skin on skin would be with your pretty lips.
Once you’ve tortured him sufficiently by licking around only the tip, you finally dip your head to take his length slowly into your mouth. An inch at a time. Pulling away to take him in deeper each time. It’s an intoxicating feeling and his fingers easily slide between the strands of your hair, tugging lightly on the back of your head when you go a little too deep, when he gets a little too close.
“A-ah, fuck, I’m so sensitive, sorry,” Dick groans, “it’s been a while. Your mouth feels too good, sweetheart.”
You whimper around his cock, the sound reverberates straight through him. Pulling off and wrapping your fingers around his cock, you give him a good pump or two as you look up at him with spit-slick lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this. About taking you in my mouth. I wanted to see what it would be like for the prim and proper mayor to come apart.”
His head slams against the back of the couch with a loud thud. “Where’d you learn to talk like that? God, I’m not going to last. Don’t do that to me.”
Your lips curl into a devious grin. “I’m not doing anything, Mr. Mayor.”
“Sweetheart, if you’ve got my cock in your mouth, the least you can do is call me by my real name,” Dick growls low, his hand still in your hair. His grip tightens.
He watches as your eyes darken at the gesture. You like it. You like him being stern with you. Fuck. He almost gives you another order, just to see how sexy you’d look with your lust-filled eyes. But then you open your mouth again.
“You’re telling me it doesn’t turn you on when I call you that,” you pause, blinking innocently up at him, “Mr. Mayor?”
Dick feels the breath knocked out of his lungs. You with your pretty eyes looking at him like that, with your hand still wrapped around his dick, your breasts peeking out from between the open fabric of your shirt. This picture is better than the Mona Lisa, better than any fantasy he could’ve conjured up in his mind.
“Well, now it does,” he manages to choke out.
With a pleased smile, you get back to work. His cock throbs painfully in your mouth, veins pulsing with need every time your tongue traces the patterns. Your cheeks are hollow when you suck him in deep, the tip of his cock grazing the back of your throat, drawing a small gag that has his balls tightening. Then your hands begin to explore.
With your head still bobbing up and down on his dick, one of your hand reaches down to toy with his balls, rubbing the velvety skin gently, squeezing until he feels his hips jerk up. Your other hand — lord have mercy — slides up under his shirt to brush against his nipples. Dick’s never had anyone do that before. He’s had people tease him, of course, but the feeling of your mouth hot on his shaft, your delicate fingers on his sack, and your persistent toying of his nipples are a lethal combination.
Pleasure coils tight in his stomach, his hand clenching in your hair as he lets out a moan. Your skillful, deviant tongue feels like a torment for whatever horrible thing he had done in his past life — or a reward. He hasn’t fully decided.
When he feels himself clench a little too hard, feels himself too close to the edge, he grabs your hair and yanks your head back. You release him from your lips with a pop and a gasp. His other hand quickly squeezes around the base of his cock as he stops himself from finishing embarrassingly fast.
He wants this to last. He wants you to cum.
“Careful, baby,” he breathes out, “can’t have you finishing me off before I take care of you too.”
Your bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I wanted you to finish in my mouth.”
Dick’s eyes slide shut again. This has to be his own personal hell. Someone up there loathes him. He can’t tell if you’re an angel or a succubus, both sent for his deliverance.
He jumps to his feet, kicking off his pants as he picks you up easily, your legs flying around his waist with a squeal falling from your lips. His hands grab onto your plush ass, kneading the flesh underneath with a moan. “You’re so perfect.”
The embarrassed look on your face almost makes him nostalgic, almost makes him fucking cream. He loves how skittish you are around him now, how it is only him who can have this effect on you. You bury your face in his neck as he brings you across your living room.
“Bedroom?”
You peer over your shoulder and nod to the open bedrom at the end of the hall. Dick effortlessly carries you down the path, your lips pasted on his neck, his jaw, his collarbones the entire time. He can feel his length twitch against your stomach as he does so. You still practically fully clothed with that tantalizing cleavage pressing up against his chest.
He gently sets you down, wondering if you would prefer for the two of you to take off your clothes before touching your pristine bed. You seem to understand his intent, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek for this thoughtfulness.
It may have been a mistake because then you shimmy out of your pants yourself and slide your shirt off your shoulders. Dick curses under his breath because you’re shyly rubbing your arms as you are the very picture of desire. He doesn’t have a type, but he thinks you may have just decided it for him.
“You’re beautiful.”
Your lips press together to block a smile from stretching across your face. “You’re just saying that because you’re about to get laid,” you tease with a slight tremble in your voice.
“No, I’ve always thought that. Beautiful inside out,” he murmurs and approaches you, hand reaching up to slip a strand of hair gingerly behind your ear, tilting your face to meet his again. He brushes his lips against yours. “Never thought I’d stand a chance.”
“That’s crazy,” you sputter and he laughs. “Why would you think that?”
“You had a boyfriend. I… was just your boss. You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk to me.”
“I was just nervous,” you stammer.
“Was I really that intimidating?”
“No, you’re… impressive. I thought you’d want someone — I don’t know — more?”
Dick rolls his eyes, grinning as he pecks your lips again. “You are more than enough. I’m not as impressive as you think I am. Clearly am bad at all this. You — you care. So much. You care about everyone. You put so much thought into everything you do. Couldn’t help myself from falling. It was too easy. You made it too easy.”
“You’re sweet,” you whisper, “if I knew, god, I would’ve just done something sooner.”
“Would you really have?” He taunts as he gently leads you to the bed again. He lays you down gently, hair spreading across your pillow.
You hum as you slide your arms around his neck, tugging him down to hover closer to you. “Mhmm, I wanted to get our city’s hot mayor in my bed after all.”
“You only want me for my body.”
“The most important part,” you simper right back.
He chuckles and presses his lips against yours again. Breathing against your mouth, he carefully asks, “And you’re sure you want this? You don’t feel pressured or anything? I don’t want you to—”
You silence him by dragging him down for a searing kiss, he nearly topples over on top of you but manages to hold himself up by his elbows. “How are you still asking that question?” You grumble, lips thinned into an abashed pout.
“I want you to be sure.”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Dick doesn’t need more than that. He groans and captures your lips again as his hands slide up your body to deftly unhook your bra and fling it aside. He’s greeted by the sight of the prettiest tits he has ever seen. When you try to cover them up, he is quick to move your hands away.
“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” Dick murmurs as his head dips to press firm kisses onto your soft mounds. He feels you shiver in response but at least you relax into the mattress, body draping down and opening up to him.
He takes his time worshipping your supple skin — nipping territorial marks onto your tits, tongue flicking and circling your pert nipples, hands squeezing the flesh so they mold into the shape of his palm.
The entire time, moans tumble freely from your lips as you relish in his gentle hold. With eyes closed, your fingers tangle in his midnight hair until the neatly-done coif becomes messy evidence of this rendezvous.
Dick slides his hand south over your stomach, eliciting another delicious shudder, and to your panties. He slides his adept hands underneath the fabric, feels the moist cotton cling onto the back of his fingers.
Drawing back, he watches your reaction to his touch. He starts out nice and easy by teasing your slick folds, fingers never sliding all the way in but stroking along the lips enough to elicit another delicious shudder from you.
“Mr. Mayor, please,” you whimper as your own hands reach down to grip his arm. “More.”
“I know, baby, but I need to tease you open. Need to make sure you’re ready for me.”
Seemingly reminded of the size of him, you navigate your eyes back to his cock — achingly hard and standing proud. He watches as your throat rises slightly with your gulp, smiling at how nervous you look.
“It’ll fit, don’t worry.”
There’s that bottom lip again between your teeth. He leans up only to kiss you again and free that pretty pout from the confines of your trepidation.
“I’ll make sure it feels good, promise,” he whispers. “If anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, you tell me.”
He is satisfied by your nod and returns his attention to your pretty drooling pussy. His mouth captures your tit again just as his fingers begin to stroke deeper into your cunt. His thick index finger is enough to have you squirming so naturally he adds another to separate your lips. He slides down with his fingers close together and slowly parts them to open up your pussy. He can feel your hips tighten as you clench around the air.
You’re so entranced by his movements, by his mouth on you, that you barely register him tearing the cotton open. The wet fabric gives in easily to the dig of his fingers.
It’s only when you hear the rip that your eyes slowly blink open. “Wh-what?”
“Sorry, couldn’t wait,” he says against your nipple which he’s still suckling. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Or three — I have a feeling I’ll be ruining more.”
You moan at his words, hips shifting down to grind against his ministrations. “I don’t think HR will approve that as a governmental expense.”
Dick’s laugh is genuine and warm. You laugh along with him but that sound fizzles out when he first pushes his fingers into you. Your light giggles deepen into a groan at the fullness inside of you.
“Fuck, Mr. Mayor, that feels so— your fingers are so big. Mmm, it feels so full and thick.”
Dick hums as he slowly curls his fingers inside you, coaxing you open to his touch. He sees your toes curl, wishes he could have this all on tape so he could relive the moment over again.
“You know, I’ve always known you’d be right about everything, but didn’t think you’d be right about this one thing.”
Your brain is mush as you struggle to get a response out. “W-which is what?”
“Calling me Mr. Mayor is a fucking turn-on.”
A whimper escapes your throat as Dick presses his thumb against your clit, all the while never once stopping the work of his magic fingers, never once stopping his assault on your breasts.
“P-please, I’m so close,” you whine, hands pushing him deeper into your chest.
Dick obliges, licking faster, biting a little harder. His fingers don’t just pump in and out of you aggressively; every slide is intentional to stoke the fire burning in your gut. He watches what makes you twitch, what makes your lips part, what makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. The assault on your gorgeous, leaking cunt is methodical. Like everything he does, Dick’s every move has a purpose.
“I’m going to— wait, I’m going to cum—” you protest weakly, hands making their futile attempt to get him to stop. “Mr. Mayor, please, I wanna cum with you.”
“I know, baby,” he groans against your chest. That title really does wonders for his ego. “You will, but for now, you’re going to cum for me. Can you do that? Can you cum around your mayor’s fingers?”
Dick hears the gasp before he feels your death grip around his fingers, pussy pulsing and convulsing, your back arching off the bed as your orgasm wracks through your body. It’s a beautiful sight, worthy of a museum. The delicate curve of your back, the expression of pure indulgence painted on your face. Dick commits the picture to memory and vows to recreate it.
The sight of you finishing alone nearly has him cumming and he has to yank his fingers covered in your juices and hold the base of his cock. The wetness around his length almost makes him cum but he manages to stop himself with a choked breath.
Your body is still coming down from your high when your hand reaches over to cover his. Dick slams his eyes shut because the visual isn’t doing him any favors.
“Baby, please,” he whines. “Not yet.”
“I wanna keep sucking you off, please?”
Dick rips your hand off him with a snarl before punishing you with another searing kiss. “No, that was only your first. I’m going to see how many times I can make you cum before I finish myself.”
Your lips once again shape into a look of surprise, a delighted one. “You don’t have to—”
He shuts you up again with another press of his lips. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I want to.”
Before you can say another word, Dick returns his fingers between your legs. “Now, be a good girl for your mayor and open up.”
—
The two of you are in bed after Dick fulfills his promise — more than a handful of times. Your limbs are like jelly after the numerous orgasms wean down the last of your energy. And you never even fucked.
It was his fingers again the second time. Then his mouth twice. Then both his fingers and his mouth. Then it’s his fingers, his mouth, and your toy that he found in your bedside drawer. After that one, you put your foot down and hold him to the bed as you work away at his cock. Dick — ever the gentleman — twists you around so his mouth and fingers are buried between your legs as you moan around his cock. The two of you cum with sounds that ricochet through each other’s bodies.
Boy wonder indeed.
However, your exhaustion doesn’t matter because you’re just wrapped up around Dick Grayson and his strong arm is around you to hold you close.
Your fingers are tracing patterns on his chest. A circle. A triangle. A heart. A bird.
He smiles privately to himself. “What’re we going to tell the others?” Dick wonders aloud.
Now that this has happened, he has to deal with the ramifications of his actions. He has to be ready to defend against any tabloids seeking to “expose” his supposed abuse of power.
Babs and PR are going to kill him.
“I don’t know, I don’t care,” you mutter sleepily with your cheek against his chest.
He chuckles, fingers winding through your hair in a way that makes you cozy up further against him. “Who are you and what have you done to my sweet assistant?”
The words that come out of your mouth are drawled and bitter. “Well, you did get rid of her.”
Dick’s hand instinctively catches your chin to tip your face up so he can search your eyes. The hurt there is obvious and sympathy and regret flood him. He leans down to kiss you.
Deep and slow. Intentional. Apologetic.
His lips are still on yours when he confesses, “I didn’t want you to hate me. I thought, after that night, you were so uncomfortable with me. I didn’t want you to feel that way in my office. I was acting like Wolf and I hated myself for it.”
Your eyes are sharp when you stick him with a pricking glare. “You’re nothing like him. You’re always checking to make sure I’m okay.”
“Still, with my position, that’s not always clear. It blurs that line and I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
“No, I was just nervous because I wanted it to happen and I wasn’t sure if I had messed it all up by sending you away. I wanted to talk to you that Monday or even call you that Sunday but I couldn’t really work up the nerve to ask you to kiss me again,” you admit, the back of your neck warm with your embarrassment.
“I would’ve done it. If you asked me in the office, I wouldn’t have let you slip away again.”
Your lips curl into an amused smile. “Now, what would PR say about that?”
“PR would say that Mayor Dick Grayson has found someone he adores and is no longer on the market for a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend, huh? Awfully big jump when I haven’t even had you in me.”
Dick’s cock jumps to attention, you notice and smirk. “If that’s the only thing holding you back…”
“I don’t know, Mr. Mayor, think you can still satisfy me after all those rounds?”
With a laugh, he rolls you over so you’re back underneath him. His blue eyes thaw into something warmer, the ocean in the summer.
“Well, you know what happens when you call me that.”
“I’d like to see you prove it.”
“With pleasure.”
dick is kissing (taglist): @catclaw1 @/lunexiax @umbreoni @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg + @toxicrelief @fancypeacepersona @shrekzwifey @kelbrave
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Summary:
For the longest time, you thought the cat roaming the tower wasn’t owned by anybody. Then you eventually realize that the “Tower Cat” does, in fact, have a name, and is owned by none other than Bucky Barnes himself, the one team member you aren’t exactly best friends with.
After Bucky finds out that Alpine has become fond of you, he starts giving you odd looks and passive-aggressive comments. This leads you to the conclusion that he is jealous of you for taking his cat. However, as time goes on, you come to the realization that it might be the other way around.
Word Count: 9.6k
Warnings/Tags: Bucky is so bad at feelings, Reader is an unreliable narrator, miscommunication at its finest, happy ending, Reader is very oblivious (it’s bad)
A/N: Is it realistic for somebody to get jealous over a cat? Probably not (keyword being probably), but I thought it was funny, so here you guys go! First post on this account :) Enjoy!
Masterlist
Cats.
You, like many people, adore the creatures.
They can be affectionate and cuddly on good days, purring and rubbing up against you as if nothing else exists. However, they can also be mischievous little demons.
Either way, you’ve always loved cats.
Recently, you had been planning on getting a cat, but after moving in with the rest of the team, the plan had been put on hold.
It was a tragedy. You were really looking forward to adopting one for yourself. You weren’t exactly sure if pets were allowed in the Watchtower. Technically, you didn’t see any rules against it, but you didn’t want to adopt a pet immediately after getting new roommates.
That being said, you did ask Valentina, but that didn’t really go well.
-
You shuffled anxiously, hearing the phone ring before it eventually picked up. “Hey, so—”
“Is this an emergency? You do know this number is for emergencies only, correct?” She said, and you could practically see the eye roll.
“Welllll, not exactly, but you haven’t exactly been around for us to ask any questions. You also don’t respond to my texts…” You trailed off, mumbling the last line. It’s not as if you wanted her around, but it would have solved this issue ages ago.
She remained silent for a moment, and you heard her sigh, exasperated. “Well, what is it?” She asked.
“The policy for pets?”
She sputtered for a moment, “I’m sorry, what?”
“Pets,” you said slowly as if talking to a child, “can we have them?”
She huffed, and sharp laughter rang in your ears. “Oh, absolutely not.”
You exhaled, “Damn…” You mutter to yourself, thinking she wouldn’t catch it.
“I do not want to see a pet there. I don’t care if it’s a dog, cat, guinea pig, snake, or turtle. No pets. Now, please, save this number for emergencies only. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone before you got a word in.
You soon realized after that incident that either people didn’t know about the policy, or didn’t care (likely the latter).
You didn’t immediately notice the animals. You weren’t even sure if they were always there or a new addition. The story of how you found out is actually pretty anticlimactic.
Yelena walked in with a guinea pig in hand.
That's really about it.
You watched as she sat down on the couch, petting the animal without a care in the world. You raised an eyebrow. You weren’t sure if this was a deliberate act of rebellion or if Yelena just didn’t know. Either way, you didn’t mind. You just needed to know where everybody stood, you know, for… reasons.
“Did Valentina ever mention the policy for pets?” You asked casually, walking over to sit next to Yelena. The guinea pig crawls over her lap into yours. You smile as you pet them gently.
Yelena pauses, “You know what? I don’t know.” She looks down at the guinea pig on your lap, “I also don’t really care. I don’t think Valentina knows I have her anyway.”
You nod, chuckling. “Fair enough. Would you care if she told you otherwise?”
Yelena laughs before her smile falls, “Not one bit.”
Frankly, you find it hard to believe Valentina did not notice the guinea pig. She seems like the type to have cameras everywhere and have constant monitoring. However, you let that slide, after all, it wasn’t exactly an animal that freely roams the tower.
What truly surprised you was the cat, or “Tower Cat” as you began to call her. She just appeared one day. Nobody said anything, no “hey guys we’re going to have a cat around, hope you don’t mind!” You wouldn’t have minded, but it's the principle that matters.
You had just finished up a solo mission. It was nothing too difficult, but you were exhausted nonetheless. You walked into the empty common area, blinking in confusion. Normally, there’s always one person here. You cautiously entered the space, looking around for any signs of life.
“Uhh, anybody home?” You asked, your voice echoing slightly in the empty space.
You walk over to the couch to try to catch a breather for a moment before you see her.
A cat. A fluffy white cat.
How’d she get in? You aren't sure, but you weren’t going to complain. You look around one more time to make sure nobody is nearby.
“Hello there!” You slowly moved to the cat loafed up on the couch. You tried to extend a hand to her, but she immediately moved away as if offended by your attempt to pet her. “Not the cuddly type, huh? That’s okay.” You now had a new goal: befriend the cat.
Over the next few weeks, you had taken to various methods of befriending Tower Cat. You had bought some toys and treats for her. While she was initially very hesitant, and you mean very hesitant, she slowly started to warm up to you. She would now walk up to you to eat the treats you offered her. You considered that progress since the first time you tried to feed her treats, she hissed at you.
The first time she approached you was a moment to be written down in history. You were hanging out in the kitchen, making yourself a quick snack, when suddenly you noticed something fluffy next to you.
You immediately paused whatever you were doing, looking down at Tower Cat. You didn’t want to scare her away, so you slowly started to turn your attention away from her. As you cooked, you noticed that she didn't leave the area. She didn't try to engage with you, but she watched you cook, never straying very far.
Eventually, when you finished, you went back to your room to grab the cat treats. To your surprise, she actually followed and made herself comfortable on your desk.
“Oh, so you just own my space now?” You asked her, grabbing a treat out of the bag. You hesitantly offered her a treat from your hand. You hadn’t tried this since the initial scratch incident. She stared at you for a moment before eventually deciding to approach you and take the treat. You withheld your gasp, allowing her to lick your hand before she became disinterested and claimed your desk as her own once more.
“You’re cool there?” You asked her.
She watched you silently.
“Okay, have fun, I guess.” You smiled, leaving the door to your room ajar in case she wanted to leave.
You weren’t sure if the rest of the team noticed the new addition, but you can’t imagine they didn’t notice. With how many former assassins and super soldiers you live with? No way they didn't notice. The first time you heard anything about it was when you were talking with Bob and Yelena.
“Oh, damn it.” Yelena sighed, groaning in frustration. You and Bob, being the only ones in the room, turned towards her. She was looking into her room, looking less than pleased.
“What happened?” You ask.
“Damn cat got into my room again. Knocked over all my stuff.” Yelena responded, walking into her room, leaving the door wide open. You watched as Tower Cat came out from her room looking innocent.
You blink, “The cat? Didn’t realize anybody knew she was here.” You looked between Yelena and Bob.
“She’s not exactly hard to miss,” Yelena said, walking out of her room, closing the door behind her. She looks down at Tower Cat before shaking her head and walking back over to you and Bob.
“It’s just that nobody talks about her. I just assumed it was one of those things that everybody sees, but never speaks about.” You leaned against the armrest of the sofa. “So I’m assuming she isn’t any of your guys’ cat?” You raised an eyebrow, looking between Yelena and Bob.
Yelena shook her head, “Nope.”
Bob similarly shook his head, “Not mine either.”
“Huh, do we know whose cat she is?” You asked.
Yelena shrugged, “I thought she just wandered in one day, and everybody let her stay. Haven’t really asked though.”
You hummed, “That’s funny. I was actually considering getting one too. Maybe it’s fate.” You joke, smiling.
Yelena laughs, “Please, take her. The first, and only, time I tried to pet her, she hissed and tried to scratch me.” You nodded in sympathy.
“Yeah, she did that to me the first time, too. She eventually warmed up to me, kinda. She actually came into my room the other day just to relax.” You said, looking over to the cat in question, who is walking through a hallway. Bob and Yelena followed your gaze, watching as the feline slowly walked over to your door before waltzing in like it was her own. “Oh, hey there she goes, what timing.” You laugh at their stunned faces.
“Does she have a name?” Bob asked.
“Well, I was gonna name her, but her original title of ‘Tower Cat’ just kinda stuck.” You explained.
“How’d you get her to like you?” He asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity.
“Treats and patience. Wanna see if we can try and get her to warm up to you a bit?” You asked, grinning.
Bob smiled, nodding silently. Yelena laughs sharply before bidding her goodbyes for the night. She did not want to deal with that cat any more than she already did that day.
That’s how you started your “Cat Time” with Bob. You grew close over your similar love of cats. However, there’d be times where Tower Cat wouldn’t be anywhere in the Watchtower, betraying her name entirely. You and Bob would walk around, checking around, but there’d be nothing. She always showed up the next day or two after, so you assumed somebody would just let her into their room, but you didn’t know who.
Eventually, after weeks of exposure, she warmed up to both you and Bob considerably. She’d hang out with you two while you watch TV or talk. Everything was going well. You finally got the cat you wanted.
Then you found she wasn’t your cat to claim.
-
If there was one person on the team where you weren’t sure where you stood, it was Bucky Barnes.
To be clear, you had tried to establish friendly relations, seeing as you were living together, but after multiple attempts being met with nothing, you eventually gave up.
When you first moved in, you wanted to make a good impression on everyone, and for all intents and purposes, you were successful.
Alexei was not very difficult. You just engage in conversation with him often and laugh. He could actually be pretty funny sometimes, much to Yelena’s embarrassment.
Ava was a bit more difficult, but she eventually warmed up to you. Sometimes when you baked, you’d offer her some cookies, and you two would talk. Yelena would join in too occasionally. Those nights were always fun.
John was John, meaning he was kinda an asshole. You eventually got somewhere with him... kinda. You both would banter back and forth, but initially it was not banter. The insults over time turned less aggressive and more along the lines of “you annoy me, but you’re alright, I guess.” In your defense, you did try to be nice to him at first, but he made that very difficult with the way he treated other people, especially in the beginning. You eventually figured it out, though.
Yelena was the easiest next to Bob. She immediately became one of your best friends. She was one of the people on the team you really looked up to. You two would often end up hanging out with each other. This was how you were introduced to Bob.
Initially, it was kind of awkward with Bob. Both of you were friends by association, meaning you both liked Yelena, but didn’t really know each other. Eventually, once Tower Cat came into the picture, you both would hang out. You realized how funny he was once you actually got to know him. This led to a lot of late nights with you, Yelena, Bob, and Tower Cat. Sometimes Yelena would insist that Tower Cat must go, but for the most part, that was your little group.
So overall, you thought you did a good job establishing a positive relationship with the team. If you try to forget about Bucky, that is. You almost feel embarrassed thinking about it. By the end, you had gotten pretty desperate and had tried bringing him coffee in the mornings, or checking in to see if he was injured after missions. If you two were friends and your efforts had succeeded, you wouldn’t be embarrassed. However, they failed, and failed miserably.
The coffee incident? You wince even thinking about it.
“Oh, hey, I left some coffee on the counter for you. Not sure how you like it, so I left the sugar to the side.” You smiled as you watched Bucky walk in. He looked like he had just woken up, hair disheveled, rubbing his eyes.
He looked over to you before glancing at the mug you left for him, filled with coffee. He nodded slowly, walking over to it hesitantly. He stared at it for a bit before clearing his throat, “I was actually going to go to the gym.”
You tried not to sigh and look over at him. “No worries. I’ll just, uh, clean it up.”
He nods, looking at you, muttering a small “Thanks anyway.”
As he walks away, you immediately feel embarrassed. Well, that was pathetic.
Of course, that wasn’t the only embarrassing incident.
Bucky had been returning from a mission with John. However, you only saw Bucky exit the elevator and head toward his room. You noticed that his face had a deep cut on it.
“Hey, you need help with that?” You asked, walking over to him. He paused before looking at you.
He smiled reassuringly, but you can see in his eyes he’d rather be anywhere else than talking with you. “I’m good, thanks.”
You blinked, watching as blood dripped down his face from the wound. “You sure? I don’t mind-”
“I am fine.” He cut you off. “I will be fine, thanks.” He told you, not even looking you in the eye. His words sounded so final that you didn’t even try to follow him. He closed the door behind him, leaving you staring at it.
That was when you realized that the “good impression” mission you had was a failure.
You had tried, and maybe it was because of your personality, you aren’t sure. He just did not like you. After that incident, you backed off of him, not offering aid or doing small gestures for him. His previous interactions sent you a clear message, and you received it.
Were you hurt by it? A little. You did put effort into trying to make him at least think you were an okay person. You couldn't help but admire him from a distance. Anyway, you tried not to take it too personally, after all, he’s been through a lot. He probably just isn’t comfortable with you, which you get, but it still hurts putting in effort for such blatant disregard.
So you can imagine your surprise when he approaches you on a random day.
-
“. . . and I was so confused, like how did you come to that conclusion?” You raise your hands, gesturing confusedly. Bob chuckles at your outrage.
You sigh, putting your hands down, petting Tower Cat on your lap softly. “I dunno, I was just so over it. I eventually confronted her, and she had the AUDACITY to act confused.” You continue to rant, neither you nor Bob noticing the elevator opening.
“And I’m assuming you weren’t going to let that slide?” Bob asks with a soft, amused smile on his face. You grin back at him.
“Not a chance. So—”
“Is that Alpine?”
You and Bob immediately turn toward Bucky. You blink. “When’d you get here?” You ask.
“Just now,” he pauses, “since when did Alpine start hanging out with you two?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.
“‘Alpine?’” You repeat the foreign name back at him. You and Bob look at Tower Cat, or apparently “Alpine.”
You look up at Bucky, “She’s your cat?” You feel your mouth drop in surprise.
“Whose cat did you think she was?” He asks, looking at you in disbelief.
“I thought she was like the communal tower cat or something.” You say, your voice quiet as if that will quell Bucky’s growing bewilderment.
“The ‘communal tower cat?’” He repeats incredulously.
“Okay, sorry, sorry.” You apologize profusely, hoping that he won’t murder you for taking his cat. Bucky seems to stare at you for what feels like forever. You shift uncomfortably under his stare.
“Uh, you can have her back, if you want.” You eventually say, mumbling the last part. Bucky just continues to stare at Alpine in your lap. You look toward Bob to see if he is feeling the same awkward tension you are. He quickly glances at you, then Bucky, then back at you before shifting awkwardly.
You try to pick up Alpine without disturbing her. The moment you try, her eyes snap open. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” You coo softly to the cat. You offhandedly notice Bucky shifts stiffly.
“Bucky’s back, though. Wanna go with him?” You speak softly to her. In response, she pushes herself closer to you, purring against your collarbone. “Aw, I’m sorry, I wanna cuddle with you more too.” You frown at her before gently handing her to Bucky. Your hands brush his as you try to give her to Bucky without disturbing her too much.
She meows softly, and you feel your heart break. “Didn’t realize you liked cats,” Bucky says.
Bob laughs, and you both turn to him before he covers it with a cough and low “Sorry.” He knows you love cats.
“Love them.” You respond with a strained smile. He looks at you for a moment longer. Eventually, you clear your throat and look away from his gaze, “Sorry, Bucky.”
Bucky seems to stare at you for a moment longer before leaving. Not a word said, he just leaves.
“Well, at least we know why Tower Cat or ‘Alpine’ disappears some nights,” you comment, Bob shaking his head, amused, “but damn, he hates me.” You whisper as if Bucky will hear you, and knowing him, you can’t be too sure.
“I doubt that. He just has…” Bob pauses for a moment, trying to find the word for it, “struggles.”
You huff, “Yeah, that’s one way to say it. I don’t even know what I did to him. It’s not my fault your cat likes me.” Actually, it is your fault, but Bucky doesn’t need to know the details.
In your defense, Alpine did just waltz around the entire place like she owned it. There was no indication she was owned, let alone owned by Bucky of all people.
“He do that often?” Bob asks. You raise an eyebrow at him to elaborate. “The staring.”
You scoff, “Only in days that end in ‘y.’” You shift on the couch so that you’re lying down instead of sitting. “I assumed it’s one of his weird quirks. I thought it was just a former assassin thing where he just stares at you as if assessing if you’re a threat,” you hold your hand up to emphasize your next point, “which I am not.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re pretty?” Bob suggests, and you laugh loudly, making him raise his eyebrows at you in slight concern.
You smile at Bob, “That’s so sweet,” you put your hand on his shoulder gently, “but so very wrong.”
Bob shakes his head but smiles, “You never know.”
You shake your head confidently. “No, I do. He’s probably planning different ways to kill me if needed. The stare of ‘I’m planning your murder because you took my cat.’” You stick your hands up into the air, doing jazz hands, still staring up at the ceiling.
“Is that a thing?” Bob asks, doubtful.
You look at him, contemplative. “I don’t know, but if it was, he definitely invented it.” You respond.
Bob frowns, but he nods, agreeing with the sentiment anyway.
-
You initially thought Bucky was jealous of you.
After all, Alpine decided that you were now her favorite person, and Alpine was his cat. Therefore, it’d make sense if he were a little upset over how Alpine clung to you.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little smug.
“Hey, whatcha guys doing?” You walk into the common area, watching as the team stands surrounding the center coffee table.
“Don’t fuck this up—”
“Shut up, John. I’m trying to concentrate.” Yelena cuts him off.
You eventually walk over and see the situation.
“What are you doing?! Don’t pick that one!” John points at the Jenga tower in front of him. Yelena leans over it, slowly tugging at a piece that’s halfway out.
Yelena stops, turning toward John, “John, I swear if you don’t be quiet, I will knock over this tower on purpose.” She points a finger at him, and he mutters a quick “Okay,” his hands held up in mock surrender.
You notice that on the couch sits Bucky Barnes himself, which immediately strikes you as odd. Bucky, while not explicitly against these little bonding activities, didn’t ever seem to care for participating in them. He’d support them, but from his own room. Seeing him actively engaging with these activities is definitely new. You also notice that Alpine is curled up on his lap.
Everybody else is standing, eagerly watching the game of Jenga. It appears that Yelena and John are on a team, which is a concerning team-up on its own, and Ava and Alexei are on a team. Bob seems content watching the game.
“GOT IT!” Yelena raises the Jenga piece into the air in victory.
Ava groans, looking at the tower, and you feel her pain. There were seemingly no good moves. You decide to walk up to Yelena and John to see how they’re doing.
“Oh, finally decided to join us?” Yelena pats you on the shoulder as you walk up to her.
“Didn’t realize you guys would be out here still.” You admit, you’d come back from a walk around the city.
John shrugs, nodding his head slightly, “Yeah, I didn’t think we’d still be here either.” He mutters.
You raise an eyebrow, “How long have you guys been at it?”
“Eh, not that long.” Yelena waves a hand casually.
”Two hours.” John deadpans at the same time.
You chuckle, deciding to sit down. “For one game?”
“We’re determined.” Yelena joins you on the couch.
You smile, nodding, “Say, since when did he start joining?” You quickly glance at Bucky, sitting on the other couch.
Yelena shrugs, “I don’t know, why?”
“Well, I mean, he just doesn’t ever show up to these. Was wondering how you guys got him to actually sit through a game.” You whisper, hoping he can’t hear you. However, you suddenly get the feeling that he’s watching you. You try to discreetly look at him, but when you do, he’s still staring at the game in front of him.
“What happened?” John asks, hovering over you and Yelena sat over on the couch.
“None of your business.” Yelena rolls her eyes.
“Well, if you are talking about B—”
“Oh, so now you’re eavesdropping.” You click your tongue, disappointed in him.
“You guys aren’t quiet.” He looks unimpressed.
“That’s not fair. We are quiet by normal people’s standards.” You turn to face him. You’re so focused on proving John wrong that you don’t even register Ava yelling “Alpine! No! Get off the table!”
“Well, I thought to inform you that perhaps the person you’re discussing can hear you, seeing as he wouldn’t fall into ‘normal people standards.’” John does air quotes.
You slowly turn to see if Bucky is watching you three have your not-so-quiet discussion. To your surprise, he is looking at you. Also, to your surprise, everybody is looking at you.
You feel yourself shrinking under their scrutiny. Did they all hear your conversation? “What?”
“The kitty cat likes you! I did not think she liked anybody.” Alexei laughs, and you furrow your brows, confused. You eventually sit up to find Alpine looking up at you, sitting right at your feet.
“Oh.”
She meows before hopping onto your lap. Yelena immediately shifts away from you, and John similarly moves away.
“Keep her there, please? She almost knocked over the tower.” Ava sounds exhausted.
“Uh, yeah sure.” You respond, still processing everything that just happened. No wonder Bucky was looking at you.
You glance up at him to find him no longer sitting laxly, but instead leaning forward, staring directly at you.
You grimace, trying to mouth an apology to him, but his expression stays the same. By this point, everybody else is sucked into the game again, except you two. You think that maybe he’ll just resolve to stare at you for the rest of the game, but no, he stands up.
Alpine purrs on your lap, but not even that can ease your growing stress levels as you see Bucky maneuver his way to your couch. You expected him to talk to you, perhaps ask for his precious cat back, but he does none of that.
Instead, he sits on the couch with you, saying nothing. He makes himself comfortable as if this is a normal occurrence. He decided to sit on the other side of the couch, pretty much the furthest he can sit from you while still being on the cushions. You can’t help but glance at him a few times, as if that would elicit an explanation.
Alpine looks up at you as you stare at the game in front of you, rigidly. You don’t dare to move or say anything. After minutes of silence from you two, you eventually turn toward him.
“Did you want Alpine back?” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if afraid that any louder would garner the team’s attention once more.
He turns toward you, and for the first time, you are struck by how blue his eyes are.
“It’s fine.” He matches your volume, glancing toward Alpine on your lap. If you weren’t looking for any sort of reaction, you wouldn’t have caught the way his eyes narrowed as he gazed upon Alpine in your lap.
You feel obligated to give Alpine back, even if every bone in your body is telling you to keep her. He even said, “It’s fine,” meaning it is definitely not fine. That, combined with the narrowed look towards his cat, probably means that he wants his cat back right now.
“No, really,” you start to shift, Alpine’s purring ceasing, “it’s okay. Sorry about that.” Just as you’re about to pick her up to give her to Bucky, he reaches over and gestures for you to stop, putting a hand on your shoulder.
He says your name, making you pause as your hands freeze under Alpine, ready to pick her up. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. If she likes you, she can stay with you.” You nod, very aware that his hand is still on your shoulder.
“If you’re sure…” You trail off hesitantly.
“I am.” He looks at you smiling, but can’t help but think it looks forced.
The rest of the night continued without a hitch. The game of Jenga eventually ended, with Ava and Alexei winning. John swore that he saw Ava cheat and phase her hand through the tower in order to grab a piece at just the right angle, but he couldn’t prove it. He grumbled about it for the rest of the night, taking snips at them, but he eventually let it go.
Throughout the entire night, you sat there with Alpine. Bucky did not ask for her. However, you did notice that every now and then, he’d turn to look at you, or more accurately, look at Alpine. You thought that maybe he did want to say something, but didn’t want to cause a huge scene. You would’ve assumed it’d be to ask for his cat back, but he seemed insistent that you keep her.
So you sat, watching as the team started slowly turning in for the night. As one by one went, you waited for Bucky to say something, anything, yet he sat there.
By the time almost everybody left, it was just you two. You had pulled out your phone by this point in order to look as if you were busy. Feeling a weight lift itself from your lap, you look and see Alpine get off of you, slowly walking across the couch to make her way to Bucky. You decide that this is your cue to leave.
You stand up, brushing off loose cat fur left on you. Just as you are about to leave, you sneak a glance toward Bucky, only to find he is already staring at you.
“Sorry about that.” You break the silence, casually pointing at his cat, as if his whole behavior hasn’t put you on edge all night.
He seems surprised that you spoke to him, looking from you down to Alpine. “It’s alright. She seemed to like being close to you.” You thought you could detect a hint of bitterness in his tone.
“Yeah,” you chuckle, unsure how to respond.
Silence permeates the room once again. “Well, I’m gonna head out.” You slowly start walking towards your room. “Good night,” You bid him before turning around and heading out, not expecting a response.
“Night,” he returns softly.
You pause in your retreat, turning around, to see him looking down at Alpine. You offer him a small smile before heading back into your room.
-
So yeah, you thought that between the constant looks, bitterness, and not-so-subtle glares, he was jealous.
Not wanting to fuel his anger, you tried to avoid being in the room at the same time Alpine would be with Bucky. Alpine could be cuddled next to you, but the moment Bucky walked in, you’d vanish.
He gave you weird looks, as if he were trying to figure out what your deal was. You just continued to give him a polite smile every time.
Cooking in the kitchen was always an invitation for Alpine to join. She liked it when you cooked because she’d just watch you, and Alpine decided watching you cook was the most fascinating thing. You didn’t mind, so you let her.
You wash the final dish before going to consume the results of your Alpine-monitored cooking session. Just as you’re about to eat, Bucky comes walking in. You make direct eye contact with him, before glancing to Alpine perched on the counter next to you.
“What are you doing?” He asks, approaching you two.
“Eating,” you look down at your plate of food, “I was going to go eat in my room anyway. Alpine is all yours.” You did not plan on eating in your room, but you did that night.
Incidents like this didn’t stop as you had hoped.
Whenever you folded your laundry, Alpine would magically find her way onto your clean clothes. She liked the warmth, and so she’d make herself cozy. You pretended to be upset, but you enjoyed her company.
Then you hear a knock at your door, which was already open, so you turn around to see Bucky.
You can’t mask your surprise before he makes a comment. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just wondering if Alpine was in here.” You shift to the side, allowing him to see the very asleep feline on your bed in a pile of clothes. You immediately put down any hangers in your hand.
“I am so sorry. Here, sorry.” You gently pick up Alpine, apologizing to both her and Bucky. She meows softly, annoyed at being disturbed from her rest. You would be upset too if you were suddenly woken up and removed from warmth. “Sorry, she just likes sitting on the warm clothes. Here, take her back.” You give Bucky the fluffy cat, and he looks hesitant to accept her, but does so anyway.
“I’m sorry about that, won't happen again.” You smile, embarrassed. Bucky stares at you as you slowly shut the door on him and cover your face in embarrassment.
What made all of these incidents worse is that instead of becoming less frequent over time, they seemed to almost increase in frequency as time went on. You’d always see Bucky or Alpine. You couldn’t walk around the tower without seeing one of the two. Even worse, once one shows up, it wouldn’t take long before the other magically appeared.
You would be sitting with the team, Alpine on your lap, when the sound of the elevator would ring out. Most of the time, it wouldn’t be an issue, but since you had Alpine on your lap, it had to be Bucky because the universe hates you.
“Do you still want to try that new cafe you were talking about earlier?” Ava crosses her legs as she leans back in one of the chairs.
You grin, “Oh yeah! I heard their pastries were amazing.” You pet Alpine as you pick her up to walk around with. She wouldn’t let anybody else hold her, even Bob, but she would allow you to hold her. Actually, now that you think about it, she’d probably let Bucky hold her too, but you haven’t asked him (and you don’t plan to).
“Did you wanna try and go today? I don’t know when exactly they’re busy, but we can always check.” You walk around the coffee table already thinking about what you might order once you get there.
Then the elevator rang out.
Unconcerned, you turned around to welcome the newcomer. That is, until the doors open to reveal Bucky.
Feet frozen in place, you look down at Alpine in your arms. Bucky walks out of the elevator and immediately meets your eyes before he looks at your arms.
You don’t break eye contact with him as you slowly put Alpine down on the ground. Immediately, she heads over to Bucky and rubs up against him.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, despite not being very apologetic. If given the chance, you'd absolutely pick her up again. To make things worse, you completely forgot that Bucky can definitely hear you. Feeling his focus shift from Alpine onto you, you internally wince.
Forgetting Ava is witnessing this interaction, you hear her call your name out, and you turn to face her. “Sorry, what?”
“Do you wanna head out now?” She looks between you and Bucky, raising an eyebrow.
“Absolutely, let’s go.” You nod enthusiastically, ignoring the piercing eyes on your back.
“Where are you two going?” Bucky asks, grabbing Alpine for himself and holding her in the same position you were sporting not even a minute before. Hoping Ava won’t say anything, you look dead into her eyes, pleading.
“New cafe,” she ignores your plea, “wanna come with us?” Feeling your stomach drop, you decide to confront the problem yourself by doing the one thing he does best: staring directly into his eyes.
He matches your stare, unsurprisingly, and then looks towards Ava. “You sure?” He asks hesitantly.
“Yeah, it’s all good. We were planning on asking Yelena to come with us anyway.” Ava dismisses casually, as if this isn’t gonna be a miserable trip.
Continuing your staring contest, he breaks the silence with one dreadful word: “Sure.” He ends whatever trance you two were in, turning to smile at Ava before returning his gaze to you.
“Alright,” Ava gives you two an odd look, “well, I’m gonna go grab Lena, I’ll be back in a minute.” She starts to walk away, and you feel your soul leave with her.
“You sure this is okay?” Bucky questions, startling you.
You nod, turning to face him, “Yeah, she said it was all good.” You smile at him.
He nods slowly, “Yeah, ‘she said,’” he quotes, “I was asking if you are okay with me coming along.”
You nod, “Yep, no issue with it.” You lie.
He nods, watching you and definitely not believing you, “Alright, if you say so.” He walks over to the couches where you’re standing by. “Didn’t realize she liked you that much that she let you carry her.” He comments casually.
You immediately understand the hidden meaning. He may seem all innocent there, standing with a fluffy cat in his arms purring up against his chest, but you know it isn’t that simple. He is challenging you right now. He is asking you how you managed to win her affections over and is silently reminding you that she is not yours. Talk about being passive-aggressive.
You keep your smile, “Yeah, it’s actually pretty crazy. She doesn’t even let Bob hold her. To be honest, I’m surprised she let me carry her around.”
Bucky smiles, it’s softer than you expected. “Perhaps she feels as if you’re a safe person to be around.
You nod, humming in acknowledgment.
“Alright, are we ready? Come on, I want to get some coffee.” Yelena walks out, Ava at her side.
“It’s almost nine at night.” Ava comments in disbelief.
“Yeah?” Yelena pauses, “Well, I like coffee. Let’s go.” She enters the elevator, waiting for you all to join her.
The elevator ride wasn’t as awkward as you thought. Yelena and Ava managed to ease the tension for the most part. Whether or not they were even aware of it is a discussion of its own, but knowing them, they probably knew.
The walk to the coffee shop wasn’t very eventful either, for the most part. About halfway through, you realize that Ava and Yelena are heavily engrossed in their own conversation. Earlier, you couldn’t stop talking, but as the topics changed, you started to say less and less as they transitioned to your less knowledgeable topics. By this point, you didn’t even know what they were talking about. This led to you walking ahead of them.
To your surprise, somebody else decided to join you in what you thought was your brief solo walking moment.
“They seem to be passionate.” Bucky comments, and you both look behind you to see Ava nodding her head with a drawn-out “Yes!” All of this occurs while Yelena gestures wildly, seemingly approving of Ava’s agreement.
“Huh, yeah, I guess so.” You add on, amused. You two walk in silence for a moment before you eventually just decide to ask the question bugging your mind. “So, uh,” you pause as Bucky immediately gives you his full attention, “why exactly did you want to come?” You look at him.
He seems slightly taken aback by your question, but smiles anyway. “I like coffee, you guys said the cafe was good.”
You nod along, finding yourself questioning previous incidents. You had offered him coffee before, and he had decidedly not accepted it. So either he was lying, or he just really wanted to embarrass you that one time. You can’t tell which one is worse.
“You do? Really?” You ask, unconvinced.
“Yeah.” You laugh at his answer, “What?” He asks, matching the smirk on your face. “You don’t believe me?” He asks, acting as if he’s offended.
You continue to laugh, and he once again stares at you, resolute. “No, no, I believe you.” You smile at him.
He looks at you, nodding as if accepting that to be the end of that discussion. You eventually stop at the door of the cafe. The moment you’re about to open it, Bucky puts his hand in front of you, halting your action. You pause. What is he about to do?
Dazed for a moment, you watch as he opens the door for you. You smile at how unabashedly old-fashioned he is.
“Thank you.” You tell him, walking in. He smiles at the gratitude, garnering Yelena and Ava’s attention.
“What is it you are doing?” Yelena asks him as she walks inside. Bucky follows in behind her and Ava.
“Holding the door?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.
“No shit. I meant the” she gestures to her own face then to Bucky, “smile.”
“Am I not allowed to smile?” Bucky asks, disbelief written all over his face.
“I mean, you can,” Ava asks, but even she seems doubtful of her statement, “you just… don’t.”
“Oh, so you want me to have a restriction on being happy now?” Bucky asks, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. The three of them join you in line.
“I mean, I thought you already did.” Yelena blatantly admits. You all turn to her, “What?”
“Next up!” You roll your eyes at their discussion before going to the counter and telling the barista your order. Yelena and Ava peep over your shoulder and tell her their order as well. However, Bucky stands behind you three silently.
“What do you want?” You ask him.
He pauses, “Uh, black coffee.”
“‘Black coffee?’” You repeat, and he nods in confirmation. It was the exact same coffee he had rejected months ago.
“Okay, black coffee for him.” You turn back towards the barista, telling her your name before pulling out your card to pay.
Just as you’re about to tap the card, Bucky pulls you back, “Hey—” He taps his card.
“Oh, thanks, Bucky.” Yelena nods at him. Ava also gives him a quick “Thanks.”
You look up at him, suddenly feeling unsure about everything. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs, “I wanted to.”
“Thanks.” You tell him, and he accepts your gratitude with a nod before you all find a table to sit at.
This whole situation is odd. You genuinely thought he hated you. Well, hate is extreme, but he decidedly went out of his way to avoid your previous attempts at friendship.
Tagging along to a cafe with you, walking with you, and generally acting like a gentleman was not exactly what you expected this trip to be. You expected more backhanded compliments like before. If this was some sort of way to get to you, he was really playing the long game.
He hasn’t mentioned Alpine once during this whole excursion. It makes you wonder if you’ll have to be the one to confront him about that. That’s not exactly something you want to do, but you feel like it’s coming anyway.
You take a look at him to see how he’s faring here. He’s in a deep conversation with Yelena and Ava, all leaning away from you. You can’t hear what they’re discussing, but Yelena and Ava both make eye contact with you throughout their little talk. You aren’t even sure if you want to know what they’re talking about.
Hearing the barista call your name, you grab the drinks and pastries for the group, and you thank them before heading back to the table.
“So,” Ava starts cautiously at your return, glancing at Bucky for a split second before looking back at you, “when did you two… start?” She gestures between you and Bucky.
You take a slow sip of your drink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You know this whole,” Yelena interjects, “thing you two have going on. It’s painful.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
Suddenly, the room feels hot, and it doesn’t help that your drink is also hot. You turn to Bucky, but he just looks at Yelena and Ava, bored. You take another sip, hoping he will say something, anything.
After a period of silence, you accept the fact that he will not be denying anything, so you eventually speak up. “No idea what you’re talking about.” You shrug.
What makes it worse is that you truly don’t know. Your excuse is terrible, and so they will think you’re lying when you genuinely have no idea.
Ava nods her head, “Mhm, okay.” She says, looking between you two.
You turn towards Bucky, who has not taken a sip of his coffee once. “Thought it was your favorite.” His attention snaps to you.
”I never said that.” He shakes his head.
“Then why’d you order it?” You raise an eyebrow, amused.
He looks at you before taking a long, slow sip of his coffee. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “Happy?” He asks.
You smile, “Thrilled.”
Walking home is not exactly silent, after all, you’re in New York, but it’s definitely quieter. Once again, Bucky decides to walk next to you. He makes a big deal about you being on the outside of the sidewalk, you roll your eyes, but let him have his moment.
You turn around every now and then to check and make sure Ava and Yelena are behind you. However, every time you turn around, they are already looking at you. Ava gives you a nod with a small smirk, and Yelena gives you a thumbs up. You give them a horrified look the first time it happens. However, by the third time you turn around and they repeat their same shenanigans, you give up, shaking your head, trusting that they will stay behind you and Bucky for the rest of the walk.
When you get back to the tower, you all enter the elevator. The ride up is relatively quiet, but then the door opens. You walk out, Bucky on your left, and John walks by, turning to see who came back, only to look at you two with an appalled expression.
“Did you two go on a date?” John looks at Bucky as if doubting what he’s seeing.
Ava and Yelena step out right after John’s question. “No, they just walked side by side together, and got coffee while teasing each other across our table.” Yelena walks over.
Alpine makes her presence known and walks over to you, rubbing herself against you. “You wanna take her for the night?” Bucky leans toward you, whispering to your ear. You feel your heart rate increase.
“Oh God, they’re sharing custody over the damn cat.” You hear John remark, exasperated. You both ignore him.
You frown at him. For somebody who is so protective of his cat, you would never have expected an offer as gracious as this one. “Are… are you sure?” You ask him hesitantly.
He smirks, amused, “Yes, I’m sure.”
You nod slowly, “And you won’t be upset?”
He tilts his head slightly, “Why would I?”
You look at him, his eyes on you with a fondness that sends your stomach whirling. You feel instantly conflicted. Why is he acting like this? What happened to being upset about you stealing Alpine’s affection? Were you wrong? There’s no way you were wrong. He was definitely upset when he commented about how much she liked you.
“We should go.” Ava looks towards the remaining team members who are watching you and Bucky. “Give them some privacy.”
John scoffs, “‘Privacy?’ There is no privacy here.”
“Just because you ruined your love life doesn’t mean you have to be bitter over other people’s, John.” Yelena snaps, disapprovingly.
His eyebrows raise, “Jesus, okay. Let’s give them some privacy.” He walks away from them, not even checking to see if Yelena and Ava follow behind him.
As that whole discussion went down, Bucky continued to look at you, confused.
“I just thought you might be upset?” You eventually respond to his question, unsure whether you're stating something or asking.
“Over you sleeping with my cat next to you?” He asks, sounding progressively more perplexed.
You open your mouth to say yes, but the look he gives you leaves you speechless. You try to say something, but everything that your brain comes up with sounds unreasonable. How do you tell somebody that yes, you thought they’d be upset that you were snuggling with their cat?
He huffs, his voice softening, “Why would I be upset about that?” You briefly wonder if he can read minds, but shove that thought away.
You eventually muster enough brain power to speak, “It’s stupid.”
He looks at you, shaking his head, “I doubt that.”
“No, it’s really fucking stupid. You’re going to think I’m insane after this.” You reiterate.
“I promise I won’t think you’re insane.” He chuckles, picking up Alpine, who was demanding attention.
You remain silent for a moment, staring at him, holding Alpine in his arms. Both Bucky and Alpine stare at you as if awaiting your response. You look around, as if checking to make sure nobody is going to hear what you’re about to say.
“I thought you were jealous…” you look up at him, finding him patiently waiting for you to explain, “of me taking Alpine all the time.” You look away from him.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you look at him once more. He isn’t reacting at all. You shift on your feet, unnerved. Suddenly, he cracks a small smile, exhaling amused. However, your dismayed reaction causes his smile to fall.
“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?” He desperately tries to keep the amusement out of his voice, but you can hear it as clear as day, much to your chagrin.
You open your mouth to explain, but hesitate for a brief moment. “So you’re not jealous of me taking Alpine… I just wanna confirm.” You mutter.
He shakes his head, amusement lighting up his eyes, but he humors you, “No. I am not jealous of you taking Alpine.”
You walk over to the couch and sit down, leaning over and placing your palms against your eyes. “So you weren’t making passive-aggressive comments about me taking her?”
“No, promise.” He confirms, joining you on the couch.
“Okay, well,” you look towards Bucky, who nods for you to continue, “I thought you hated me cause in the past every time I tried to talk to you, you’d just ignore me. So eventually I just kinda assumed that you did not like me. Then you saw me with Alpine, and started acting weird, so I was like ‘oh no, he’s going to be upset that I took his cat.’” You ramble, watching Bucky’s eyes get wider as you progress.
“You thought I hated you?” He asks, as if the concept were absurd.
“Yeah, I mean, there was that time I made coffee for you and you just rejected it. Then I also tried to help out with an injury you got during a mission, and you said no and sounded upset at me, so I just figured you didn’t like me around you.” You explain sheepishly.
Bucky exhales harshly, “I never disliked you. I thought it was sweet when you did all that.”
You blink, “You did?”
He laughs, Alpine moving off his lap onto yours. “Yes, I did.”
You frown, “But you always rejected my offers.”
Now he avoids eye contact, “Well,” he locks eyes with Alpine, “I didn’t know how to approach you. I didn’t know how to talk to you without messing everything up, so I didn’t. I was scared.”
“‘Scared?’ Scared of what? Me?” You repeat.
He laughs softly, “Terrified.”
“I am like the least scary person on the team. Why the hell would you be scared?” You laugh at the idea.
“Because,” he looks at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips briefly before going back up to your eyes. You look at him, anxiously awaiting his response.
“You said you thought I was jealous of you,” he shifts the topic, “because you won Alpine’s affection.” He shook his head at the thought. “I was never jealous of you.” He reiterates, moving closer to you. You remain in your spot, watching as he grabs your hand. “I was jealous of her.” He looks down, smiling at the ridiculous notion.
“Of… Alpine?” You repeat dubiously.
“Because,” he looks up to meet your eyes, “she was able to get close to you. She was able to just insert herself into your life like she always belonged.” He looks down at Alpine purring on your lap. “Something I wasn’t able to do.”
You take a deep breath, “I thought you disliked me…”
He shakes his head, “I could never. I was stupid, but I have never once disliked you. I never wanted to hurt you, but I guess I did that anyway.” He exhales with a soft huff of laughter, but there’s no humor.
“This whole time?” You ask softly. “This whole time you’ve…” You glance down at his hands, clasped in your own.
He nods slowly, “All this time.” He confirms softly.
You gape at him, not saying a word. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something. Instead, you say nothing, shifting closer to him on the couch, closing what little space is between you two. Alpine doesn’t even move from your lap despite the disturbance. You look at him, and his lips part open. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Slowly, you inch closer, giving him time to back out. You feel his breathing quicken before you close the gap.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but a soft one. You barely linger, removing yourself from him, before he can react. His mouth is slightly open out of pure awe. He looks at you, as if ready to lean in again, pupils dilated. You put your hand on his chest, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
“At least take me out on a date first, Barnes.” You smirk, chuckling breathlessly despite the short-lived kiss.
He grins, looking awestruck, eyes lighting up with that same amusement from earlier, “I did.” He squeezes your hand tighter, trying to move you closer once again.
You shake your head, “No. You tagged along to my cafe quest with two other team members.”
He chuckles, looking down in disbelief that this is even happening. “I would take you out on a date every single day if you asked me,” he rubs his thumbs along your hands. “But all I want right now, all I need right now, is you.” He slowly raises his arm up to hold your face, his hand cradling you gently.
You feel your face heat up at his words, “You drive a hard bargain…” You pretend to think about it. Eventually, you shift yourself so that you're leaning against him. Alpine looks up at you two, annoyed. “Aw, did we disturb you?” You ask her. She meows before climbing to rest on both you and Bucky. You laugh, feeling her purring resume and leaning just a little closer to him.
-
“Oh my God.” You blink away the sleepiness from your eyes. Oh, right, you’re still on the couch from last night. Alpine is on top of Bucky’s chest, peacefully asleep. You are cuddled up next to Bucky’s side.
“What the fuck, we sit there.” John sounds affronted, loosely gesturing to you and Bucky on the couch. “You could’ve gone to your room to do that.”
Bucky, now also awake, raises an eyebrow at him. “Sleep?”
“You know what you did.” John narrows his eyes at you two. You stand up, stretching as the rest of the team walks in.
“What happened?” Yelena asks, walking in.
“Nothing, we just fell asleep on the couch last night. Nothing crazy.” You shrug, giving a pointed look to John.
“Oh, so you two figured it out, great.” Yelena walks over to make herself coffee.
“You knew?” You walk over to her, not entirely surprised. You notice in your peripherals that Bucky, still lying down, is now being scrutinized by the rest of the team, John standing over him disapprovingly.
Yelena pauses, giving you a look. “Yes, I knew… Everybody knew. You even asked me about him.”
“Yeah! He stares at you like you hung stars.” Alexei adds on, pointing to the ceiling.
“You mean the moon?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Eh, moon and stars.” He adds on.
You roll your eyes, looking over at Bucky. He’s sitting on the couch, the rest of the team asking him various questions, presumably about you two. Seeing him now, he looks so stoic. Then, almost as if he can feel you watching, he turns towards you, and you physically see his eyes soften.
“Oh wow, he’s bad,” Yelena comments next to you, watching him. You laugh at her, but continue to admire just how soft he looks. The image is something you could not have imagined merely weeks ago, but now you have the pleasure of experiencing it.
“I’m glad it worked out, it was getting difficult to watch,” Yelena adds.
You give a small smile, “Thank the cat.” You look down at the feline rubbing up against your legs.
I hope you guys enjoyed that! This is my first Marvel fic so it might take a moment for me to find my footing. I really don't want to make characters too ooc, so feel free to leave any feedback. Thank you for reading if you made it all the way through :D
marvel au
bucky x reader
alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.
Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.
main masterlist
You were careful.
Or at least, you thought you were careful.
For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.
You figured no one had noticed.
Until today.
It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.
Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.
“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.
“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement.
“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.
“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.
“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”
“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”
You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut.
“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”
“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”
You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”
Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.
“Machine giving you trouble again?”
Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.
“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.
“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.
“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”
Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.
“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.
Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”
The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.
“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.
“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—
Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?”
“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.
Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”
You made a face at her. “What are you on about?”
Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.
For now.
As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.
Right. Focus.
“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”
Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.
“I like the way you think.”
—
You knew Alpine would be your downfall.
The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.
So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to.
You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.
Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.
The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.
“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.
You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?”
You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.
“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”
“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.
“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”
Natasha snorted into her drink.
Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder. “This is bullshit, and you know it—”
“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”
“That is not true!”
“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.
“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.
Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.
“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.
The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.
“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both.
“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.
Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”
“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”
As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.
“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew.
Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.
“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.
“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.
Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.
“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”
“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.
“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”
Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”
Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. “You what?”
“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”
Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.
It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.
You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”
Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.
Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”
The golden age. If I could just read stucky/OFC (or reader. Idc) for the rest of my life, I'd be so happy.
In my dreams, I've written a "real world girl falls into marvel world" that just celebrates them all as characters that get to actually be kind of happy
Summary: Three miles from town and a world away from the life she knew, she finds herself relying on a reclusive stranger whose measured distance and iron self-control may not be enough to resist the pull he feels toward her.
Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his shore -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.
Note: A Cecaelia is a half-man, half-octopus merfolk. It was the winning choice of This poll.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Lore and Q&A
Extra Stories in Reading Order:
Prequels
The Colossal Feat:
Summary: Eleven winters without a mark, eleven mating seasons watching from the shadows. He decides to hunt something impossible, or die trying.
Adrft:
Summary: Liberated but not free, Bucky survives but never quite lives. A story exploring how he ended up in the cave, long before he meets her.
Side-Stories
Offerings
Summary: On a February afternoon, in a market full of pink, Bucky discovers a human custom he has no reason to care about. Or does he?
Sequels
Five Dollars and a Hook
Summary: Bucky navigates the impulse of being a provider, struggling with the rules of the human world.
The Old Pull
Summary: There's a difference between being lured and choosing to come closer. She wants to experience the call that's part of him. He wants to make sure she understands what she's asking for. Trust, it turns out, can transform even the oldest hunts.
Spring Tides
Summary: 300w smutty drabble.
Between the Tides
Summary: Bucky achieved what every male of his kind is supposed to want. But the Thal'kyr don't do fatherhood -don't even have a word for it- and now he must figure out how to be something his species never taught him to be.
Dad!Bucky
Summary: Drabble about Bucky dealing with teenage boys at home.
