Summary: After leaving your boyfriend some little notes of love in his lunchbox, you became very famous throughout the night shift. But you didn't know this until you had to step into the ER trying to give Jack his forgotten lunchbox.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
Thanks to the anon who requested a part 2 for Little Notes of Love and illuminated my brain because this little fic wasn't meant to have a part 2.
Hope you guys love it just as much as the first part.
(Sorry that this took me more time than I planned to 🙃)
The ER wasn't a place you liked. Really, you didn't enjoy being at a hospital. Ironic, since your boyfriend is an ER doctor. There is nothing specific for you to dislike about the place, it's just a hospital, and no one really likes being there. But this time, you drove voluntarily to the place all because Jack forgot his lunchbox, and your concern about the rare times your boyfriend gets to eat at his job is more important than your dislike for the hospital.
You don't really know where to get in. You're not a patient, and you're afraid that the lady at the desk would not let you in, so even if you're a little embarrassed, you get in through the ambulance bay. Your plan is not to stay too long and to bother people as little as possible. It's a very busy place, and you don't want to get in anyone's way.
You stand near the place where a desk is (the nurse station), trying to find Jack through all the people moving from one side to another so quickly that you could get dizzy.
Someone taps your shoulder, making you turn around.
“Ma’am, is everything okay? You should go through the desk at the front door.”
She said calmly with tired eyes, but she still gave you a small smile. By Jack's description, you think it's Dr. Ellis.
You smile at her, letting out a relieved sigh.
“I’m not a patient, I'm fine,” you assure her. You lift the gray lunchbox in your hand, and by the expression she makes, you think she recognizes it. “I’m looking for my boyfriend, he's an attending here,” you explain to her.
“So you are the mysterious Lady Notes, huh?” she said, smiling widely, her eyes suddenly bright with interest.
Your cheeks burn because you never thought that Jack would show them the notes, or that they would see them.
“Guess I am,” you said, telling her your actual name, but something tells you that you're stuck with Lady Notes.
“I’m Dr. Parker Ellis,” she introduced herself by shaking your hand. “Follow me.”
You do. She guides you through the nurse station toward a nurse who looks like she is in charge, and by the look she gives you above her reading glasses and Jack's description, you think she's Lena. By her side, there is a tall man who looks completely relaxed and not even bothered by the rush of the ED.
“Look who finally visited us,” Parker said, too excited.
You stay a few steps behind, a little embarrassed by the attention the three of them give you, and again, they seem to recognize you the moment they see the gray lunchbox in your hands.
Lena gives you a full smile, looking really excited, while Shen just says:
“You are Mysterious Lady Notes?” he asked, taking a sip from his Dunkin' coffee, looking as surprised as he could.
Lena gave him a look that made him shrug.
“You are beautiful, hon,” she said, walking toward you. “I’m Lena, the charge nurse from the night shift.” She smiles at you, and you give her your best smile as you introduce yourself to her.
“I don't want to disturb you or anyone. Jack forgot his lunchbox, so I thought I'd stop by and give it to him,” you explain.
“You don't disturb anyone. We all have been waiting to meet the woman who has softened Abbott.”
And you can clearly see that because of how excited the three of them seem at your presence, and their reactions attract more people.
“I thought Jack was having hallucinations when he said he would take five minutes to eat the lunch his girlfriend made for him,” Shen told you from where he was standing a few steps back from Lena. He had been talking about something with Parker before. “I’m Dr. Shen.”
You tell your name again, giggling at his comment.
You told yourself it was going to be a quick visit: give Jack his lunchbox, a kiss, and then head back to your apartment to sleep. But twenty minutes later, you have said your name more times than in your entire life, introducing yourself to anyone who tells you, “You're the mysterious Lady Notes.” You get to know Nurse Mateo, Dr. Henderson, the student Nazly, Nurse Vivi, and you think that by that point, you have met everyone who works there.
“What is happening here?” a well-known voice cut through the crowd surrounding the nurse station.
Jack stood there waiting for an explanation when his eyes met yours, and realization quickly hit him.
“Okay, you guys, stop overwhelming my missus.” He walked toward you, placing himself by your side and resting one of his hands on your lower back as usual.
“I don't think you get to call her missus if you haven't married her yet,” Mateo said playfully, pointing to your bare ring finger.
Jack looks at the nurse, narrowing his eyes, and points at him.
“Careful, or you'll spend the rest of the night with the bad cases,” he warns while the rest of the people laugh.
“He’s right, Abbott. I have no idea how you haven't put a ring on that finger already,” Parker says, raising both eyebrows.
If your cheeks were warm before, now your face was burning hot. All the eyes were on the two of you, and everyone was supporting Ellis and Mateo's thoughts.
“Okay, okay, all of you, leave them alone. Go back to your jobs. There are sick people who need you all,” Lena commands with a tone of voice that actually scares you, and it is a warning for everyone because they all say goodbye to you and go back to work as soon as they can.
Jack guides you to an empty room. Your face is hot, but the wide smile is something nobody could get rid of no matter what they said.
“So I'm the mysterious Lady Notes,” you said, giggling.
He looks at you in that intense way that only he is able to do, that hazel gaze that makes your legs tremble like jelly and your heart race so hard that you can hear it in your ears.
He huffed, rolling his eyes at your words.
“They insisted on calling you that until they knew you,” he mumbled, trying to look irritated but failing because of the smile growing on his face.
His hands go instinctively to your waist, and your arms settle around his neck. There is not an inch separating the two of you. You brush your nose against his, which finally makes him give you that crooked smile you love so much.
Jack didn't wait. He kissed you, not caring that anyone could walk in and catch you.
“You forgot your lunchbox,” you said through the kiss.
He breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against yours.
“And you brought it to me instead of going to sleep when you have to work early,” he whispered in disbelief.
“Your shift is long. You need to eat, and I don't trust the vending machine,” you said as if it wasn't a point of comparison, and just imagining him eating something from the vending machine felt like a betrayal.
He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh.
“I love you.” He leaves a kiss on your temple and another on your cheek.
“I love you too,” you respond, leaving a short kiss on his lips.
You wanted to stay a little longer, but you saw that the ER was full and that you had already attracted too much attention and distracted several people. You didn't want to take up too much of the chief attending's time.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” You leave the lunchbox in his hands and another kiss on his lips. “Eat something,” you said, pointing at him with your index finger like a threat.
He just smiles at you.
“I will. See you in the morning.” He watches you disappear through the door.
He's quick to open the lunchbox, finding just what he wanted: a little Post-it note. It was white, and written on it was:
“Lovely grumpy doctor, if you ever forget your lunchbox again, you will be temporarily banned from these masterpieces that I put my heart into.
(I’m being very serious, please don't forget to eat like you forgot your lunchbox.)
Should I be worried about memory problems? They are very common at your age.
Your beautiful girlfriend ;)”
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head.
That one was going to his locker.
Jack keeps the Post-it in his scrub pocket after reading it a few more times before Parker finds him and tells him that they have an incoming trauma. She also tries to see what the note says, but he makes sure to hide it from her view.
It was just for him.
After the trauma and doing some rounds, he finally has time to sit and do some charts. But peace was something that never happened in the ER, and definitely after your visit, he would know no peace for a while.
“What?” he asked Lena, who was looking at him above her reading glasses.
She gives him a look that Jack completely ignores.
“What are you waiting for?” she said as if it were obvious. “She deserves that damn rock on her finger.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
Jack goes back to his chart, but the last thing he was thinking about was the patient. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, but it had only been a year and a half since the two of you started officially dating. He didn't want to scare you. Even though you didn't seem bothered by the comments his co-workers made, maybe you thought they were just kidding and trying to bother him.
There was nothing that he would like more than to call you his wife, Mrs. Abbott, seeing you stop signing your notes with “girlfriend” and replacing it with “your wife,” the title you deserve because there was nothing in that life that would make Jack let you go.
You were stuck with him for the rest of your life. What better way than to make it official?
Since your visit to the ER, your discomfort with the hospital has faded, and you have visited more often, dropping Jack off and picking him up, always making a little entrance to say hello and gossip a little with Lena, Ellis, and Shen.
Now you make sure to pack Jack more food than before and tell him specifically which bowls are for each nightcrawler: the dark blue one for Mateo, the red one for Parker, the green one for Shen, and so on with the rest of the crew.
He complains, telling you that you are spoiling them. But deep inside, he loves how you worry about all of them, so he gives them all the bowls, threatening that if they don't return them empty at the end of their shift, they will be stuck at triage for an entire week.
But something that keeps staying on his mind, and that everyone keeps telling him, even Dana and Robby, is about the ring that is missing from your finger.
It doesn't sound like a rushed step if everyone keeps telling him that he's been taking a long time.
I have to admit I was smiling like an idiot while writing this 😽
robby having you lying across his lap with your panties down around your ankles, his thumb circling your tight hole while he holds you down with his other hand because you squirm so much when he slightly dips his thumb in, teasing you.
“aww poor baby, someone’s needy huh?” he coos, his voice dripping in condescension which makes you squirm more under his touch.
“n-no” you pout but the whine that escapes your lips when he swaps his thumb for two fingers betrays you.
robby chuckles at that.
“yeah, okay baby, you’re not needy at all” he laughs biting his lip as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers.
Plot: The Pitt needs Jack but he's asleep. Accidental cuddling when you go wake him up. No established relationship. This is the Oh moment. 1.6 K of fluff.
A/N: I decided it was only fair do a Jack Abbot version of the sleepy on-call room trope I did for Robby in A Match Being Struck. John Shen whump if you squint.
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You didn’t see Shen and Parker playing Rock Paper Scissors down the hall as they each hoped to avoid being the one to wake Abbot. You missed Parker’s arms go up in victory, followed by her peace sign as she walked off with a smug smile. All you saw was Shen leaning over the counter, drink in hand, as he said,
“Can you go grab Abbot for me? He’s asleep and I can’t have a repeat of last time.” He shuddered at the mention of it.
“Just put your drink down before you wake him,” you said. He curled the cup closer to his chest at the mere suggestion he separate from it.
“I can’t risk it. That was a dark day.” He was looking past you, lost in thought reliving the last time he’d woken the sleeping attending. Abbot, the former soldier who understandably had seen some scary things that often led to PTSD. Abbot, the part-time SWAT medic, who might not react well to being startled awake by a coworker and might knock said coworker’s favourite Dunkin’ drink from his hand. Shen had been devastated, low on caffeine, and the least chill you’d ever seen him. It would have been funny if the rest of his shift hadn’t been so rough because of the spill. “Please, dude,” he begged. You sighed and agreed to get Jack.
The room wasn’t as dark or as quiet as it should be for sleep but soldiers and nightshift workers could sleep anywhere and anytime. Jack was laying on his stomach on a couch in the staff lounge. His prothetic leg was within reach, leaning against the arm of the couch. You considered calling his name loudly, startling him awake from a safe distance but that felt mean. As soon as he was awake, it would be nothing but noise and chaos until his shift ended. He looked so peaceful, you really didn’t know how things went so south with Shen.
You made your way closer, opting for a soft approach. Sitting down gently on the edge of the couch by his ribs, you said his name and waited for movement from him. You tried again, nothing. You eyed his back a moment, making sure it moved with breathing. You put a hand on his shoulder, and slowly slid it across his back, smiling when he started to stir. See Shen? This was how you carefully woke a sound sleeper. You dragged your hand back across the same simple path of his shoulders, smug that your soothing gesture had solved everything when Jack mumbled,
“Hey, sweetheart.” What?! No. That was not the desired effect, especially not when hearing that term of endearment in his sleepy voice seemed to short-circuit a very important part of your brain. In his stirring, his forehead came to rest against your thigh. He sighed like a weary sailor finding land after seasons at sea. You squirmed slightly at the heat his heavy exhale brushed against the seam of your pants. He started move more purposefully, and you thought he was waking up. Instead, his arm reached for more contact and you froze when it snaked slowly around your thigh, his hand tucking underneath your leg, and successfully stopping you from pulling in your next breath.
It was the second time today you’d seen a man hug something protectively to his chest but you were having a very different reaction to this one. You managed a shaky breath, but Jack Abbot wasn’t done. On another sleepy exhale, his hand skimmed up the underside of your leg, sparking sweet sensations as it slid until his palm was nestled in the nook of your knee. That alone might have been survivable but the placement of his hand meant that his forearm laid along your inner thigh and his elbow was cushioned in the most uncoworkerly corner of your body: your crotch.
You made a sound. One you’d definitely never made at the hospital. One Jack Abbot definitely heard, because he tightened his hold on you and said,
“Lay down with me, honey.” The sudden surge of temptation to accept his invitation was so strong, it constricted your chest. Your heart twisted at how sweet he’d sounded. He’d said it so lovingly, like you were together, like you were… Oh. Oh no. Was he thinking about his dead wife?! “Need you,” he said softly and it was a knife through your heart.
“Dr. Abbot,” you said as professionally as possible but not being able to breathe properly really took the power out of your voice. Overwhelmed by the delicious feelings flooding from all points of contact with him and horrified at yourself for the lust flowing through you while he was wholesomely just deeply in love with his late wife, you reached out for something to help steady you. Aiming for the couch, but being off-kilter because of the cuddly boa constrictor of a coworker currently coiled around your leg, your hand landed left of where you’d planned, right onto his head where it sunk into a soft sea of salt and pepper curls. You made another noise in frustration, torn between needing this to end and never wanting it to. Letting your hand slide off him turned into more of a caress, and his eye cracked open.
He stared up at you sleepily, almost suspiciously, but maintained his strong grasp. For a second there was a flicker not unlike the look in Shen’s eyes as he had cradled the iced coffee to his chest. Or the look in a dog’s eye when they’ve got something they know you’re going to try to take away and they plan to fight you for it.
“Hi,” you said, more than a little breathless. “Shen needs you.”
He woke up quickly then, jerking his head and hands away from you, turning one way then another before he was sitting alert and army-trained on the couch.
“Fuck, sorry, I thought I was dreaming.”
“About your wife,” you added on, needing to acknowledge it.
“What?” He asked, his face twisting at the out of the blue mention of her.
“What?” You echoed, wondering why he seemed confused. He tilted his head at you, quietly considering.
“I wasn’t dreaming about my wife.” The statement came lightly but it made the air in the room incredibly heavy. It felt like he was actually admitting something else. Something potentially life-changing.
You sprang from the couch, set on a quick escape, only to hear a clatter as his prosthesis was knocked from its resting place. Mortified at not only putting hands on an attending and stirring up memories of his late wife, now you could add destruction of property or hate crime against the disabled by throwing around his much-needed leg. You crouched to reach for it, desperate to right the wrong. Jack had the same instinct about saving his leg, only faster. This meant you sort of collided, landing with your arm outstretched along his and your chin on his shoulder.
He looked down, at where you had not managed to grasp his prothesis, but instead had your hand wrapped around his. Thankfully you weren’t attached to a heart rate monitor when he turned his head to look at you, because all sorts of alarms would be going off and a whole team would be running in to save you when his nose bumped yours. Marvelling at his face just a breath away, you didn’t know how you were going to recover from this.
“Wanna know who I was dreaming about?” He teased, tempting you with the idea of you two.
“I think I understand now why Shen dropped his drink,” You whispered.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a hint of a laugh, and the corner of his mouth started to lift in a smirk before he pulled his mouth to the side to hide it. Jack shook his head at you, and it took him out of your space enough that you could think clearly again. You stood on shaky legs and backed away towards the door as he accused,
“Hey, you started it.” You stayed quiet, unable to defend yourself, because you had, in fact, started it with the shoulder slide. At the door, you paused as he started adjusting his prosthesis,
“Is your leg alright?” You asked, hoping you hadn’t damaged it. Jack peered up at you, amusement brightening his eyes.
“Is yours?” He asked, gesturing to where your skin was still suffering from aftershocks.
“My leg is,” you looked down at the limb in question, “fine,” you lied, trying to downplay your reaction to him. But did that sound too nonchalant or even ungrateful to say about your perfectly fine leg to someone holding a prosthesis? “It’s great,” you overcompensated, mildly concerned that might be bragging. He nodded,
“Yeah, it felt great.” You laughed at his unexpected feedback.
“You did not just say that. Is that your medical opinion?” He smiled at you, all too pleased with himself and your heart skipped a beat. It was a toss up whether having him alert and flirty or semi-conscious and cuddly was more hazardous to your cardiac health. From the gleam in his eye, you knew he was about to deliver some devastatingly flirtatious line. You needed to get out while you still could. “Go find Shen,” you ordered, fleeing the room.
You sped-walked down the hall, leg still tingling while you wondered if this was a newfound version of phantom limb, and how long the symptoms would last. Peeking over your shoulder to see if Jack had come out yet, you rounded the corner quickly and crashed into someone in scrubs. Beyond the contact, there was the sound of plastic hitting the floor and liquid splashing.
pope who's a big hand holder when you're out in public - he always has to have a hand on you.
thanking my lovebug anon right now and thinking about how pope cody would be obsessed with your hand in his.
pope has always had a difficult relationship with physical touch. he assumes that the two types of contact are either sexual, transactional ones, or overstimulating, unwelcome ones. in his past, the former was a way to get release for a brief moment before left feeling hollow. and the latter, was a too rough slap on the back as a greeting from his brothers or an all too sensual placement of a kiss from his mother.
but it’s different with you. when pope met you, it felt like his hands came to back to life. he wasn’t really sure when they had stopped reaching for others or ached to be held, but it happened all the same. now, it’s like his hands are magnetized to yours. his fingers itch to feel your skin on his. it doesn’t matter the circumstances, pope needs your hand locked with his at all times.
he’ll be driving and have one hand on the wheel and one gripping yours on top of your thigh, basking in the warmth of your embrace. or he’ll be glued to your side in the grocery store as you walk the aisles, both of you holding the shopping cart, you clutch the metal and he clutches you, feeling grateful that you let him touch you in public. or or or, he’ll play with your fingers while you sit on the couch watching a movie. your focus is on the film and his focus is how small and soft your hand is compared to his calloused big one.
he can even get whiny with it too. he hates when you have to use both hands to make dinner. or use your right and your left to do your makeup, hair or skincare. pope never gets too pouty though, because your compromise is wearing a flimsy tank top so he can palm your tits from behind in the kitchen or bending over in the mirror so he can kneed your ass in the bathroom.
and and and! his fixation is especially needy in the bedroom. pope gets twitchy and will even lose his hard on if his hand doesn’t feel yours. he’ll place his palm over your own as you cup his face while riding him, pin your forearm under his and intertwine your fingers while he’s thrusting into you in missionary, or grab at your hand to hold on your hip while he’s eating you out on his knees <3
Jack would never be the kind of boyfriend who waits outside of the store on some bench, collectively staring at his phone with a bunch of other bored guys who are waiting for their girlfriends to finish up shopping.
He's carrying your bags and purse for you so you'll have two free hands while browsing. And he actually looks out for clothes you'd like too, he's not even carrying his phone with him. He just needs his card and one of your scrunchies on his wrist because he knows you're likely to sweat inside of the changing room later.
He's silently collecting the clothes you're picking on his arm, occasionally dropping some of his choices on there too.
There's also a smol water bottle tucked into his back pocket which shouldn't even fit but somehow does and makes you stare at his ass way too often. He can't have his baby girl get thirsty and have no refreshment close.
He loves how you gasp when spotting a pretty summer dress or cute heels! You get so giddy and walk away from him fast, but he never loses sight of you, not once.
Jack's favorite thing to shop for is underwear or bikinis.
Because for that, you always need his opinion and he slips behind the curtain of the changing room, backing you up against the big mirror while dropping the bags and taking a reaaally good look at you.
"Jesus, baby...you're so fucking beautiful." while his hands roam over your waist, his thumb slipping just past your cute flimsy bottoms.
"Don't you think it's too short?" Aw, you're blushing. Jack is so fucking hard.
"Too short for what? Our private pool at the air bnb with no one except us there? No, baby, it's alright." He kisses your forehead, his hand caressing your underboob that peeks out from the bra top. "You'll gonna look fucking hot, I can barely contain myself now, do you know what you'll do to me once we're on vacation?"
You come back home to your daddy's place when things got rough, and there's a small job listing in the paper. Part one.
W: LOTS of plot build up, idk got many words. AU takes place in the 80/90s but Pope is still his old fine self. A world where he finally got away and was able to live his life. Usage of "daddy" but not towards him, Pope calls you a lot of sweet names, "good girl," "sweetheart" "sugar." Huge age gap, reader is described to be a young thing, entering her early 20s and Pope is canon age. A little power imbalance. Readers a daddy's girl. Pope likes that. A lot. Mentions of weed, Pope experienced, you're not.
A lilitle ooc but bare with me, yes I know the real Pope wouldn't have a country accent. or talk that much. Reader is described to be bubbly and punctual. Now to get into the good stuff, light smut in this part, grinding, mentions of masturbation, cherry popping. Pope has an accident. I think that's all of it. I will say I sort of curated this for black readers, I say braids and brown skin, but anyone can read of course!!
A/N: I got this idea scrolling on Pinterest when I saw the first picture, like hmmm that kinda...that could be.... like it would be so hot to see Popes big arms working a field in the hot sun all day...Imao I hope you enjoy!! This dragged on a little long I'm sorry :(
A/A/N: you guys piss me offfff ugh here you go🙄🩷
“Baby doll, I love you, but I can’t take of you forever,” Your dear old dad says with a sigh.
You’d called over the phone in tears, your landlord in your big city had been screwing you over, your job wasn’t paying you enough. You were overwhelmed, you’d never thought things would get so tough when you moved out three years ago.
You didn’t have to say much, your dad just told you to come on home and he’d help you the best he could, but he was gettin’ older in age. He couldn’t hold you on his hip anymore and guide you through life like he used to.
Being back home felt good, you didn’t have to worry about not knowing anyone, about when you were next gonna eat. Everyone loved you, so when your daddy told the town you were coming home, it was like you’d never left. Three years gone, four months back, and nothing felt different. You were just a woman now.
“Now I’m not kickin’ you out, okay? But you’re gonna have to get a job here soon.” He says, laying a newspaper on your bed. And it’s not like you haven’t been looking, but no one wanted your help. Not the grocery store, not the children’s center.
You’d spent your days helping around the house, the land and with the older neighbors, keeping them company like you used to always do. You were circling ads at breakfast, a small one catching your eye. “6/XX ACTIVE. Looking for a hand around my land. Has to be good with animals and know your way around a crop field. Pay weekly. Call at—” you look for the name, Andrew Cody.
“Daddy do you know of a ‘Andrew Cody’?” You say, shoveling eggs into your mouth as you hold the paper. He looks up at you with a confused look. “..Pope? Yeah uh…yeah he’s been down here a while, good friend of mine. You’ve seen him at the market a few times. Why?”
“He has an ad in the paper for a farmhand. Should I do it? Seems easy enough. Doesn’t sound like somethin’ I’m not used to.” You shrug, not noticing the look you were getting shot as you finish breakfast.
Andrew wasn’t a…bad role model per se, he was just an odd fella. Quiet, always wary of anyone he met, shacked up in that house all alone. Honestly, to anybody that didn’t already make good friends with him he seemed kinda mean. He never talked about where he came from, all anyone knew was that he came up one day and popped out the prettiest flowers you’d ever seen, and the reddest tomatoes.
“Yeah sweetheart, go for it. I’m sure you’d do good and keep him great company.” He says, and you smile, hopping up to the telephone around the corner and dialing the number, holding the phone up to your ear.
It rings a few seconds before it picks up, and you’re nervous immediately. “Go for Andrew Cody.” A gruff voice answers with a sigh. “Hel-Hello Mr. Cody,” you clear your throat before saying your name to him, “I saw your ad for a farm hand, I wanted to take you up on the position. I’m free all the time, and I’ve got some experience behind my belt.” You say, and he recognizes your last name.
“[last name] you said? This is his daughter? how are you,” “Oh i’m doing alright, having breakfast. How are you sir?” You say politely. “I’m doin’ alright miss, feedin’ the litter. What time can you come over? I’ve got a lot of stuff to get started on.”
“Oh-I can head on over after I freshen up and finish breakfast!” You smile. “Okay, well go ahead and finish your breakfast and I’ll see you soon.” He finishes off with telling you the address, and you politely thank him.
“So?” Your dad asks as you clean off your plate. “He said come over when I can, I guess he’ll show me around and stuff. The pay is weekly, and I’m sure he’ll tell me how much when I get there.” You smile.
Pope sat back in his recliner with a sigh, rubbing his head. He was happy someone finally picked up on his ad. He didn’t think of himself as friendly, but he wanted..the community. He just didn’t know how to get there.
He volunteered as much as he could, went to church, spoke to anyone who spoke to him. But it still just seemed like no one wanted him around, at least as much as he could pick up on, he knew he was self kept. And for the most part it was fine, it wasn’t something he was foreign to, people noticing he was offputting. But he wanted this fresh start.
Pope moved on from the life his mom gave him years ago, almost a decade now. He left with nothing but cash, a few outfits and distant land waiting for him, a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town, away from any smog being produced that would fuck up his crops.
He made luck with good people, working for his own seed, cattle and other animals which over time allowed him to sell independently. His name grew, as mysterious as he was.
“That man down the road sold em to me. Sweet as hell he is, right?”
“His prices are reasonable too, not like xyz. Think he goes by Andrew?”
Nobody really cared how he just planted his feet into the ground and became a shoulder to the poeple, they just knew they weren’t letting go. It wasn’t much, and sure he wanted more people in his life now that he was healing, but it kept him alive.
“Go down to Andrew and ask him if I could get some sugar, and an egg or two. He knows I’m good for it.”
“Go over there n’ tell Andrew that the milks ready for him when he needs it.”
“Ask Mr. Cody if I can ride along to church with him.”
He never told nobody no, not for the right price at least. He didn’t care about money, as long as he got by he never worried.
He was quiet, didn’t go out unless it was to the bar for a quick drink, into town for the market or to church, and you’d be drunk off your tail if you ever thought you saw him with a women. Just him and his livestock.
Don’t get it wrong, though. He was aged, but Pope was far from ugly. No, he had a beautiful head of auburn curls that shined red and a bit silver in the light when he didn’t have a cap on, a chiseled face and the body of a heavyweight champ, the kind you see on television.
Older ladies he grew to knew always had a daughter or niece waiting on his hand but he always, always said he was too busy with work, and that he already had a girl in his life. His pup, Lucky. A beautiful golden girl.
His face was sunkissed and led with freckles that trailed everywhere for miles, and he put up well. You’d never see Pope around the town looking like he came from hell. He was tidy, white shirt tight against his body, tucked under his belt and jeans that outlines his tight ass and strong legs.
The small town was ran by majority older people, so he wasn’t surprised when very few even glanced at his ad. The people that did were growing teens lookin’ for quick summer jobs, or someone thinkin’ they could slack off on his property. Not on his watch.
He sat on the porch when you came, parking your little car next to his truck, shushing his dog that barked at the new arrival. You waved as you walked up, your little frilly top rustling in the wind a little. He knew who you were, your dad talked about you often before you got back, and even after.
He listened when your dad vented about you moving upstate, and was there for your family when times got tough in the winter. Though he never got a good look at you up until now, he always heard good things.
Bright young lady, wanting something more for yourself. You knew just about everyone in town, never fussed or fought, always lended a hand. He saw you in church a few times since you got back, never up close since you sat in the front. But seeing you now, you were beautiful.
Pretty thing, with chubby apple red cheeks he could take a bite of. Your dark skin glistened under the sun, your pearly smile bright as you come up the porch, eyes squinted. “Goodmorning to you sir,” you say as he stands, calming his dog down.
“Goodmorning missy, you have a good breakfast?” He shakes your hand, it’s firm. “Yes sir, I’m ready for the day. What’re we gettin’ up to?” You say, and he cracks a smile at your enthusiasm. “Well let me show you ‘round first, then imma introduce you to everything I call mine. Then we might get started, that sound good? Alright, let’s get to it.” He cocks his head for you to follow him, watching you eye his girl.
“She’s friendly, you’re just a new face so don’t worry. Lucky.” He tells you her name as she clops beside you, enjoying the head scratches you give her. “Now, imma warn you first. If you’re looking for a quick job for the summer, or you think you can get off scratch free by standin’ around here you’re sadly mistaken. My ship is tight, and my work is honest, okay? So when I give you tasks, you need to be on it.”
“Yes sir,” you nod earnestly. “Okay, great. What you got under your belt girlfriend, I know your old man so I know you know somethin.” “Mhm! I know how to tend to gardens and chickens, but it’s..been a while. So I’m rusty but I could get it again in no time.” You say and he nods.
“What about a tractor, you think you can get on onea’ those? And do you know how to shuck?” “Uhm…never got on a tractor before but I can drive..? And yeah that’s light work.” You say, watching nod and look around, deciding with himself if he wanted to teach you or not.
“Alright, well I got pigs, cows, chickens, and a horse that’ll come by every so often,” he jokes. “So I need to know that you’re not gonna be shy with them. They’re my girls and guys but they’re not easy company. Can you handle that?” He says, and you nod enthusiastically.
“I’ve never wrestled with pigs, but I’ve handled a cow once or twice, and get along with chicks well. Daddy has em’.” You chirp, and he smiled internally at your bubbliness. “Good, good,” he examines your small frame, eyes poking at your bicep, weary of how you’re gonna be handling any heavy loads.
“Stay here, imma get you somethin.” He walks off the lawn and around back, and at first you think he’s getting you a shirt for your exposed arms, but he comes back hailing a big tin pale, huffing as he sits it in front of you. It was almost filled to the brim with brown slop, and smelled of something almost rotten.
“This is for my pigs, their breakfast is near. Go carry this to their bin.” He points, and you realize he’s pointing to the back of his house. You examine it, trying to eye if it was gonna be a hassle or not as you tuck your braids behind your ears.
You grab the pail by its handles and lift into the air with a small groan, waddling round his lawn as quick as you could. “Don’t be scared to spill it either, or hold it to your chest. It doesn’t smell like flowers but it won’t kill ya’.” He follows close behind you, watching as you reach the fence of his pigs.
You sit it on top and pour it over, bending slightly to make sure it all goes in their slop bucket. Your little top goes up slightly with the wind, exposing the small of your back and your tiny shorts. He tried not to look too hard.
Once you’re done you look back at him, catching your breath. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, taking it from you and throwing it somewhere out his eyesight. “These guys you’ll feed once, only in the morning when you get here. I’ll feed them again but you’ll be gone before I do. You feed them first, then my chicks. You don’t feed my cows, I handle them. Don’t touch my girls,” he jokes, throwing a playful nudge your way.
“You can handle that? It won’t be like that everyday.” He shakes his head, and you nod. “Yeah, sounds like no trouble really.” You say, and he almost wants to laugh.
“Good, cmon. Crops are on the side.” He says, letting his arms fall on the side. You find yourself staring as he took lead, his wide frame that tore out of his dirty shirt, bulging muscles with veins so big it would only take a dull knife to get into em. You didn’t know why you didn’t notice it sooner, he was hot.
“I have cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cabbage, and onions in the ground. I have em all marked so you shouldn’t have a problem. In my trees, I just recently started sprouting oranges, peaches.” He pointed around before facing you.
“Over there,” he pointed to a small space away from all his crops, a little patch that was tented by a clear tarp, seeing some bushes being occupied with a few sticks. “You don’t touch that. That’s something else, and you will never have to touch that ever in the whole time you’ll be here. Understood?” He says, and you nod earnestly, your eyes big and attentive on his.
“Do you know what it is, just by maybe looking at it? Or can you guess?” He asks you, a little smile creeping on his face. From where you are you squint, playing with your hands as you think as to what it could’ve been. There was no color besides green that you could see, and even then you still had no clue.
You shake your head, “A type of flower?” You guess, and his brows raise in shock that you almost had an idea. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah. A flower.” He starts to chuckle lightly, shaking his head at you as he walks off, and you follow.
“Your routine will never be something straightforward, I could have you tending to the animals one day only or I could have you doin’ it all while I kick back and watch.” He takes you back to his porch.
“But, that doesn’t mean you won’t be working. You will most likely always have something to do. You’ll be here only a few hours, from 9, maybe 10 am to nightfall. You don’t have to be here every day, though work is gonna be tough whenever you get back, but any days you won’t, just let me know. We’ll trade off on work, you’ll never be doing just something while I do another. Any questions so far?” He pays for you to sit next to him on his bench.
“Will there any days I absolutely have to be here? I don’t like..do much anyway, but if there is I’d wanna be there.” “Yeah uh, I need you Sundays, every Sunday. Sundays market day, so me and you will go on down for a few hours and sell whatever we can. I got church and I know you do too, so I’ll let you go home with your folks to change becuase—god help us—it’ll be hot, and then I’ll come by to get you. It’s imperative that you’re there with me, becuase it does get hectic. And, that’s also your pay day. Every week, every Sunday, in cash.”
Every Sunday, in cash, got it. “Okay, okay that sounds easy enough. Does this mean I’m hired?” You ask,, and he finally lets out a laugh, his eyes closing slightly. “Yes sweetheart, you’re hired. And I want you here startin’ nine sharp.” He flinched slightly when you squeal, stomping your feet happily.
He smiled and pushed his head back when you hop onto him for a hug, holding you carefully respectfully in his grasp, your knee crossing over his thigh slightly in the act. You pull off, arms still around his shoulders, seated where his knee met his thick thigh, your foot that wasn’t propped up on him holding yourself against the floorboard.
“Thank you so much Mr. Cody, I’ll be good I promise, and I’ll do you even better! I’ve been lookin’ for a job for so long, and I really appreciate it, I do. No one would hire me at all, not even the daycares. But I think I’ll like working with you, I always liked working on..” You ramble on, not noticing Popes uncomfortable expression growing, even though he tried his best to hide it.
His hand just barely rests on your back, still lingering from the hug. He let you talk, shifting in his seat so he’d be more comfortable, ignoring the growing heat within him as he watched you ramble contently. Yes, it was inappropriate. Yes, he knew just about anyone could ride by and see it. Yes, he let you keep going.
“And daddy always told me that being around animals anyway was therapeutic. Which is why I moved to the city…” he tilts his head, skimming down your frame quickly before landing back on your face, he could tell you had been wantin’ to talk the whole time, and it was odd for him too, he was never one for leading conversation. He liked listening, though. So it wasn’t much trouble, even if you were practically on top of him.
“So you like the animals? Imma start you with them first then. And then I’ll get you on that tractor.” He finds a second to interject. He noticed your hesitation, “It’s not hard, and it’s not scary, promise. It’ll be like ridin’ a big ass bike.” He shrugged, and you giggle at his language.
“Do you need me today?” You ask, and he shrugs. “Not really, I mean, today I have laundry to run down and some deliveries. Boring stuff, I’ll just get you started tomorrow.” He starts to bounce his leg, and it hits you. Where you were, what you were doing.
You feel heat rush over you, his hard thigh nudging against your cunt, immediately feeling the rush of heat pool in your panties, and had you not been in the right mind you would’ve almost grinded against it. You look away from his eyes and unfist his shirt from his hands, something you didn’t even notice you were doing as you get up, trying to act casual as you pull your purse back on your body.
“Okay!” Is all you say to him, and his expression twists, he could tell you were flustered, but by what? “O-okay Mr. Cody, I’m gonna get on home then, hang out and stuff. Thank you for having me and everything.” You gulp and stare everywhere but at him as you stumble off his porch, not giving him a second glance as he gives you a confused farewell, watching you pull out and skirt off.
He wondered if it was something he did, did he touch you the wrong way when you were on him? He tried to be good, not let his hands wander. Tried not to look too into your body, admiring how you filled out the dip of your blouse you wore. He noticed how you bunched up his shirt for a split second, your lashes flickering as you went quiet. You had seem just fine, it was like something flushed over you.
He found himself staring into space again like he used to, but this time, he was looking at the thigh of his jeans, which coincidentally was right where you were rested on him. The spot was…warm. Warm with a different heat that radiated from the heat the sun provided. The same sort of heat that came from his growing bulge.
Gross, he thought, cringing at himself. For fucks sake, she’s 20 years younger than you. Keep it tucked. He sighs as he stands, wanting to go adjust himself, but he finds he has no time as a different car pulls into his driveway, a patron of the town. Business comes first, then pleasure.
You went home in a frenzy, your mind racing. No, he hadn’t meant to do that, no way. You thought, gripping the steering wheel. He’s old, he was probably tired. I was all over him too, I probably got too heavy. I didn’t even realize it until… the feeling rushed over you again, your heartbeat fluttering, legs feeling like they were sticking together.
You take a deep breath, you were driving for Pete’s sake. His hands were on me, on my back. He didn’t seem to mind it I guess..he even looked into—You shake your head, no, no. Not happening. Not with your boss. Your day goes by foggy, you couldn’t help yourself.
Your head was filled with Mr. Cody, it was…weird. It felt like when you were in high school and you’d gained a crush on one of your male teachers for simply being nice to you. As you lay your head to rest, there it goes again. That feeling of butterflies in your stomach, the wetness pooling to your panties.
You reminisced on his gaze he had on you, the one you thought you saw peek down your shirt. You found yourself creeping into your panties, eyes flickering to the door, scared someone was gonna wanna check up on you even in the dead of night.
Your head brings you back to his arms, the small shirt hugging against his big biceps and riding up just enough for you to see his exposed v-line. You moan behind your bit lip, circling your clit faster as your legs fall on the side of you.
“Yes, sweetheart,” “I’m doin’ alright miss,” you hear his gruff voice in your head, sweat beading down your forehead as your other hand lodges a finger into yourself, as awkward as the position is you work on yourself with a quickness, almost imagining it was Mr. Cody’s rough, dirty hand in you. His working man hands on you.
You wondered if he could ever think of you how you were thinking of him. If he could get all hot in bothered in the night like this, maybe palming himself at the thought of getting you under him? Hearing you squeal for him like you were in the moment, maybe cumming with your name under his breath.
And with that your climax runs at you fast, trying to conceal your gasps of air and tiny moans as you bring yourself to your high. Juices stain the sheets as you dirty up your fingers until you can’t move no more, catching up to your breath and letting your scent fill the room as sleep overtakes you.
You’re up and at ‘em early for your first day, greeting the day with a nice shower and a quick breakfast before you get ready, conversing with daddy about what you might get into today, as well as what your new schedule looks like.
He’s happy for you, telling you how now that you’re getting paid your own you can buy your own clothes, which you laugh off. You put on small shorts and an even smaller shirt for the day, seeing the sun beam down on the green already.
You rub lotion on your newly shaved legs (fresh shave=just in case, in girl terms) before going in with some sunscreen and pulling your hair back cutely, dabbing on some blush and gloss before heading out with a water.
You talk yourself into being normal on the way there, not gonna be weird again, you reflect on how you scurried out of his place just yesterday. And no staring, no holding onto him, no licking your lips, don’t even think about anything but work actually. Actually just don’t even look at him, at all. Don’t make eye contact either.
You park next to his truck, searching the green for him from the front, though he’s no where to be seen. Not an issue. Sitting your purse on the porch, you give Lucky a little kiss and scratch before heading to your first duty, feeding time.
You were a little early, by the time you got there it was only just hitting ten till nine, but early is on time, something you were always told. You were thankful seeing he set the feed out for you by the barn, a quick walk from each pen.
You speak sweetly to the pigs and chickens as you feed em, giving them little, “Y’all ain’t ate since last night, must’ve been starving.” “Don’t get angry with me, you gotta get in there. Push ‘em out the way if you’re that hungry.” And when you’re done, you stand back to gander at the cows contently, listening to their conversations between another.
“Good morning young lady.” You turn your head to see Pope approach from your right, his chest already wet with sweat through his white beater and dirt kissing his knees and below. “Good morning sir. Sleep alright?” You hold your hands behind your back respectfully, he walks up to you like whatever’s in his pants is heavy against him.
“Tried my best, I’m always gettin’ torn outta sleep though. And yourself?” “It-it was alright,” you swallow back drool pooling in your mouth, “My brothers, they got a few new toys so they were up longer than I anticipated.” You lie with ease, your hand coming up to cover your eyes, squinting at him as he takes in your clothes. What was he gonna do with you.
“We’ll keep your eyes open, don’t want you fallin in the dirt,” he says, looking over you to look at what you’ve gotten done. “Atta girl.” He coos, patting your back. “You ain’t touch my girls did you?” “N-no sir, just takin’ a look,” you giggle, kicking at the dirt.
“They’re beautiful, nice pretty lashes. You take care of ‘em I can tell.” “Hell yeah I do, these are my babies. And, one day if you get well acquainted I’ll have you milk ‘em, but they’re uhm…” he snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something.
“Divas.” He points at you, and you laugh, you wouldn’t expect a man of his age to even know that word. “They are divas, they don’t even like me half the time, so I know it’ll take you a little while. But you’re here, earlier than I expected actually. I’m on the side gettin’ ahead of the field, but since you’ve got the animals all good, you can let em roam around in the fences. Cows shouldn’t bother you, they got their own little patch, and if they get near my flowers Lucky will handle em.” He says, whistling her over quickly.
“When I call you for somethin’ else, that’s when they go back in. Lucky can heard em in, you won’t have to do nothin’ but tell her go, and close the gates. That sounds easy enough?” “Like a Sunday morning sir. After that?” “I haven’t decided, I might have you collect eggs, I might have you on the side with me. But don’t let it trouble you, I’ll get you when I get you okay?” He rubs your back and you nod, looking into his eyes.
They’re pretty, a nice hazel that illuminated in the sunlight even as he squinted. “Atta girl, you got this. My door is never ever locked, so you need anything just run it by me and run inside. And if you need a second to cool off don’t hesitate, if you faint, those pigs won’t waste a second on your lil’ bones,” he pops a smile at you, making you giggle again.
He wipes his forehead off before turning his back to you and off to his duties, “If anyone pulls up, holler for me.” Is all he says. You do as told and let your new buddies out, watching Lucy run with glee, her tongue in the wind as she rips and runs around the yard.
You were kinda sad you guys weren’t working together directly, you only saw him when he went inside, sending a little wave your way. You whine, you were bored and you missed looking at him. You tell Lucky go, watching her wrangle up the livestock before you close the pens.
“Mr. Cody,” you come up behind him as he’s down on one knee, your hands behind your back as he looks up at you, dirt on his cheek and hands. “Can I uhh..get the eggs? I’m bored.” You say, and he scoffs a laugh as he stands. “Bored? Clearly I’m goin too easy on you, on your first day at that.” He pats your back as he looks around.
“You put the animals up, that’s good. Yeah, go get the eggs. The bins are in the barn next to the opening, get as much as you can, just be gentle. When you’re done, put ‘em on the porch then come find me. I’ll give you somethin’ else to do.” He winks and sends you off, watching you jog up to his barn.
He thought about giving you something to do alright. He couldn’t believe how much you’ve grown, you weren’t that young when you left but you’re..much more. Fuller, a..woman. You were never introduced to him when you were home, never ran to his house, saw him like he saw you, but in your defense he saw everyone.
You weren’t sheltered, just protected. So your dad did the runs to Popes, took you to and from anywhere you needed, and god help his heart if he ever found out about a damn “boyfriend”.
Pope thought about what you might’ve gotten up to when you went up into the city, if you’ve had your first drinks yet, how you spent your birthdays, if you found a boyfriend up there or anything. If you blossomed, if your sounds were high or not. If your cunt was as plump as your rosey cheeks were.
God, ew, he thought. He didn’t know what was coming over him, he saw beautiful women everyday, women that threw themselves onto him even after timeless rejections. He never felt compelled to do something so..lustful, not in a long time at least.
You pull him out of his thoughts as you call out to him from the porch, watching him pull that big dusty tractor out the shed. “You done?” He pulls it up to the side of his house, stretching his arms. “Yes sir, I only filled one bin though. They kept biting me.” You frown, making him chuckle. “That’s ok sugar, you did good anyway. Cmon, imma show you somethin’ before we get started.”
He walks you to his flower beds, colors shining under the sun, yellows, pinks, reds, purples. “So pretty!” You tell him, bending down to smell. “Thank you. I take good care of everything you see on this grass, and a lot of people depend on me. You wouldn’t believe how many men and women get in an uproar over these flowers.” He lifts his cap up to rustle his hair.
“So when I get you on that thing,” he points to his tractor, “I need you careful, okay? You go over any one of them flowers, and you gon’ have about four or five ladies here lining up to rip you a new one.” He says and you giggle, nodding.
“Now imma’ teach you of course,” he walks you over with him. “She’s not the newest one out. But she’s good, she’s reliable and she gets the job done. She’s bout as old as me,” he says, hopping over and sitting down with a huff, arm over the back of the seat. “She’s a little bumpy too, but it won’t be a problem. The problem is the gear shifts.” He says, and he waits for you to step on, nodding you over.
“Oh-you-you want me to get on now or after?” “Yeah now, I gotta show you how to do it don’t I?” He says, and you nod, duh. You swallow back spit as you reach your leg over and into his lap, looking back at him as you put your hands on the wheel.
“This good?” You ask, and you don’t get an answer as he fixes your positioning, putting your feet in the slots of the vehicle, leaning himself back as he pulls you more onto him, “Like this. I’m only gonna sit with you on it for a little while before you take over on your own, and it’s okay for me but a little big for you. Is that okay?” He asks, and you just barely tune back in to nod a little.
You were too focused on the bulge of his jeans pressing against your crotch, the only thing saving you from sitting on his cock directly was the thick denim you both wore, and though you couldn’t see it, he thought the same. “M’kay,” he holds your hip gently as he pulls the tractor on, bracing you for the bumps that follow.
“Oh!” Your body flushed, heat racing through you as you feel his bulge nudge against you every half second, your grip on the wheel tightening. “Mhm.” He clears his throat, watching your hips, “Yeah, she’s rough n’ loud. You’ll get used to it, it won’t be too bad after a while. Now,” he pulls a lever from the side, which jolts as you wheel forward.
“That’s how you go, and that button is how you start and stop. You can’t go forward without that button first.” He exhaled hard through his nose, feeling your legs spread a little more against him, to get more comfortable he assumed, but it was all the more distracting as you bounce against him.
You fight to keep your eyes open, trying not to get tied up in the pleasure thrusted upon you as you listen to Mr. Cody’s voice over the loud engine of it. “You’re gonna uhm,” he swallows hard, looking away from your body rocking against him, trying to remember what he was gonna say.
“I’m always gonna push it out to where we were, and when you get on you’re gonna always go to the end of the lawn, turn and snake it. You know what I mean by snake it?” “Yeah,” you respond absentmindedly, licking your lips and swallowing hard before you realized what was said. “I-I mean no, no I don’t. Sorry.” You try and lock in, straightening up and tightening on the steering wheel.
He takes in the whiney sound you’d let out, “It’s okay.” He says gently, trying to get a good look at your face from behind, failing. “What I mean is, when you turn,” he pulls the turning lever for you, placing his hands on yours and turning the wheel, his back against yours now that he’s more sat up.
“You’re gonna go all the way down till you meet the rocks of my driveway, and then turn again, restarting. Like a snake.” He puts his arm over the seat, his other hand steady on your body, shirt bunched up under his grip. “O-okay, yeah. Sounds easy enough.” You nod, fighting the little noises that desperately wanna come out of you.
He’s eyeing you, so hard you can almost feel it bore into your head. He just hoped you didn’t feel him hardening under you, though, how could he not? Your hips rock against him so much with this thing he’d thought you were doing it on purpose, and sure the tractor was noisy, but his ears worked fine. Were you doin’ that on purpose too?
And the thing is..you were rocking against him more on purpose, and though you didn’t mean to whine and moan, you did. You couldn’t help it. It felt so, incredibly good against your aching cunt, feeling the friction you hadn’t felt in so long. As much as you tried to shush yourself especially over the loud tractor, a sound or two slipped out every once in a while.
All you could do was pray he didn’t hear you, and pray he didn’t see how your hips roll with every bounce, or your hands that grip the wheel. You’re only snapped out your head when he calls your name louder over the tractor, making you flinch. “Yes sir?” You look back, and his face is flushed as his brows come together.
“You hear me? I asked if you were ok.” He rubs your back, bucking up and adjusting his place. “Yeah, yeah I’m ok. Sorry.” You nod, eyes bouncing back between him, the lawn in front and his bicep that lays on the head of the seat. “You sure? You want me to get off?” He asks, and you shake your head with a quickness.
“No, I’m okay. This is good. Am I too heavy?” You ask, and he gives you a slow nod, assuring you. “Not at all sweetheart, light as a feather.” His hands drifts downwards as he ran his eyes down your body, the curve of your back peaking out of the small cropped tee you had on.
He could see your little panty band peak above your shorts, his head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t even realize his hand was resting against where your thigh and hip met until he had to pull you back a bit from sliding off him. His hand wrapping around the fat with ease, finding his finger trace along where your thigh busts out the denim.
He sucks in a breath, reminding himself to behave. He wanted to say sorry for touching up on you, but you didn’t seem to mind, in fact, you didn’t seem to have a care in the world. From his view of you, it’d seemed you were really into the work you were putting into his lawn.
Your posture straight, face forward with a hard grip on the wheel, focused. He didn’t even know how you bit into your lip like you wanted it to bleed, forcing your silence as you ride his bulge as sneakily as you could, humping against lightly with each bump against the piece of shit tractor hit.
How were you supposed to manage? He made your brain so fuzzy, his sweat stained shirt, shining muscles, big, rough hands that latched onto your body. And then that face, his gorgeous eyes, chiseled jaw and dimples that just barely shine through.
He was perfect for your sexually neglected cunt, perfect to look at, to think about. Even with the little bit of friction his jeans gave you, you took it in full, it’d been so long. And he could say that same.
Pope didn’t even remember the last time he got some actual tail, it had to have been before he left. He didn’t pursue anyone, it wasn’t what he came for, and he wasn’t ready for anything serious yet. But your plump body perched against him made him want it, he felt like he was drooling over the sight of you, even if it was something as innocent as you simply on his lap.
He found himself pulling you back against his bulge, rocking you against him slightly. And he knew it was wrong, but you wouldn’t notice, right? Not with how the tractor bumped and thumped, no. He felt perverse, he knew it was, but he couldn’t stop.
His mouth parted slightly as he watched your ass against him, almost finding the nerve to grab at you or something. Keeping his hand on your thigh, he sighs harsh, a short whisper to Jesus falling off his tongue. He wants to tell you to get off, that you don’t need him to “help you” anymore. But the more his cock strained against his jeans, the more the thought disappeared, and turned into..something it shouldn’t.
Turning into imagining you on top of him in his recliner, riding him just like this. Ass nudging against his stomach while he bounced you on his cock, hearing you moan into the room while you hold onto his knees. He bites his lip, feeling heat overcome his chest as his mouth parts, blinking harsh.
He thought about how you sounded over the phone, how that word came off your tongue so effortlessly. Daddy. He heard you in his head, actually. Heard you say, “it feels so good, daddy,” “daddy m’gonna cum,” in his ears, and he shudders at the thought.
And before he knew it, his thighs twitches under you, a cold sweat ran down his torso to his aching balls, and he stammered out a shakes gasp, feeling himself cum in his boxers, grabbing at your hips roughly to hoist you off. “Stop, stop the tractor.” He says hurriedly, his foggy mind running a mile a minute. And you obey with a quickness, nervousness running over your body as you stay in the air, your ass in his direct eye sight.
It only makes it harder for him as he sighs, looking down at his pants that haven’t made a spot yet. “Are..are you okay, Mr. Cody? Did I do something?” You look back, seeing his face a deep shade of red as he looks around nervously. “Yeah uh..y-yeah,” he hops up and off the tractor, making you fall back into the seat abruptly, he doesn’t face you, not as he looks down at the mess that grows dark on the denim. “I uhm..sorry babydoll, I gotta run and do something. You finish up, ok?”
He doesn’t wait for your answer as he beelines for the door, cursing himself for something so gross, so..lustful of himself. He stomps to his room, peeling his pants off to see the oozing of his cum stain his boxers, cursing again and running his hands down his face. “God..fucking dammit Pope..” he sighs, throwing his hat down.
She’s his daughter, Pope. Just a little girl, a familiar voice in his head says. Shaking his head, he readies himself, changing out the messy garments and into something fresh, watching you through the blinds to see if you suspected anything, thankfully it seemed foggy to you. He’d die if you found out he came in his pants, because he thought about you calling him daddy, the way you do for your actual dad.
When he looks out the window again, you’re no where to be seen. The tractor still in its spot, unfinished lawn in his face. “Mr. Cody?” Pope hears your voice down the hall, and he quickly fixes his belt before exiting. “I’m down here, honey!” He meets you halfway, catching you in his hallway as if you were gonna come find him yourself.
“Sorry for coming in unannounced..but are you alright? You seem kind of agitated..” you twiddle with the belt loops of your shorts, a nerved expression tainting your face. He should die, for making you worry. He thinks. “Yeah I..yeah, I didn’t mean to startle you. I had to use the bathroom.” He tucks his shirt back in, and you give him a once over. His cheeks are still flushed, his hats discarded behind him, and he’s..in new jeans?
“Okay..I didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Did you feel me throbbing? Did you feel me grind on your bulge, did you hear my moans?? I didn’t mean to, Mr. Cody. I just couldn’t help myself. “No, of course not. How bout we get some water, then we can go back on the land, ok?” He guides you down the hall, his hand on the small of your back, which makes you tingle.
“Are we getting back on the tractor?” You look up at him, and the images that flash in his mind are hellish. “Uh..you can. I think you got it, I’m just taking up space. Then we can work on my hedges.” He’s gotta learn to keep an arms length. Who knows what he’ll do if that happens again.
Simon was such a heavy sleeper, which honestly made no sense. With the kind of work he did, you would have thought he had developed insomnia years ago. It was something you secretly envied. The way he could fall asleep so effortlessly felt almost unfair. The second his head touched the pillow, he was gone.
Actually, he could sleep pretty much anywhere, and waking him up was another story. It usually took a few gentle nudges and a couple of soft kisses pressed against his jaw before those pretty, sleepy eyes finally blinked open. And he snored, too. Not loudly, just a low, rhythmic rumble against your ear. It secretly became your own little lullaby, a sound that meant you were safe, he was home, and the rest of the world could not reach you here.
When he slept, he was basically a human weighted blanket. He was so big you often felt like you disappeared between the sheets and his massive frame, but you did not mind. You loved the way his hands always knew exactly where to find you. An arm draped heavy across your waist, his face in your tits or tucked into the crook of your neck, his chest a solid wall of warmth against your back or legs tangled up with yours.
He had this subconscious reflex: even in his deepest sleep, if you shifted or shivered, his arm would instinctively tighten, pulling you flush against him as if his body was wired to protect you from the very air around you. Seeing the man who could stare down a threat without flinching melt into a puddle of softness just because you were near? That was a sight that never failed to make your belly swim.
You used to be a notoriously light sleeper, tossing and turning for hours. Nothing helped. You tried everything. Different pillows, white noise, herbal teas, sleep schedules. It always ended the same way: staring at the ceiling at some ungodly hour while everyone else seemed to be asleep.
That was until you started sleeping next to Simon.
The moment you curled up against his warmth, your eyes would begin to drift shut on their own. It felt like your body had finally found something it trusted enough to let its guard down around. There was a profound, quiet magic in his steady breathing, and the way his raspy voice would whisper "g'night, luvie" or "c'mere, sweetheart, it's time to sleep" right before he drifted off.
And the mornings? Those were the best. He would wake up slow, his eyes heavy and hazy, and before he even fully registered the daylight, he would seek out your hand, lacing his thick fingers through yours. He would pull you back down for lazy, lingering morning kisses that tasted so sweet you could melt right there on the spot.
Somehow, between his snoring, his death grip on your waist, and the way he would steal almost all your blanket which you hated the most, Simon had become the only thing in the world that could keep you grounded. He was your home, your warmth, and the best part of every single day.
Seeing how many people have tagged their mutuals or talked about the lifelong friends they've made this way has me so tickled pink. Peace and love and being a pervert online forever.
Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader
Rating: Explicit - 18+ only
Warnings: Excessive cursing, canon-typical violence, canon-typical sexism, alcohol, and explicit sexual content - oral sex, vaginal sex.
Notes: This accidentally became a series whoops
Summary: So day one, Henderson starts a pool that you’re not gonna last the week.
The Pool
The Difference
The Notes
The Fear
The Thought
The Question
The Walk
The Worry
The Wait
The Beginning
The End
Bonus Chapter - The Ordeal (Set During The Worry)
You and park were intimidating, both of you were in charge of every room that you walked into. Despite not saying anything, your presence alone made the residents nervous.
They’d whisper about the two of you as you’d walk out of rooms, making both of you laugh about it afterwards.
It was a surprise to no one, when the two of you started sleeping together.
He could match your energy and understood you best, but even then—Park wanted it to be casual. You also wanted it to be casual and didn’t mind.
Casual.
The sex was great, Park would fuck the shit out of you and then cuddle you afterwards— which was the problem.
Park said that he wanted it to be casual, but the truth was— he could never be casual about you.
Your smile relaxed him, your kisses warmed his skin, your laugh brought him happiness, and your moans drove him crazy.
He wanted you, all of you— not just sex. He thought that no-strings attached would make things easier, considering the two of you worked together— but he grossly underestimated how he’d feel about you.
Also, despite everything— he never thought about the fact that you could’ve taken his words at face value.
It was just casual, right?
Park was busy and you’d been called down to examine a man whose foot had been severed off. You examined the wound and the foot that was bagged near him.
The orders flew out of your mouth before you could process it, Whittaker and Santos rushing to do what you had asked.
You pulled your gloves off, exchanging a glance with Robby.
One of your gloves hit the floor and as you bent over, your pink lace panties were on display for Robby.
A sight that made him need to bite his lip.
Robby wasn’t the only one who noticed you, but so did Park as he entered the room.
Park wanted to believe that he’d saw something else and not Robby openly staring at your ass. Even the mere thought pissed him off.
Surely, you weren’t sleeping with anyone else— right? and especially not Robby?
You gave a smile— throwing your gloves away and exiting the room.
Park could barely focus, thinking about you potentially fucking Robby or how maybe you did see things as just casual.
You and Robby hadn’t been a thing for long, it was just something that happened unexpectedly. Robby was different from Park, he was a lot more closed off— he kept his life separate from sex.
You normally only fucked Robby, if Park was too busy. It was a simple arrangement, no feelings involved—just two men fucking you and giving you multiple orgasms.
Time had passed by and Park had time to kill, he needed to see you and talk to you.
Maybe, confessing his feelings at work wasn’t a good idea— but he needed to tell you. He didn’t want to wait and chance missing his opportunity.
He searched the hospital, even texted you— but got no response.
The lights buzzed above him as he took the elevator downstairs, hoping to find you — peeking into the empty rooms.
He was finally about to give up, when he opened the door to the last room. It was dark with the curtains pulled in front of the door.
He pulled back the curtain and his heart dropped.
There you were— pinned against the wall, Robby’s mouth on your neck and his hand down your pants.
Brendon Park is a “wife guy” but not in the toxic clearly compensating for something shitty way. The man just loves his wife okay…yeah he’s stoic and clinical and scary but he’s soft as hell when it comes to the subject of his wife. Medical students and staff are stunned the first time they hear Park the Shark mention “date night with Mrs. Park.” All soft eyed and sweet. Some medical students have been bold enough to attempt to manipulate Park by asking about his wife hoping to pull out something other than the Shark…dumb move. The man is protective of his wife and clocks that shit. He’s not gonna like yap about his wife if some dumbass resident asked as a clear means to sway him towards giving them an easy day…when he’s in “wife guy” mode it’s his own choice and a sign he’s not totally locked in scary surgeon mode. He’ll do it in front of like Robby or Abbot or Garcia because they don’t really react anymore. They met Mrs. Park and she’s old news at this point. She’s Park’s only soft spot.
summary: Brendon Park has no patience for small talk, distractions, or uncertainties. Unfortunately, for him, you happen to be all three of those.
w.c: 5.2K
warnings: the complexities of being Brendon park, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, character study kind of, no physical description of reader, flirting (Brendon’s way of flirting), medical inaccuracies, sunshine-ish!reader?? Only with Brendon though, grammatical errors
author's note: reblogs, likes, asks, and comments are greatly appreciated. enjoy! Sorry the ending may feel a lil rushed but... this was just for fun! will go back to edit this soon! It’s 3am lol
Brendon Park was notoriously an asshole. everyone who worked at the PTMC knew that first hand. he could make you cry with just a single, unimpressed stare. he knew he was one. It came with the job of being a surgeon.
Surgery required the upmost precision because the human body was a machine. It required perfection and nothing less.
With a high stress job that required him to be perfect in every single aspect that he did, he expected the same thing from his colleagues. Including naive, stupid medical students and residents. He had no patience for incompetence-excuses.
Perfection meant everything to Brendon. It meant that there was no room for mistakes. Mistakes were a luxury reserved for people who weren't good enough. Every single decision made in his OR had to be deliberate.
Every incision had to be exact. He expected-no, he demanded excellence because anything less than that had consequences.
Residents called him ruthless. Others called him an asshole. What they failed to realize was that he simply had standards. Standards that they failed to reach. If they wanted him to coddle them, they should've chosen a different field of medicine. If they wanted encouragement, they should've stayed downstairs and sought out Abbot or Robby.
Because to him, excellence was expected not rewarded.
He had no time for coddling. He had no time for making other's feel better about themselves for their lack of discipline. He wasn't interested in intentions, potential, or excuses. Results and accuracy were all that truly mattered to him. The operating room wasn't a classroom. It certainly wasn't a therapy session. It was a place where the excellent thrived. It was a place where if you hesitated, you were done. It wasn't a place for the ordinary.
Because patients did not care if a resident's feelings were hurt. They did not care if you thought, if you didn't know, if Brendan looked at you like you were nothing.
What they cared about is if they would be able to walk again. They cared about whether their arm would be back to normal. They cared about whether they could play football again—if their career could potentially be over.
If someone couldn't handle criticism (and disdain in Brendan's case), then they had no business being in his OR. The scalpel didn't care about feelings. Anatomy didn't care about feelings. The unconscious patient with an amputated arm certainly did not care about feelings either.
And most importantly, neither did Brendon.
Because if he smelled a single hint of hesitation, then he was out for blood. Hesitation meant uncertainty. It meant that there was gaps in your knowledge that needed to be filled before you even stepped into his OR.
It meant that you didn't study enough, weren't prepared enough, and hadn't practiced enough.
You were simply not enough.
And Brendon did not need someone in his OR, being uncertain. Uncertainty led to mistakes. Mistakes that could have been prevented if you didn't second-guess the knowledge that should have been drilled within you before you entered his OR.
And for that matter, he expected excellency.
Orthopedics was precision. Measurements mattered.
Alignments mattered. Angles mattered. If a screw is placed a few millimeters off, a reduced fraction would not heal properly. It would be permanent. It would mean patients would live with the consequences that was created in his OR after everyone else got to go home like nothing.
He had spent years of studying until the backs of his eyes burned and until his mind felt numb. Years of refining techniques, repetition after repetition, understanding the human physiology-until precision stopped becoming an effort. It became natural to him and expectation.
And everyday, he maintained that standard. He expected the same thing from his residents, his fellows.
In his field, there was no room for guesses or approximations. A crushed femur or patella wasn't fixed with intention. It was fixed with alignments, measurements, and perfect execution. Because millimeters, angles, alignments, and stability mattered the most. Every single screw that's required to stabilize a bone had its own purpose. Its own position. Every reduction of a fracture had to be exact.
Years ago, when he had made a mistake-small, practically insignificant, fixable, and forgettable in everyone's eyes.
But he remembered it clear as day.
He corrected it immediately. His old attending-now retired-had laughed and patted him in the back. It's okay, he had said. Years of teaching unprepared, unconfident residents had made him accustomed to seeing mistakes.
But it wasn't okay. Not to Brendon at least. It didn't make him breathe easier knowing that his old mentor wasn't upset. It ruined his day. And he punished himself internally for making a simple, insignificant mistake.
He never made another one after that.
So yes, while his standards and expectations may be exceedingly high and unattainable in many eyes-Brendon saw no reason to lower them. He believed patients deserved excellence and nothing less. No one should expect that from him either.
He was respected, feared, and avoided. His word was absolute-it was law. Residents learned quickly to steer clear of him, to speak when spoken to, and to keep conversations very brief. He didn't want to have small talk. He wasn't interested in knowing how your day was or how you were doing today.
He preferred to conversations that were purely medical, nothing personal. It had to be the point, precise, and clear. Because if something could be said in five words easily, then it was unjustified for you to speak ten more.
And according to the unlucky ones, asking him if he had any plans on Christmas was apparently enough to land you on his shit list.
His OR wasn't silent because he expected silence. It was only silent because he was silent. The only noise that was constant was the sound of him brutally hammering a screw into the bone and the sound of music playing.
Music that depended entirely on his mood.
On very rare occasions, he did allow you, the anesthesiologist, to choose. Those were rare occasions.
Those were not moments of generosity. They were controlled exceptions and were rare for a reason.
(The day this happened, it took an ounce of willpower for the surgical crew to not openly gape at Brendon. To them, this was an act of generosity. They understood this was Brendon playing nice. A form of an olive branch. He was being nice!)
It wasn't a courtesy, or a gesture of familiarity but because you had earned a level consistency he respected. Because you both had a mutual understanding of precision, perfection. Your decisions were consistent. They were precise. You did not hesitate when it mattered and you didn't speak when it didn't.
You understood what needed to be done and you never faltered in your decision-making.
Everything you did was concise. Your actions were deliberate. Controlled. It did not matter if it challenged the dynamics of his OR. If it was correct, than it stood.
You did not disrupt it without reason.
He recognized the type of person you were because he was exactly like you. While he had his expectations in his department, you had yours within yours. He's seen you with your own students. You weren't as harsh as Brendon but your words carried their own weight. You didn't just correct mistakes, you exposed them. They lingered. They hurt. And your residents remembered them long after the moment had passed.
You upheld your own expectations. You wanted just as much perfection as Brendon because patients deserved excellency. They did not deserve mediocrity. They did not need to hear excuses. Because they did not care what you felt or what you thought. They cared if they would survive a surgery, if the operation succeeded, if they would feel the pain that would come from a scalpel under anesthesia. Because they trusted you with their lives.
Therefore, they deserve nothing but the best. More than the best.
You're sitting in your chair by head of the operating table, next to your anesthesia machine and monitors. You have a cross word puzzle book in your lap, held steady your pink clipboard. Like every other anesthesiologist, you're calm. But not in the way you blend into the background.
It's more deliberate than that. Your presence is quiet, not absent.
You do not position yourself to be noticed unless the situation requires it. You do not fill the silence with unnecessary speech like other anesthesiologists. You stay within your means, crossing out words with your pink highlighter, anchored to head of the table.
He's in the middle of reducing a fracture fragment when Brendon inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of blood filling the surgical field.
Immediately the sound of beeping fills the room. The numbers of the monitor are dropping significantly. You lower your puzzle book down on your chair. Your eyes shift to numbers beside, focused and immediate. You stand up.
Everyone near Brendon stiffens. They recognize it instantly that something was going wrong. You gaze over the surgical curtain and look at Brendon.
"BP's dropping." You state calmly.
He doesn't look at you. His eyes never stray away from his hands and what he's mechanically doing with them.
Without breaking a sweat or focus. Brendon motions to his surgical tech.
"Gauze."
There's a brief hesitation before she places it in his hands. He looks at her briefly, scrutinizing her for daring to even hesitate.
She freezes and quickly mutters a quiet, "Sorry.." He ignores her apology and continues what he's doing.
Again, you're looking at the monitors before looking back him. "Saturation is at 92."
"Noted." He says. He continues what he's doing. He's done this multiple times. He knows what he's doing and he knows what the numbers on the monitors say.
He doesn't panic, he isn't worried. He could tell that the resident next to him is sucking in his breath, sweating profusely. If he wasn't so focused, he'd roll his eyes. Fear would only cripple you in these case. And that meant making mistakes because you can't think.
You're still standing, staring at him expectantly as he works diligently to fix the current issue.
"BP is still trending down. 88 systolic."
"Cause?" Again, his eyes still don't stray away to look at you.
“Likely retraction. Volume is unchanged." You respond.
"Ease retraction."
The resident holding the retractors hesitates for only a second before he complies, loosening his hold. This mere second was enough for him know that hesitation didn't go unnoticed. He knows-just as everyone in the room knows-that this will be corrected later. Outside this room, in a different context, there will be consequences.
The sound of rushed beeping slowly dissipates into a more rhythmic sound. You look at the monitor one last time. Satisfied, you give a small nod at Brendon before grabbing your pink clipboard, then sit back down in the chair.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze wanders and it lands on you. You’re sitting there, pink highlighter in your hand as you cross out another word. You’re composed and unaffected by the tension that follows him.
It's silent again in the room. The only constant is the music. Tension and perhaps anxiety lessens in small increments. Even the resident exhales a small, very quiet sigh of relief and his shoulders lower.
Outside of his service, the silence was never the same.
You weren't always the anesthesiologist that would be assigned to his cases. Sometimes you were pulled in at nights with Walsh. Other times, you would be with Shamsi. Normally it was for a day where you wouldn't be on his case. It was never more than a day.
It often varied. You didn't seem to mind. You liked the variety. Every surgeon was different and the music taste was sometimes interesting.
But people began to notice something. When you weren't assigned to his case, the difference in Brendon was immediate.
Resident's noticed first. They noticed how the atmosphere shifted, how it deteriorated quickly under him if your presence wasn't there to stabilize the rhythm of the room. Small mistakes seemed to be corrected loudly. His silence was heavier, borderline uncomfortable. It was demanded.
Unfortunately for them, you wouldn't be on his cases for a week or maybe longer. You'd been on call for the night shift. It was then that they truly noticed the change in his behavior.
He became worse.
Your absence became the bane of residents' existence.
His OR, despite already having its own expectations, became brutal. It was unforgiving in the way where the most experienced scrub nurse that had been working under Brendon for years began to hesitate. Residents quickly learned that during your absence, things like breathing too loudly or moving too slowly would be enough to be scrutinized.
Sometimes, it would be enough for them to get removed off the case.
Brendon knows something is wrong with him. He understands that his behavior has been borderline aggressive, even for his standards. He finds himself feeling irritated by little things. Residents have been dismissed for insignificant mistakes he normally would have corrected. His routine felt disrupted and he didn't know what it was that was causing it.
At first, he blamed the cases. Then the residents. Then it was the schedule.
Until he caught himself lifting his gaze lift from his surgical field to the head of the operating table. Again.
And again, every single surgery. Only to find a different anesthesiologist sitting there. Not you.
Every time he would enter his OR, his eyes would instinctively search for your pink clipboard that would be balanced on your lap. Instead he was greeted by a book of sudoku.
The irritation would unfold almost immediately.
Brendon Park does not do idle chit chat. That is well known amongst his peers and those that work under him. He does not care about what is polite and what isn't. He doesn't care about how you are doing. He does not care about what your plans for Fourth of July will be.
He cares about getting to the point without beating around the bush. He cares about clarity and things that could be said within five words or less. He wants to know the vitals of patients. Whether the amputation sight was clean. What bones required surgeries.
But he finds himself wanting to speak to you. To indulge in the simplicities of small talk. Of knowing how your day is going. If you had any plans for Fourth of July. His interactions with you outside of the OR become simple.
Questions that are direct, they're straightforward and they wouldn't beat around the bush.
Of where you were. Of who had stolen you from right under his nose for their own needs.
He finds you sitting in the nurses' station in his department on a chair with a tablet in your hands. Next to you is a cup of coffee, to which he identifies is from the break room. Your pink clipboard is also next to you.
"You weren't on my service last week."
You look up upon hearing his deep voice and small smile appears on your face once you realized it was him. It's subtle. Uncomplicated. He thinks that you look beautiful.
The realization is immediate and unwelcomed. It makes him clench his jaw.
You turn your body fully to him and lower your tablet down to give him your full attention. If you're surprised that he started a conversation with you, you don't show it.
Most people did.
You look tired. Not physically tired-though he's sure that you are-but weighed down in a way he doesn't know how to identify. The bags under your eyes are slightly darker than usual. Your shoulders seem to carry a tension that certainly wasn't there a week ago.
He noticed it immediately from just this interaction. It's just noticeable. It's a detail that he's sure other surgeons would be able to notice. Small details, minor deviations, out of the norm. Just a change that other's possibly overlooked.
He hadn't.
A part of him questioned why he paid so much attention to this. He didn't remember the last time he paid this much attention to anyone outside of his OR.
Because that's what made him a good surgeon, he reason. Able to notice minute details like this while other's couldn't. That's all it is. It's so obvious.
"No, I was on call for nights."
"Neurosurgery?" He asks.
You blink in surprise. You didn't think he noticed you.
Rather, you didn't think he even cared enough to notice.
You nod in response, unsure whether to answer him vocally. The rumors of Park The Shark and his issues with small talk didn't go unheard for you.
Brendon studies you for another moment. He wants to ask you things. Things that were uncharacteristic of him.
Subjects that he normally strayed away from because he didn't care to know. But he wants to know. He wants to know so terribly that it's leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. That makes him want to smack himself in front of a mirror because he isn't like this.
Past romantic interactions like this never left him like this. He feels like his body is malfunctioning and that he needs to somehow perform a factory reset because - this isn't him.
Attraction was simple. It was predictable. It was easy to understand and compartmentalize.
"You look exhausted." There is no sympathy in his tone.
It was a statement of fact. It was an easy observation.
The same way he could easily identify a hairline fracture on an x-ray.
Yet, this doesn't feel like it's meaningless.
Your smile widens into something more. He doesn't know how to describe it. It's genuine, he supposed. It's terrifyingly beautiful. He feels hooked, lost in it.
"I'm exhausted, yes. The night shift does that to you, yknow? Especially having to listen to jazz on repeat for days."
A grin pulls at your lips.
"I think I still prefer your playlist a lot more than other surgeons so far. Dr. Park."
You tilt your head up and look at him. And you really do look at him, your eyes scan his stone-cold face and observe him. You take all of him in. You're not afraid of him. You don't look like you want to run away from this interaction. Your shoulders are relaxed and you lean into your chair more as you really look at him.
You're amused. "I actually feel alive in your OR, Dr. Park."
Brendon stares at you. For a moment, he forgets to answer. The sense, the feeling of malfunctioning is stronger now. It's almost like he is unable to respond.
Which is the most concerning because he always has a response.
Finally, he inhales through his nose.
"That's because my playlists are actually better."
These words left him before he could think. Before he could stop himself from speaking them. It was dry, so matter-of-fact. He realized too late that it was his lame attempt at a joke. At teasing. But the horror is instant.
A brief moment of silence.
Your eyes widen ever so slightly for only a fraction of a second. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
Brendon doesn't react outwardly. But he registers the way your expression shifts from recognition to amusement.
He had made a joke. You laugh once more much more quietly until you settle down with a soft smile on your lips. You look like you've accepted something that he hasn't.
"Oh, yeah? I'll trust your medical opinion on that then." Brendon exhales through his nose but the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. A detail that didn't go unnoticed by you.
The interaction didn't take long for it to be shared amongst his department. It only took one nurse and a resident to notice. A shift in tone they weren't supposed to notice. A sound that didn't belong in the halls that Brendon Park walked in. Laughter was shared between nurses, techs, and residents. It was never shared with Dr. Park.
But curious minds that had nothing better to do stayed curious.
They spoke in hallways. In the break rooms. In shared on-call rooms.
"Did you hear that Dr. Park made a joke?"
"What- There's no way!"
"Well, she laughed."
"And he smiled!"
A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor made by one bored nurse and resident. Because there was no way that the renowned, asshole of an orthopedic surgeon with a major stick up his ass was capable of cracking a joke. Let alone making someone else laugh.
Or even smile.
But the consensus amongst his residents was clear.
"Brendan Park-The Shark-practically smiled."
The news spread quickly like rumors often do in hospitals. He hears about it the same way he hears other rumors. Indirectly. It starts with an R4 hesitating to speak to him. A nurse nearly smiles at him before deciding not to.
Even Abbot and Robby pause when they see him in the corridor of the ED. A joke was forming between them-Brendon can clearly see the way they glance at each other with knowing smirks.
But it never comes out. They focus on the incoming trauma that they called him to look over. He registers the way Ahemed tries to shift his position in front of the betting board. The way Perlah, Santos, and Princess stare at him and whisper to each other in Tagalog. The word "anesthesiologist" doesn't go unnoticed by him either.
He continues moving through the department as he always does-precise and unaffected in appearance. This was out of his control. Things were unraveling and he already disliked it.
He's sure you're aware of it as well.
If the way you looked at him sometimes-amused, calm, and equally unaffected by whatever everyone around you was overanalyzing —is any indication. You meet his gaze too easily in passing corridors. Long enough to mean something between the two of you. But not long enough for others to deem is provocative.
Because you both move on as if it meant nothing. As if it was just two colleagues greeting each other politely.
This, specifically more than anything, was what made people notice.
You smile when he nods at you in greeting. It's brief, practically unnoticeable because of the way your expression smooths over as if your smile was never there to begin with. It was deliberate. It was for him to notice.
But your residents noticed. They quickly pick up on it first. A glance of one of your R2s in his direction then one towards you when you pass by. Some will look at both you for a brief second before looking back down to their charts with a knowing smile.
As of now, you look better than the last interactions you've had. Your shoulders no longer seem to bear that tension you had before. He pauses in his stride as you both come across each other in an empty corridor.
"Dr. Park," you greet him. Your expression is composed-professional-but the small smile that seemed to be reserved only for him flickers in and out before you suppress it.
He nods at you. "Tomorrow. You're on my service."
You let out a soft exhale that resembled a quiet laugh, your smile widens briefly.
"You're getting very predictable, Brendon."
You said his name. It's simple. Casual but lands with more weight than it should. Brendon stops and for a moment, what he feels is akin to a robot malfunctioning—he really looks at you. His head is turned slightly to stare at you. He doesn't speak. He simply takes all of you in.
It's affecting him in a way he doesn't have a logical explanation to. He is well aware that these new found sensations in his body are becoming exceedingly difficult to compartmentalize, which is the problem. Because Brendon Park does not operate without it.
For the first time again, he isn't sure how to respond None of the options in his head feel correct. He could ignore it. He could pretend that he didn't hear the way his name rolls off the top of your tongue perfectly.
You hold his gaze, knowingly.
"Don't use my name like that." He isn't reprimanding you. He isn't upset by the use of his name. It's a more of a constraint for him. A warning of what would happen if you continue doing it.
You tilt your head slightly. You're clearly amused by him again. You don't step back or get intimidated by his response. You should. Everyone else would. You're studying him and it feels like you're stripping him down to his core. Like you know what he truly meant.
Somehow, he feels that's worse.
Brendon sharply inhales through his nose, his eyes still haven't left yours. A beat passes by.
"...Not here."
He doesn't elaborate any further. He doesn't explain what these last two words truly mean. He continues walking to the opposite direction of you. Leaving you left to your own thoughts, amusement rather.
His next surgery is with you. It's on Wednesday.
He knows this because he looked at the OR schedule ahead of time. Once. Then once more. Then again. Until he was positive that no one had changed your name overnight. He knows his behavior is ridiculous. It's unbecoming of a surgeon of his caliber.
Brendon Park does not need to double check a surgery schedule. He looks at them once and memorizes them and moves on. There was no need for him to triple check if your name was there.
You are assigned to his case and that should be the end of it.
But it isn't. Because he finds himself looking forward to seeing you in your chair and your pink clipboard. Seeing you cross out words you found in your crossword with the bright neon pink highlighter you always bring. To see the way you would smile at him-subtle and only meant for him. You are aware of the effect you have on him.
But seeing your name on his cases isn't important as the real reason he's been checking your schedule. For the past few weeks, everyday. And everyday for these past few weeks, you both had different days off. Nothing was aligned and lately, his residents have noticed the mood he's been in because of that.
But today he checked the schedule. Every Sunday, the schedules get updated. And immediately he goes to find your name-hoping to find aligned days off.
You're both walking out of his OR simultaneously down the corridor that led you to the elevator. You're both silent but maintaining the aura of professionalism you both normally keep. He waits to say something until you're both in the elevator.
"You have tomorrow off." He states. "And the day after."
Matter-of-fact as always. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was accurate. It was direct. He knew your schedule because he memorized it.
You blink at him and you nod, slowly and for the first time-you are confused. This dance between the two of you has been predictable, in a way. You have learned the language that comes with understanding Brendon Park.
The nuances and the significance of his words, his attention.
You're not understanding him. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly.
"You've been working a lot of hours." Brendon says. "Too many, actually."
And immediately, the fact was wrapped with concern.
No, it was care. His wording was precise. It was deliberate like it always was with Brendon. You finally understand and you look at him with more than amusement, you smile. This time it's wide and it wasn't subtle. It was loud.
You're beautiful, he thinks.
"You know, normal people would just ask me to get dinner, Brendon."
Brendon pauses and he stares at you. His gaze is heavy and his fingers twitch. He's sure of himself this time. For the first time, he knows exactly what he wants to say.
There is no hesitation. No uncertainty that would cloud his judgement and years of knowing. For the first time in a long time of knowing you, the answer comes easily.
"Would you say yes?"
You grin widens instantaneously. Finally, no more subtle glances in the OR. No more interpreting intent and words like they contained double meanings. No more pretending that what this is was purely professional.
Especially when the lines of professionalism have slowly blurred for the both of you.
You bring your palm forward and you squeeze his bicep.
You're bold but it doesn't matter anymore. Not when he already has the words he wants to say. The feelings he wants to express.
"What do you think?" You ask teasingly.
"You've been checking my schedule for weeks, haven't you?"
Brendon closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Then for the first time since you've known him, he looks at you with almost fondness mixed with exasperation.
"My schedule hasn't lined up with yours."
You stare at him with awe. Then you burst into loud laughter because he didn't even deny the fact. His response was an admission. That he was obsessively checking when your days off would align. To prepare for this.
"That's really your defense?"
"It's a factual statement." He responds.
"Yes-" You pause. "but you've been checking."
He holds your gaze and he clenches his jaw, inhales sharply at your statement.
"Yes."
His admission landed harder than anything you've heard.
It was real and it was profoundly like Brendon to not beat around the bush. To cut to the chase. To not make excuses. He was precise with his words.
The grin on your face couldn't get any bigger. This was the real you. The side that not many got to see. Just as this side of him was the side that no one but you got to see. It was reserved for you, jusy like the side you only showed him was reserved for him.
"Dinner." Brendon says.
You raise a brow at him. "Dinner?"
"And coffee." Brendon nods. "Tomorrow."
“Oh, and coffee? You really want to see me twice in a day, huh?” You grin. "So you're finally asking me out?"
Immediately, Brendon sighs and brings his hand to his face. "Apparently, yes."
You beam at him and you give his bicep one more squeeze as the elevator doors open to your floor. You wave at him as you exit the elevator.
"It's a date then!"
Warmth settles in the pit of his stomach as he stares at your face before the doors close. He presses his back against the wall and he looks down at the floor. It's quiet and it is just him. Slowly, a smile makes its way to his face and lets out breath that resembles a soft laugh.
summary: through your five years of residency at PTMC, you grew to hate Jack Abbot with all your might. Robby makes sure you come to terms with him, all of it having an unexpected turn as he sends you both to the medical conference in Washington.
warnings: 18+, undisclosed age gap, smut, unprotected sex (plan b mentioned), oral (f receiving), creampie, brief breeding kink, enemies to lovers, one bed trope, curse words, alcohol consumption
word count: 4.8k
“He clearly doesn’t like me, Michael.” You huffed, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck.
Michael Robinavitch was your mentor and also a best friend. You worked together for almost five years after you moved to Pittsburgh. And you were one of the few people who actually called him by his first name.
Robby looked through some papers on the chart, humming underneath his breath, his reading glasses hanging low.
“You are not listening.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the nurse station, looking through a chart.
Dana glared up at you, shaking her head with a little smile.
“Arguing with Robby again?”
You straightened your back a little and huffed. “I would call it an exchange of opinions.”
Day and night shifts met for a quick briefing, Robby standing tall and serious. You were beside Mel, who looked anxious as always, stealing occasional looks at Langdon who were unusually smiley.
Then your eyes flicked to the opposite, to who dared to stand beside your partner in crime. Jack Abbot with his arrogant and cocky energy.
You scrunched your nose and he caught your stare, giving you a lopsided smile. He always enjoyed teasing you and you never held back.
“So, the thing is there’s this medical conference next week and I have to pick two of us who will represent the PTMC there.” Robby started, he wasn’t a fan of those events so you knew exactly he won’t be attending. You crossed your arms over your chest, curiosity took over your brain and you thought about who he should pick.
Frank raised his hand. “I’ll go. I think I’m pretty capable of doing so.”
Robby shook his head no. “No. I already made my choice.” And his gaze ended up on you. Oh no. Oh no. You knew where this was going.
Inhaling sharply, you were about to speak when he pointed at your figure adding: “You and Abbot.”
Jack raised his brows in surprise, but then his expression changed into an amused one, flashing a smirk at you. “Oh, funny.”
“You can’t be serious, Michael.” You growled, anger fuelling your body.
“That’s my final decision. I expect you two to behave like the professionals you are.” Robby dismissed the meeting, others already whispering and giggling.
You stomped on your feet, walking towards him all the while Jack still stood beside him.
“I won’t go.”
Robby scribbled something onto a paper, clipping it onto a chart not caring about your words.
“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Jack chuckled.
“I’m not talking to you.” You shot him a death glare and he just shook his head.
Michael lifted his gaze to look at you, being all so serious. You know it's just a bullshit facade.
“I’m giving you a chance to solve this— this something, which I don’t understand what is, between you two. Talk it out, spend some time together, I don’t know, but don’t come back from that conference with unresolved issues you have with yourselves.” And he was gone for a patient that just came through.
The way you were pissed off was unbelievably bad. Jack crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well, I won’t be easy on you, so you better get ready.”
“Go fuck yourself.” You scoffed, trying to find yourself a useful thing to do, you decided to go triage.
Arriving into the hotel you were staying in Washington was another kind of shock.
After neverending bickering through the flight, you were excited to get some peace in your hotel room.
Only to find out there was a mistake with your booking and you ended up in the same room as your rival.
One bed
Your worst nightmare, sharing the most intimate space with this unbelievable man.
Jack shook his head when he put his suitcase against the wall, taking another glance at the bed as if he was able to divide it into two.
“Robby, you piece of shit…” he muttered, but you heard it, shooting him an annoyed look.
“I will kill that man, with my bare HANDS.” You were livid, pacing at the window.
“Calm down, it’s okay. This bed is fucking huge, so there’s plenty space for us both.” He was amused.
“I don’t care what you think, Abbot. I’m getting my own room.” You were determined.
Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You heard the receptionist. There’s no other room, because they’re overbooked. Everybody is here for the medical conference. So be a professional and suck it up.”
You hated how he was right.
Jack was unbelievably gentle, standing tall beside you, chest puffed with pride when you spoke with other people representing the medical field. He took in how you were glowing while talking about things you loved.
When sitting at the table, you circled the leg of the champagne flute, watching it with an empty look.
“You don’t fancy alcohol?” His voice got you out of your mind.
“Not much.” You murmured, taking a glance at the speaker on the podium.
Jack was listening to everything that was said, massaging his thigh above the prosthesis, it was one of those days he felt utterly exhausted by that damn thing.
You didn’t care, trying to mind your own business, making some notes.
But Jack couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at your figure, the dress you were wearing was really enhancing you, as if you were born to wear that fabric. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get back to his line of thinking.
You noticed he was staring, but said nothing, because you were already exhausted from dealing with him before, so there wasn’t a point in losing any more time with him. But you had to admit that he looked damn good in that suit, that white shirt under his blazer was really something, with those two buttons undone from the top revealing a little of his greyish chest hair. Swallowing hard, you felt your throat becoming dry, so this was the time you gulped the champagne.
Staying for the dinner and some evening chat with other doctors, one of them flirting with you, Jack decided he had enough and he excused himself to go back to the hotel room. His leg was bothering him to the limits the same as that damn young doctor trying to impress you with his successes through internships.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” You huffed when you arrived at the hotel room, a little tipsy, spotting a prosthetic leg casually resting against the wall near the bedside table.
Jack lifted his gaze lazily from the tv show he was watching, already tucked in the spacious bed.
“Scared by an innocent part of a leg? Get a grip.” He scoffed, but there was that sarcastic undertone you couldn’t unhear.
“Pff… I don’t have limbs scattered across my flat, so…” you rolled your eyes, trying to take off your heels, but it was already a struggle given to your tired state.
He noticed your fight with the tiny straps and he sat up on the bed. “Come here, you clumsy thing.”
And you did, landing on your ass on the edge of the bed and he gestured for you to lift your leg up so he could reach for it. Once his large hands wrapped around your ankle, your guts did a flip, the one you didn’t expect.
Jack was focused on the small fastening that was stuck. With the surgical precision he undid it and relieved your foot from the tight grip of the heel.
Then you lifted your other leg and he did the same. Now you had your legs on his lap and he ran his fingers over the curves of your insteps, pressing a little into the marks from the straps.
“You should consider stopping wearing those damn heels. Not good for your feet and back.” His voice soothed something in the depths of your soul, you started to melt under his skilled touch.
“Keep it to yourself, doctor Abbot.” You muttered and moved down to rest on your elbows, the dress hanging on your figure, your skin growing annoyed of the fabric.
Jack let out a soft chuckle, pressing his thumb to your sole causing you to groan in utter satisfaction.
“Fucking hell…” a soft mutter escaped your lips, your head falling back with a deep sigh.
“I know what I’m doing.”
The way he massaged your feet was astounding and embarrassingly great. You thought that you could never admit this to Robby. Ever.
“Sure you do…”
Jack hummed, tracing your ankle with his thumb. “I have an idea. Go take a shower and I’ll massage your feet even more, you can fall asleep comfortably. Hm?”
You turned your head back to stare at him in disbelief, awaiting something mischievous behind it but his face was soft and full of honesty.
“Okay.” You whispered softly, getting off the bed, already missing his warm touch. Collecting your toiletry bag and pajamas, you disappeared into the bathroom.
After a while you were out, fresh as a daisy, a tired expression written all over your face. A scent of your shampoo hit his nose and he cleared his throat.
Climbing into the bed under the sheets, you lay your head on the pillow, looking up at how he was seated against the headboard.
“Were you serious or you were making fun of me?”
Jack patted his lap again, your legs moving instinctively towards him and he moved a little closer to you for you to be more comfortable. You could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body, but you didn’t feel nervous or scared. It brought you peace and comfort.
“Is this okay?” He asked for your permission in a low tone, giving you a concerned look.
You nodded, eyes closing as he massaged your feet gently.
For you it was a very intimate act. And with your sworn enemy?
“Thank you.” Your murmur was barely heard, but he caught it, smiling to himself, working on your toes.
“I would take care of you every day if you were mine.” Jack sighed into the silence of the room, while you were already out, deeply asleep.
The first sunrays peeked through the curtains of the hotel room, having you stirring in the bed. Something heavy was draped over your upper body, heat radiating at your back. A soft hum of approval escaped your mouth, but then you opened your eyes slowly, confused a little.
Jack had his arm draped over you, holding you close to his chest while his breath trickled your hair on your neck as he was still asleep.
Your mind yelled at you to jump out of the bed immediately, but you decided to shift a little, your stare taking in his skin.
Counting the freckles on his forearm, you actually felt good, safe even.
Until you felt another thing poking into your back, blush was creeping up your cheeks.
“Jack. Hey. We have to get up.” You tried to gently nudge him but all he did was wrap his arms around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, exhaling heavily.
“A few more minutes, baby…” he hummed, grinding his hips into you.
Eyes wide you jumped out of the bed, heart thumping in your chest. “Abbot. Wake up, you dang idiot!” Your voice surely caused him to open his eyes lazily, looking at you and then he shifted to lay on his back.
“What’s the rush, huh?” His voice was hoarse and now you could see clearly the tent formed between his legs.
“Jesus Christ, you have no decency.” You huffed, grabbing your clothes to disappear into the bathroom.
Jack peeked under the cover to seek his morning wood only to grin. “That’s a sign my body is working well.”
Doing your skincare, you still felt the ache in your lower belly, the one that you desperately tried to keep at bay with your own skilled hands. There’s no way you would want to have sex with your enemy. No.
Maybe… a little. Yeah. No.
You shook your head and once being ready, you fled out of the bathroom, taking a glance at him with the corner of your eye.
Jack struggled to put on his leg, grunting and cursing under his breath.
“Need a hand?” You were all sarcastic but in your mind you pitied this man.
“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand through his messy grey curls and you put down your phone, walking to him. Jack noticed you’re wearing a dress, again, but this time it was a nice summer one with flowers on it.
“You look good.” He hummed out and you just got onto your knees completely ignoring him as you focused on the task and that was clasping his leg on where it has to be.
“Tell me what to do?” You lifted your gaze and you caught his expression. Sucking in a breath he got out of the trance, showing you exactly what he needed help with.
You nodded, trying your best, your dainty fingers helping but that prosthetic bitch had its own mind.
“Shit…” you cursed and Jack propped himself back on his hands.
“Fuck. I hate this.”
You sat back on your heels, taking in his frustrated expression and your eyes wandered down south.
“Abbot, are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out at the sight of his erection again.
His gaze fell down and he smirked a little.
“Well, you're on your knees…”
Your eyes went wide, mouth open agape when you wanted to insult him but your brain was numb. You could use some relief, a man hasn’t touched you in ages.
“You're an unbelievable asshole.”
“Really? Then why are you blushing? Why are you so flushed, princess?” He mocked you and you noticed his dick twitching in his shorts.
Acting more on instinct, you managed to rip your panties off you and throwing them at him with annoyed grunt. Catching them swiftly, he brought them to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Guess we’re gonna need to prolong our stay.” His voice was suddenly so deep.
Your hands grabbed his thighs, a longing sigh escaping your mouth. “How do we play this out?”
Jack was still mesmerised by the piece of fabric that used to hug your pussy, but he gave you a look full of lust.
“Robby wants us to get our frustrations out. So, use me. Ride me. Whatever you like. Because I know you’re secretly thinking about all the things you’d do to me.” His body leaned closer to where you kneeled, whispering against your lips as his fingers tipped your chin. You were like a moth caught by the flame, your lips parted slightly, trembling, you were needy as hell.
Not giving you time to speak, he captured your lips in some kinda soft kiss, like testing the waters if you’re gonna kiss him back. And you waited no more. Literally jumping onto him, you wrapped your legs around his hips, his one hand keeping you steady in place while the other was a little behind him to not fall on his back.
“Eager girl.” He muttered in between kisses, gasping when he felt you grinding against his groin.
“Can you shut up for a moment?” You breathed out heavily, arms around his neck, staring into his eyes.
“Never.”
That goddamn smirk that was driving you crazy.
“I hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, your hand traveling down between your bodies, into his shorts to finally take a hold of his girth. And holy shit, girl, your hand suddenly felt very small.
Jack could see it in your eyes, the surprise and warmth of your arousal when you found out how blessed he actually was.
“So, what are we saying?” His hand casually fell down to the curve of your ass, underneath the soft fabric of your dress.
“I’m not gonna praise your cock.” You huffed, palming him, trying not to salivate at how much you wanted to have your mouth stuffed with him. But you won’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet.
Being so focused on that, you almost didn’t notice his hand on your ass moving towards your pussy, his fingers smearing in your wetness.
“Oh, ohhh…” you jolted forward into his chest, whining in process.
“Jesus, love, I think we both need me to be inside you soon as possible, hm?” Jack was starting to get frustrated, expecting you to be more denying as usual but you nodded fast and shifted your hips to navigate his tip to your aching folds. All that while you were holding his gaze, you were shaking at the anticipation and he helped you with both his hands to guide you down.
Once his cock started to stretch through your velvet walls, your eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth letting out a loud gasp, your consciousness faltering slowly.
“Easy, baby, easy… fuck, you’re so tight.” He got you, slowly getting you lower and lower on his length, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic moan at how you clenched around him heavenly.
After a while, you were sitting fully on him, his shaft being swallowed whole by your hungry pussy and you held onto him tight, like you didn’t want to fall off. You didn’t even have a single thought to talk.
“So this is what it gets for you to finally be quiet, huh?” His arm holding you close on his lap, while his other hand reached out to brush a strand of your hair from your face to look at you, to note how you were out of your mind, so pliant and soft.
Then it struck him that you were still wearing that dress and he pushed the straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Licking his lips, he then took your right nipple into his mouth, giving it a proper care, sucking it as if there was no tomorrow.
“J-Jack…” you whimpered, losing your mind through being full by him.
Trailing his way up your neck to your ear, he chuckled smugly. “Come on, baby girl, ride me.”
Lifting your hips, you slammed back, over and over, his hands gripping your hips to help you with your moves.
Face flushed, eyes rolled back, you couldn’t breathe from how much you loved the moment. He was absolutely perfect for you, matching your desire, holding you exactly how you expected from a man.
Sweat formed on your forehead, hair sticking to it, you were riding this man with all your might. And he was there, for you, watching you, without any biting remark, he was enjoying himself too.
Suddenly he stopped you, halting you fully onto his cock. You inhaled sharply, mind dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you noticed his trembling lower lip, his features tight.
“Huh?”
“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, and–” you interrupted him.
“Don’t care. Gonna take a plan b. Just fucking fill me, Abbot.” ah, there it was, the fire in your eyes was back.
Something dark flashed across his gaze and he nodded. Quickly, he moved you on the bed, flat on stomach, and he did his best to climb on you, slapping your ass gently.
Settling between your ass cheeks, he rubbed his dick through your folds, only to fill you again. It was really hard for him to keep his balance, so he leaned forwards onto his hands.
Your hands gripped the sheets, drooling into the fabric, muffling your moans as he pounded into your relentlessly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh baby, oh…” he whimpered, it was like music to your ears and finally you felt his dick twitching with release, his thick cum coating your inner walls.
Breathing heavily, you buried your face into the mattress when Jack collapsed onto your back, peppering your bare shoulder in kisses.
“So good for me…” whispering, it gave you shivers.
“Fuck you…” you mumbled and he chuckled.
Jack carefully slid out of you, body still thrumming with post orgasmic flow, and his strong hand flipped you onto your back.
Gasping in surprise, you stared at him when he moved between your legs, laying on his stomach, one of his hands settled on your hip and the other cupped your ruined pussy. He was mesmerised by the way his precious frosting dripped out of you. Carefully, he scooped a little by his fingers, only to push it back into you, causing you to whine in overstimulation.
“Shhh… I almost forgot about you, how wrong of me…” he darted out his tongue and licked a long stripe to your clit, all the while his fingers were curling in your clenching cunt.
“Jack… please—“ you moaned, face frowned and eyes full of tears.
“What is it, baby?” He held you in place, noticing how your hips tried to escape from him even though you ached to come.
“T-too much—“ you gasped when he latched onto your clit with his lips, suckling sounds filling the room and your eyes went wide.
“Fuck— gonna kill you—“ it was all you had to say when your hands flew to his hair, to tug it rough, making him grunt into your core.
“Of course.” His voice vibrated your folds to the point you were going crazy, your pussy making all those lewd sounds of arousal.
Then he let go of you, blowing a little air onto your petal, chuckling at your squirming figure. Pulling out his fingers, having them coated with a mix of your juices and his cum, he propped himself onto his hand to bring them to your lips.
You shook your head no, brows furrowing in annoyance.
“Open your mouth. I want you to taste us.” His voice was commanding and you let out a shuddered breath. You were a mess, you wanted to come already, to be over with it, but you had to play his game.
Holding his gaze, you obeyed, parting your lips and he waited no more, pushing his fingers onto your tongue. Inhaling sharply, your tongue swirled eagerly, moaning quietly at how intoxicating taste it was.
Jack grinned victoriously, getting back to your painfully edged cunt, delving his fingers back into your depths.
“Look at you, taking me so well, who would have thought that you’re such a good girl. So fucking good. Mhm… come on… give it to me, all you have is mine, princess…”
The way he talked, you couldn’t take it, your body screaming in utmost pleasure and pain from the overwhelming sensations.
“You’d be so hot being round and soft with my baby. You were made to be filled by me…” he continued and you were bewildered by this and you shot him a shocked glare.
“Stop— don’t say— holy— Jack!”
But it was all you needed to actually reach your highest of the high, coming around his fingers, sucking him tight with your velvet walls.
Jack laughed softly, feeling so proud that his little talk made you come hard.
Giving your pussy a soft tap, he moved to lay beside you, enjoying your panting breaths, grinning how ruined you looked, sweaty and done.
Fingers grazed their way between your breasts to your neck, ending up on your jaw.
“You’re beautiful like this.”
Turning your head to look at him, you let out a sigh.
“Don’t start with this…”
“I’m just saying what’s true.” His features softened while caressing your cheek.
You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. You wanted to savour every possible second of it.
“Robby can’t know about this.” You shot your eyes open with an amused expression.
Jack was smug, running his hand through the strands of your damp hair.
“He’s gonna be so nosy. Prepare for it.”
A soft laugh slipped past your lips, you were staring into the ceiling.
“Thank you.”
He cocked his brow. “For what?”
“Good fuck?” You looked at him again.
“Anytime.” He shrugged and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his leg. This time he put it on the right way.
“Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath and then he turned to see you over his shoulder.
“You have to get yourself cleaned up. I can help.” He offered you his hand and you took it without any hesitation. Still having your dress scrunched up around your waist you took it off and walked to the bathroom with him.
Jack grabbed a towel to clean himself quickly, not bothering about anything else and then he gestured for you to step under the spray of hot water.
While you were cleaning your skin he watched you intently, leaning against the vanity counter until he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet.
After you stepped out, wrapped into a fluffy towel, you let out a sigh of relief. His hand suddenly reached out for yours, bringing you to stand between his open legs.
“I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’m not a man like this.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
That took you aback. “I… Jack…”
“Sorry, I… I just want you to know that I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. You captivated me from the moment you entered that damn hospital in Pittsburgh. You and your attitude just didn’t give me much choice.” He chuckled and his words tugged on your chest.
You placed a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.
“I was so irritated by your cocky behaviour, I knew men like you. But… it appears that I didn’t know you at all.” Your hand moved to his cheek, cupping it.
A shaky breath went through his mouth. “You’re so insufferable, you can’t imagine.”
Rolling your eyes, you squeezed his hand instinctively. “Oh believe me. I can.”
“So, I suggest we come back and take it easy. No rush. We have to be careful around others on our shifts. What do you think?” Jack stood up, flinching a little, shifting his leg, but still holding your hand.
“Sounds good to me.” You nodded with a smile, while he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.
“Let’s get you that morning after pill.”
A day shift was in full swing when about three in the afternoon Jack clocked in and his eyes were searching for you through the space.
You were on a case with Robby, finished with the patient to be sent to the OR.
Taking off your bloodied gloves, you huffed at something Robby was talking about behind you.
“Yeah, clearly I’m not in the best shape, okay?”
Robby noticed Jack standing at the computer at the nurse station, already watching you both. “Well, maybe you should think about switching for the night since you warmed up with our daddy one leg.” The last three words he whispered near you to tease you and you smacked his arm.
“Fuck you, Michael.”
“Ah, so, I’m not wrong with my assumption, huh?” He followed after you, when you hurried towards the charts.
“What’s the hush?” Jack smirked, taking a slow step forward Robby, who was eyeing him with amusement.
“Michael here just called you the daddy one leg.” You wiggled your brows in amusement, sipping coffee from your cup.
Jack feigned a little gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You just hurt me, a war veteran, an amputee, Robby.”
Robby just scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just trying to find what’s behind this little alliance you two made all of sudden. What the fuck happened at that conference, hm?”
Both you and Jack met with your gazes, but he decided to speak. “Well, you said we have to discuss the shit between us, and we sorted it out, case closed. What’s the matter with that?”
“That you both almost bit your head off and all of sudden you’re cooperating without a fuss. It’s weirdly hard to believe that you just discussed it out.” Robby bounced on his feet, irritation evident from his voice as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
“Get out of your head, Michael. You’re spending too much time there.” You chuckled at your own joke, Jack trying so hard to not laugh.
Later that day, when you were about to clock out of your shift, you stood beside Dana, who was scribbling something down, staring through her readers. Robby was discussing a case with Ellis and Shen who arrived just in time to relieve the day’s, while Jack stood close to them, somehow watching you again.
“So, what’s he like in bed, huh?” Dana nudged your arm, looking in the direction where Jack stood.
You bit the inside of your cheek with a little sigh. “Unbelievable, Dana. Fucking unbelievable…”
leaning into the mic to say dadbf!harvey specter. thinking of him waking you up with a kiss to your cheek and a firm hand around your waist, lifting you straight out of bed while you whine and cling to the blankets. “nice try, doll. up.” sleeves rolled, tie half-done, already fully put together while you’re still blinking sleep from your eyes. “c’mon. time for school.”
dad!harvey who insists on making sure you’ve eaten before you leave. standing in his kitchen in perfectly pressed trousers and an undone tie, setting coffee in front of you and nudging a plate your way. buttons your coat for you when your hands are too cold, smooths your hair back into place, and presses a final kiss to your forehead before sending you out the door like something precious he’s reluctantly parting with.
dad!harvey who wraps both arms around your waist at the cashpoint, chin resting on your shoulder while you reach for your card—only to stop you with one hand over yours. “absolutely not.” pulls out his own wallet, taps his card, kisses the back of your head. “you don’t pay when you’re with me.”
dad!harvey who keeps a hand on the small of your back wherever you go. guiding you through crowded streets, steering you across roads, opening every door before you can reach for the handle. who reminds you to drink water, asks if you’ve brought your charger, and sighs in exaggerated disappointment when you forget your umbrella, already slipping his suit jacket over your shoulders before you can apologise.
dad!harvey who calls you doll when he’s feeling soft, sweetheart when he’s amused, and gives you that look, that raised brow, that almost-smirk, when you’re being difficult. the kind that says he’s entirely entertained by you, but not above correcting your attitude if he has to.
dad!harvey who acts annoyed every time you need him, while already reaching for your bag, your coat, your hand. “honestly,” he sighs, pulling you closer, “good thing you’ve got me.”
jack abbot, fem, pre-relationship, 0.4k — wrote this at 3am bc i could not sleep... the reason why???? yes i drank matcha at 8 pm 🩵
You call Jack on one of your nights off, restless and unable to sleep. You know that at this point you can call and he’ll come running, no matter what; just another way he shows his devotion to you.
A few rings, and… “Jack?”
Shuffling from his end—he’s getting into an empty room, maybe? “Hey, pretty.” His voice is soft and low, and it always is when it comes to you.
“Hi.” You rub at your eyes, squinting at the harsh light from your phone. “Are you busy? I know it's late, but…”
“Nah,” he tsks. “It's only…two a.m. And why’re you up? Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep?”
“I should,” you sigh wearily, sinking into your blankets. “But I can't. I think it's ‘cause I drank matcha at eight.”
“Matcha?” You hear the grimace in his voice, and you smile at that. Jack’s the type to get black coffee, with the occasional sugar and cream—not much for the fancier stuff. “That's the… green stuff, yeah? Shen’s been drinking it instead of his regular Dunkin’. Says it's healthier.”
You shrug. “Something like that. Is it busy there?”
He takes a second to look around beyond the door—no, not really. People moving around, other residents and attendings charting, the steady beeps of hospital monitors. “No. But don't jinx it, okay?”
“I would never,” you snort. Then silence.
After a beat, he asks, “So, why’d you call? Something wrong?”
“I just can't sleep. I can't talk to my favorite person?”
He smiles to himself. You can see it now: him pacing around the empty patient room, hand on his hip, blushing to himself. “Favorite person, huh? That's new.”
“It's true, though.” You sigh again through the speaker. You hope he hears your affection and takes your vulnerability in stride. “You are.”
“Ditto.”
“Ditto!?” You gasp, offended. “Jack.”
“Alright, alright,” he laughs. “You're my favorite, too. Of all time, you lovely lady.”
Your heart soars. “So this means we can keep talking, right?”
“Nuh-uh.” He sits on the hospital bed, shaking his head in disapproval. “You gotta sleep. You get cranky.”
“But I can't sleep. That's the whole point,” you groan. “How about you talk and I listen?”
Jack looks around the ED again—seems calm enough for it. Ten minutes, tops. “Fine. Well, first off, when I came in, they needed me immediately—couldn't even put my stuff down. Got a huge pile up, you know why? Bunch of deers crossing…”
And when you're no longer humming and nodding along, telling him you're awake and listening, Jack knows you've fallen asleep. Now it's his turn to imagine you curled up in bed, phone by your hand as rest takes you. What he wouldn't give to come home to the sight every day.
He whispers one last thing before letting you go. “Goodnight, pretty.”
