seitmai

just a 27-year-old who loves to waste time online | she/they | 18+ | comments & asks by @seitmai-too | PFP by yellow.clouds on IG

[seitmai]

The trio seeing that...

...you don't have your age in your profile.

Now that I have your attention:

Please add your age in any capacity in your profile! It doesn't have to be your exact age (e.g. 20s, 30s,...)

I am not writing myself, but repost A LOT of stuff not suitable for minors and it makes me really uncomfortable thinking someone underage interacts over my profile with something not appropriate for their age.

I will start to block profiles without age!

Thank you! 💘

[misspossexxive]

jack talking you through it when you struggle to take his cock...

you’re trying, trying so desperately to let jack in, but his cock is so thick, so long – you feel as if he’s rearranging your insides, when in reality only half of him is inside you. you pull him towards you, needing the closeness more than ever, because the feeling of being stretched, caused by jack, is making you incredibly overwhelmed. your body is hot and needy, your eyes are wet , and your lips are open because of the moans that have long since been escaping from your throat without your consent.

and jack just holds you through it all. his large, calloused hands wrap around your smaller body; his lips kiss the top of your head in an almost fatherly manner, murmuring sweet words to you nearly nonstop to help you take his cock deeper into your small puffy pussy.

"you’re stretching so beautifully for me, sweetheart" he says hoarsely, stroking your hips with his thumbs while his cock sinks deeper into you, making you gasp for air "you take every inch of me so well, so very well. that's it."

he pushes further into you, and your reaction is almost immediate. your sensitive walls clench around him and your body arches as if you were a cat in heat.

"jack…oh" you moan pitifully, your hands clutching his broad, muscular shoulders, and jack immediately leans down to be closer, to give you the comfort you crave, kissing away the tears that threaten to spill over.

"it’s all right. i’ve got you. breathe, sweetheart, just breathe" he whispers, cupping your jaw in one of his rough hands, and you nestle into it straight away, closing your eyes "you’re doing so good. your sweet pussy is opening up so beautifully. we're almost there."

and when he’s finally buried deep inside you, you feel full – so utterly full. your foggy mind feels as though his cock is no longer in your belly but down your throat. you feel as though you can barely breathe or move, and your pussy spasms intensely around him, tormenting him sweetly.

but jack ignores it completely because, at that moment, you’re the one who matters most; you’re his priority , his precious little girl.

[domesticblisss]

Prompt for you! 26 + Park the Shark!

prompt: [26.] lifting them onto the countertop while making out.

thank you for the request, bestie! | cw: making out, the beginnings of smut. 0.6k words

writing small drabbles to get some writing inspirations

the last thing you expected to happen when you moved to pittsburgh was bump into brendon park in a whole foods parking lot.

it wasn’t exactly a bump. it was more of a both of you were backing up your cars and didn’t see the other kind of thing, resulting in a nasty indent on your back door and a shattered rear windshield for brendon.

both of you left your vehicles screaming bloody murder and cursing the other’s next generation, only to stop the moment you realised who you had backed into. the altercation instantly turned into hugs, shared laughs and a friendly conversation, with a promise from brendon to pay for your brand new ford bronco repair and an invite from you to dinner at yours.

night passed by like a blur, with brendon telling you he moved to the city around ten years ago for his ortho residency and never left. you, on the other hand, had just moved in after a promotion to head designer on the architectural firm you worked for back in NYC, who had just opened a brand new leg in pittsburgh and wanted you to be in charge of it.

brendon and you reminisced on college stories of drunk night outs and skinny dipping in the dark.

“you know, fucked up car aside, i really liked bumping into you, bren.” you teased as you dried the plate brendon insisted on washing, even after you told him, countless times, that you had a dishwasher. warmth spread over you with the bright smile brendon offered.

“me too, ace.” park confessed back, with a look of adoration in his eyes that you didn’t even notice he had said the stupid nickname you hated, the same one he used to call you a nerd during college.

the air around you was charged. the same tension – one so thick you would have to carve your way out with a knife – you felt during your party days, where your friends would ditch your companies to make out, and the two of you were too chicken shit to act on your feelings.

but your college days were long gone, you and brendon had matured enough to know that life was too short to waste the opportunities given by her, and next thing you knew, brendon’s cold and wet fingers squeezed your waist, eliciting a shrill from you that quickly turned into a soft moan when his lips met yours.

brendon was as desperate as you were as he hungrily kissed you, not letting you go once, not even when he circled his arms around your thighs and lifted you with practiced ease, sitting you on your countertop.

he trailed his lips to your chin and down your neck, peppering kisses until he found the sweet spot that made you melt.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” brendon panted.

“probably for as long as i did– fuck!” you whined when he bit on the junction of your neck and shoulder, hips bucking against his.

his wet tongue felt like a refreshing droplet of water that insisted on escaping your lips on a hot summer day against your scorching skin, soothing its way on the path he trailed across your chest. brendon slow unbuttoning of your blouse made you antsy, “god, just yank it off.” you tried to command, but your voice was so mellow that brendon only held the wrist that tried to touch the bottom of your blouse.

“no, hold it. i want to savour this.”

domesticblisss 2026 comments and reblogs are appreciated. dividers by andromeda-graphics

[urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter]

we need more of the introverted!reader texts w da shark i fear it was so cutesy 😭😭 and the dynamic with the pittlings!!! adorbs

girlfriend? - brendon park x reader

part one: first date

[rr-after-dark]

"Just the Way It Is" - Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Reader

Summary: When a new HR assistant director introduces a hospital-wide weight loss program, the last person you expect to be your ally is Park the Shark, an ortho jock you've never really gotten to know.

Tags: fat!reader (mentioned as being over 200 pounds but no other physical description given), pediatric emergency attending!reader, i made kingdon her residents and donnie her nurse bc why not they felt the most pediatrics-oriented to me, kingdon crumbs, pining brendon, protective brendon, slow burn, flirting, first date, SMUT, face sitting, piv (unprotected)

Content Warnings: both direct and indirect fatphobia, discussion of orthorexia, diet/intentional weight loss culture

Author's Note: this beast of a fic has been finished for @genevievedarcygranger as part of my birthday fundraiser, which will continue taking donations through july 31st; thank you so so much for your contribution!!

Word Count: 11.6k

You’re suspicious of the new HR assistant director the moment you meet her.

It’s not that she’s skinny. Not really. Obviously, in health care, you mainly work with thin people; the field is fatphobic as hell, even the doctors who are doing their best not to be. You have maybe two other plus-size coworkers you know, but none in the Pitt. People question your presence all the time in silent moments (and sometimes verbal ones). So it’s not that she’s skinny. But the green smoothie clutched in her manicured hand, the office siren aesthetic designed to show off her itty-bitty waist, the expensive blonde highlights, and the bleached smile raise alarm bells in your brain. And, let’s be honest: Her name is Candice, but she goes by Candi. It’s difficult for you to imagine a more ironic, biting choice than that.

Your initial suspicion turns to straight-up disdain – maybe even hate on your less charitable days – when she announces her very first hospital-wide initiative. She gathers all the attendings and charge nurses into the largest conference room at shift change and launches into a slide show. The very first slide, there’s a photo of a bashful, adorable fat girl, maybe twelve years old, wearing a sparkly pink dress as she holds hands with her dad.

“That was me right before my first father-daughter dance. You might not believe it looking at the woman standing before you today, but I was heavyset most of my life.” Candi goes on, “With a lot of hard work, I was able to lose the weight and keep it off. Now, working in HR, I know that a thinner workplace is a healthier one, which means lower insurance rates for everyone. To promote health and wellness for our staff, we’ll be ringing in the New Year with a Corporate Weight Loss Journey! We can all accomplish our New Year’s Goals together and get some benefits for our teams.”

You shrink in your seat. Objectively, you know that nobody’s staring at you, but it feels like it. In a room where almost everyone’s below 200 pounds, you’re naked and Candi’s just grown devil horns to shine a spotlight on your stretch marks and rolls.

While you yearn for a total building collapse, for the next half hour, she goes over the rules. “The hospital will offer complimentary fitness classes twice a week and a healthier slate of meal options in the cafeteria to encourage the program, but those perks are far from the best part. For every percent of weight lost, individuals will receive tiered rewards. And, if your entire department achieves 10% weight loss on average, there’s a big prize in store to reward everyone for their hard work.” Then she flips to a slide with lots of happy before-and-after photos where all the ‘before’ sides look a lot like you. With that magazine-ready smile, she announces, “Lastly, to incentivize our staff members who need it most, whoever loses the most total pounds will win an all-expense-paid three-day vacation to a US-based resort of their choosing! Isn’t that incredible?”

There’s a light smattering of claps, most of the attendings bored but prepared to accept whatever initiatives HR wants to foist upon them. You definitely notice a handful of more excited claps and whoops, though, and you work to quickly memorize who they come from as a shorthand ‘to avoid’ list.

Candi gives a stomach-turning false squeal and finishes, “Of course, we can’t make this program mandatory, but I’m personally asking all of you as our PTMC leaders to encourage your teams to participate. Any questions?”

Then someone else’s voice rises from the silence. No raised hand. Clear and strong, a man you don’t recognize in dark scrubs and a surgical cap barks out, “This is a terrible program and you should can the whole concept before it crashes and burns.”

Candi’s face falls for a second before it twists up into scorn. “Excuse me, Dr. Park?”

“Do you have any idea how damaging programs like this are to the actual wellness of your employees?” His steady voice barely conceals rage. You sit up straighter to look at him, surprised to see a buff tall guy on the same page as you. “Let’s start with the obvious: You have no idea how many staff members may have eating disorder histories or are currently struggling with body dysmorphia or the countless conditions that make weight loss impossible or damaging. That alone should be enough to stop this.”

She scoffs, “Like I said, nobody is required to participate.”

“That doesn’t change how you’re creating an outright dangerous environment for them,” he argues. No hesitation or wavering in his voice. “Then let’s talk about how hard it is for overweight patients – who make up the large majority of Americans, let’s keep in mind – to trust their doctors in the first place. They already put off care out of fear and receive worse care because of their doctors’ biases; how much worse do you think it’s gonna be if we have management reinforcing those biases? It’s disgusting and I’m not going to endorse it.”

“Dr. Park,” she replies, all soft and condescending, “just give it a chance. I promise we have the best intentions here.”

“Nope, absolutely not. My practice will not be participating,” he cuts back without any sympathy in his voice. Is that a wet patch in your panties? “In fact, I’m gonna personally buy them all prizes for not doing this and for using their brain power to provide the quality patient care they’re paid to focus on instead of wasting their time with vain competitions that value the hospital’s bottom line over the important work we actually do. Maybe we’ll finish with a pizza party.” Standing up and collecting his things, he concludes by telling her, “My subordinates’ bodies aren’t my business; their skills are. Let’s not pretend this is about anything other than lowering the hospital’s insurance costs so the board can maximize profits.”

Next to you, Robby mutters under his breath, “Classic Park.”

When Dr. Park storms out of the meeting, you’re too stunned to move, speak, or breathe.

A few minutes after the meeting ends, the elevator down with Robby and Abbot is the longest of your entire life. They’re your friends, yes, but there’s always been a level of distance between you. They’re the ER Cowboys, the big bad attendings who’ve worked together since the dark ages, and you’re the new attending who campaigned hard to start a pediatric sub-specialty unit in the ED. They both like you plenty, but you also run your own little world that orbits theirs, a bite-sized version neither of them has to mess with often.

You’re trying not to listen to their back-and-forth – Robby talking about his ‘beer gut,’ Jack mentioning his ‘dad bod’ – when Robby nudges you with his elbow and asks, “You gonna get your residents and nurses involved with this thing? I mean, it should be especially important to you, right? Childhood obesity rates rising and everything.”

“Which is something I’m not particularly concerned about working in emergency medicine,” you reply, voice shorter than you’d meant. “Last time I checked, being fat doesn’t make kids break their arms, smack their heads, or develop infections.”

His eyebrows go up, a little surprised at your hard pushback. You’re usually soft and sweet and chatty, exactly the doctor you want helping your baby get better, but he’s clearly hit a sore spot. “I guess that would be a hard no.”

As the elevator doors slide blessedly open, you tell him, “There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to spend any of them thinking about Frank Langdon’s BMI.”

Robby replies, “I think the point is focusing on our own.”

You can tell he doesn’t do it on purpose, but the way his eyes flick down to your hips tells you everything you need to know about what he’s thinking. Spending your life in this body, you can tell what people mean beneath what they’re saying. So you give a tight smile and say, “Well, I’m perfectly fine with mine the way it is. Hope you have fun hating yours.”

As you push past them and beeline toward the lockers so you can escape to your car as soon as possible, you hear Robby turn to Abbot and ask, “What the hell was that? Did I say something?”

Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, “Brother, she’s the only bigger girl on our whole floor. Maybe try being more sensitive than an estranged father at custody trade-off next time.”

“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Because you’re bad with women,” Jack says with a clap to Robby’s shoulder. Just as you start to think he might be a safe space for you in all of this, he play-boxes Robby’s chest and says, “Anyway, night shift’s absolutely gonna crush day shift on this thing. Shen’s been asking me to show him the ropes at the gym for months and Ellis used to box. We can cut weight no problem.”

Robby chuckles and shakes his head. “You bastard.”

That night, you eat your dinner in front of your work computer. You give a few nervous parents messages in their portals, sign off on some resident charts, and sort through a few transfers and AMA notices. The whole time, though, your mind keeps drifting back to that doctor from the meeting, and soon enough you find yourself sorting through the hospital directory. Of course, the massive city hospital employs about fifteen Dr. Parks, three of which are attendings, and there are no pictures because the website is behind the times.

Which means you have to use the tools at your disposal.

Pretty soon after coming into the Pitt Jr. the next morning (as your department has come to be called), you take advantage of a lull in the flow to interrogate two of your residents. You find Mel and Langdon at the nurse’s station, making heart-eyes at each other, while they go over a chart. You come up to them like you’re about to commit espionage and ask under your breath, “Do you guys know a Dr. Park who works in the hospital? Big buff dude?”

“Park the Shark?” Frank takes a deep breath like even the thought is harrowing. “Yeah, of course we know him. Everyone in the ED does.”

Your brows wrinkle. “Why haven’t I met him? I’ve been here a year now.”

He scoffs and offers, “Because you’re insanely lucky?”

Mel, always generous, adds in Park’s defense, “It’s because you’re a pediatric specialist. Shark’s head of orthopedic surgery and he has his own private practice, so he’s picky about the cases he’ll take from the Pitt.”

“Thank god we have Robbins,” you say of the incredible pediatric surgeon who’s always coming down to the Pitt Jr. Then, pretending it’s more of a passing interest than a burning one, you press, “Sounds like you two aren’t crazy about him.”

“He’s a huge dick,” Langdon says at the same time Mel explains, “He can be kind of intense.”

They make the kind of conspiratorial eye contact that always makes you roll your eyes, tempted to tell them to just fuck it out of their systems already. “Details, people.”

Frank raises his hands innocently and defers to Mel, who sums it up, “He just…only cares about the medicine, I guess.”

You narrow your eyes at them. “And that’s a bad thing?

“She means that he very actively doesn’t care about anything else.” Frank clarifies, “Like, hates everything. And everyone. Especially emergency room doctors, because we can’t magically control what happens to a patient’s bones before they show up to the hospital.”

You nod slowly but ask, “Okay, so he’s an ortho jock, but what about, like, as a person?”

“I’m not sure he even is one,” Frank replies, his expression completely serious. “The only thing I know about him is that he can squat and bench 450.”

From behind him, revealing that he’s been listening, Donnie adds, “Don’t forget the 550 deadlift.”

Frank groans, “Right, how could I forget the 550 deadlift?”

At your confused look, Donnie explains, “Dr. Park took part in this powerlifting charity competition a couple of years ago.” He takes out his phone and rapidly pulls up a video. “The organization would match every pound lifted with $100 for the top three competitors. He got second – I guess the national record-holder lives in Pennsylvania – but he still donated $145,000 to Operation Rainbow. They do free orthopedic surgeries for kids in developing countries.”

“Jesus.” Trying to actually conceptualize lifting that amount of weight as Donnie scrubs through the competition video until Dr. Park’s on screen, you give Frank a pointed look. “Doesn’t sound like too bad of a guy to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the attention he was swimming in after had nothing to do with it,” Frank replies, all cynical. “They put it on the hospital’s Twitter and it went kind of viral. That was a tough season for any of us guys trying to date coworkers.”

Mel nudges him on the shoulder. “You’re just as handsome as Dr. Park.”

“But I definitely can’t lift the girls I date over my head.”

She protests, “That’s not what girls want!”

Watching the video of Park’s deadlift on Donnie’s outstretched phone, sweat dripping down his chest and a driven expression on his face, you muse breathily, “It’s not not what girls want.” You lean in closer to the video and observe, “Wow, those are tiny shorts.”

Mel looks over your shoulder and her eyes widen. Almost mesmerized by Dr. Park’s pumped muscles, she agrees, “Not much left to the imagination.”

Frank snatches Donnie’s phone, pushes it back at him, and huffs while grabbing a chart, “Don’t we have work to do, people?”

Donnie snickers, “Jealous little spoil sport.”

It’s not long before the day picks back up, lots of feverish crying babies and vomiting kindergarteners and skatepark preteens with broken arms that need tending. Robbins comes down to set a few bones and schedule a couple surgeries. You fall into the flow of the work you love, comforting parents and supporting students. It’s all going fairly easily until Langdon mentions the weight loss challenge; he goes back and forth between your and Robby’s service, especially for teenage patients, so he catches wind of it first. And then he manages to get Donnie into the idea in a ‘get rid of our dad bods’ way, which has you suppressing groans, and then Donnie ropes in another nurse, and Frank ropes in Mel (who has absolutely no weight to lose) because he can rope her into anything, and then you have to be the bad guy.

All in all, by the time of your last break around three, you’re fed up. You just need to vent to someone who you know agrees with you. So you stomp into the elevator and punch the button that you know leads to orthopedics, trying not to let the storm swirling in your throat control you. At reception, you flash your badge and get waved back toward the offices, where you easily identify Dr. Park’s as the biggest one all the way toward the back with the near floor-to-ceiling window views over the city on one side.

When you knock on the door, you hear an annoyed-sounding, “Yeah?”

But you’re not a shrinking violet who’s turned off by the thought of being an inconvenience. You slip into his office and close the door behind you as he turns to face you. You’re talking before he even has a chance to: “Hi, Dr. Park, I know you don’t know who I am, but-”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts bluntly. You get the sense that he does that a lot. “You started that new pediatric wing in the emergency department. I hired Robbins to my team so you’d have a pediatric specialist to call for all your tiny bone breaks.”

Taken aback for a second, your lips part into a smile. “I figured the board was in charge of that.”

“Please, the hospital doesn’t have the cash to hire a double-board-certified surgeon on short notice,” he scoffs. “I run my private practice out of this suite. I hired her personally; she has hospital privileges just like I do. Pediatric orthopedic surgery’s way harder; I figured if the Pitt’s gonna be bringing in more kids, I’m not gonna have my surgical residents butchering their little bodies in the name of education.”

Leaning against the door, you laugh and tease, “You’re kind of a bleeding heart, Dr. Park. I never would’ve guessed.”

He looks up at you properly. His eyes rake over your body and he smirks. “Don’t rat me out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. What brings you all the way up to the penthouse?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” you start, dropping your eyes from his for the first time in the conversation, “but I just wanted to thank you for saying something during that stupid meeting yesterday. About the weight loss thing. It was nice hearing someone, um, not think my body is inherently bad. So. Yeah. Wanted to introduce myself officially and let you know it mattered to me.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” he replies with a furrowed brow. Like he really can’t fathom it. “You have the right to feel safe in the workplace just like anyone else does. Any administrative program that makes my coworkers, my nurses, or my students uncomfortable isn’t welcome in my department.”

“I wish that was the attitude in the Pitt,” you sigh, flopping down on the loveseat opposite his desk like you own the place. He definitely doesn’t hate the way you look all sprawled out or the way you unapologetically take up the space. You groan, “The other attendings are so committed to it that my students are asking if we can participate.”

“What’d you say?”

Expression tight and unforgiving, you reply stiffly, “That they’re welcome to work toward the individual prizes on their own time, but, as a department leader, I’m not going to encourage it.”

“Very tactful.”

You shrug and admit, “I may not have phrased it that well in context.”

Amused now, actually enjoying your company, Park presses, “What did it sound like in context?”

Giving him a conspiratorial little smile that he can’t deny is heart-poundingly cute, you tell him, “Something along the lines of ‘that prissy HR bitch can’t force me to starve myself to save the hospital money and you shouldn’t be sheep’ if I’m remembering correctly.” He barks out a laugh as you quickly cover it with, “Okay, okay, I know, but, in my defense, they covered the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge with these ‘motivational’ posters that make me wanna puke. How am I supposed to enjoy my sandwich with ‘weight loss starts in the kitchen!’ staring down at me? I’m here eating in my car like I did my senior year of high school when girls like Candi fucking Cassidy called me Piggysburgh. Not even that funny.”

“Come up here and eat with me, then,” he suggests with a shrug. Like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t make your head spin from the easy, casual selflessness of the offer. “You can use the ortho lounge whenever you need a break, too. I’ll get you a badge for our floor. We’ve got bean bag chairs,” he says with waggling eyebrows like that’s the holy grail of accomplishments. “I always make sure the place is stocked with good snacks since our vending machine blows. Plus, we’ve got Roku. And foosball.”

You meet his smile with one of your own. “Sounds very luxurious.”

“It is. Private practice is magical.” After a beat of charged silence, Park looks you up and down again like you’re his dinner plans and says, “I take my lunches at one. Consider yourself invited.”

The next day, you slip away from the emergency room floor with your lunchbox and into the elevator toward ortho without a word, ditching the unspoken, usual routine of eating lunch alongside Robby and Abbot. It’s the time of day when the three of you have a sort of informal meeting about the different cases you’re dealing with, what needs to fill in the broader emergency department, which students need more support – and the results of the latest Pens game. You know perfectly well that they’ll immediately notice your absence, but, you figure, if they really want your time, they can actually schedule something instead of taking it for granted.

When you gently tap on Dr. Park’s door, you’re met with a sort-of-teasing-but-mostly-not bark, “That better be the cute Pitt Jr. doctor and not your ugly ass here again to ruin my lunch with another last-minute emergency, Peterson!”

You nudge the door open, bite your lower lip, and reply, “Cute Pitt Jr. doctor checking in.”

His eyes shoot up to his hairline and he nearly jumps out of his seat. Swallowing hard to conceal his embarrassment, he course corrects, “I didn’t think you’d actually come. Ah, hi. Hi, doctor. It’s good to see you again.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘doctor,” you laugh as he stands up and grabs his own lunchbox from one of the countless drawers behind his desk. “We can be on a first-name basis since you’re saving me from the hell of lunch with my coworkers.”

Park scoffs, reaching around you to open up his door. “I’m your coworker.”

“Yeah, but you’re cool.”

He chuckles, “I’m cool?”

“You don’t hate fat people,” you amend with a shrug. “That’s a good start for me.”

“Fair enough.” He shakes his head in annoyance at the reminder of what you’re having to deal with downstairs. Then he nods down a hall and says, “C’mon, I’ve got a spot where I like to eat.”

“It’s not the roof, is it?” Your nose wrinkles when you frown and Park catches himself memorizing it. “Jack and Robby are always trying to get me to hang out with them on the roof.”

Park cringes at the thought, leading you decidedly away from the stairs. “Yeah, I’ve had nightmares about being the poor bastard who has to put Robinavitch back together again if he ever actually jumps.”

You snicker even though you probably shouldn’t. “He won’t; it’d be too much of an inconvenience for everyone else.”

“Hey, whatever gets the job done.” He replies with a suspiciously knowing sort of sigh, “No bad reason to stay alive.” He opens up an ‘authorized personnel only’ door with his badge key. You step into a room with a warm skylight at the center of the ceiling, the sun raining down onto a small square garden beneath it, ringed by a few plush armchairs. It’s like a miniature oasis, the walls soundproof, the space insulated from the chaos of the hospital. Park explains, “They were supposed to turn this room into a whole zen meditation space thing for families waiting for their loved ones to get out of surgery, but I very kindly explained to the board that I had patients who needed care and couldn’t afford it, so that money should probably be used to start a surgical angel fund and, of course, they agreed with me.”

Sitting down in one of the inviting chairs, you give him a mischievous sideways glance. “I have a feeling it didn’t sound like that in context.”

“It may have sounded a bit more like ‘you greedy fuckers’ and ‘this disgusts me so much that I’ll move my practice to another hospital,’” he admits with a warm laugh as he opens up his lunchbox, which is an oversized borderline military thing with lots of organization. As he unpacks about a thousand containers, he glances at you doing the same and remarks, “Cute lunchbox.”

You show off the pastel bento-style compartments, arranged perfectly with fresh fruit, your favorite snacks, and a pesto pasta salad you’ve been yearning for all day. “Lunch is the only time of day I get off my feet for a solid half hour. I take it very seriously.”

“I can see that.”

You don’t miss his soft, affectionate smile as he takes in your matching containers and floral-patterned napkins. As you look at his own spread, similar in intentions but different in execution, you muse, “Looks like you’re the same way.”

“I try to be intentional when I eat,” he replies simply, pouring a homemade dressing on a colorful salad made from ingredients in his different small jars. You have to respect a man who maintains the structural integrity of a salad by mixing it at lunchtime instead of in advance.

“You must be a ‘food is fuel’ kind of guy,” you guess, gesturing to his general musculature, “given the whole ‘550 deadlift’ thing.”

He makes eye contact that strikes you as very cheeky and self-satisfied. Cute, even. “That old video still circling around downstairs?”

You nod and confirm, “They were pretty eager to have me ogle you.”

He waggles his eyebrows; you wonder if any of your coworkers have ever seen him so playful or if you’re already special to him for some reason. “Like what you saw?”

Rolling your eyes, you point your fork at him. “Don’t fish for compliments when you know you’re hot; it’s unbecoming.”

Only half-jokingly flexing his biceps for you, he snickers, “Clearly I didn’t have to fish very much.”

You reach across and smack his arm, definitely not giving his muscles a squeeze on the way. He just laughs and shakes his head and goes back to eating. The two of you are comfortable and quiet for a few minutes as you eat. Usually, you’re uncomfortable eating around others, expecting comments on your choices, whether ‘healthy’ or not. But Brendon puts you at ease, not even glancing at what you’re having as he eats.

After a few lunches together, you gather up the courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to since the HR meeting. “Why do you care so much about the weight loss campaign thing, anyway? You’re kind of, like, the exact beauty standard for men.”

“Am I?”

“We already covered fishing for compliments, remember?”

“Touché.” He laughs and shrugs and stabs into his food. “How much honesty do you want?”

“Enough to satiate my curiosity without making you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about it as long as you won’t be uncomfortable hearing it.”

Getting something of a sense of where this might be going, you nod and tell him slightly more seriously, “I won’t be. I wanna know, especially if you’re gonna be my regular lunch date.”

The word ‘date’ makes him straighten up and preen a bit. “Well, I think I’d like that.” So he takes a slow breath, debates his phrasing a minute, and ultimately barrels into it, talking fast in a way that seems maybe half nervous: “I had an eating disorder when I was younger. Orthorexia. Back then, it was diagnosed as OCD and ARFID. With the education I have now, I can recognize it for what it was.”

The honesty hits you hard. You know without it needing to be said that Park isn’t honest like this with most people. He’s decided, in the same way that you have, that the two of you are allies in some kind of way. The two people vocally against this stupid HR thing, yes, but something that matters more, too. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

With you giving him space, no judgment, just presence, he goes on, following the train of thought and memory and letting you join him like it isn’t the big deal it is, “I was a scrawny kid. Wanted to bulk up some in med school to get girls – I know, I know – and then when I went for ortho, one of my mentors mentioned it was good to build extra strength. In this field, you need endurance, grip strength, upper body strength, core stability.” He chews on the thought alongside his lunch for a moment before clarifying, “But I went about it all wrong. Crash diets with brutal full-body gym days. Cutting out anything that ‘sounded’ bad – first it was fats, then carbs, then just about everything bodies actually need. I stopped caring about how my body functioned and got obsessed with how it looked to everyone else.”

His voice goes far away for the first time, fork wavering in the air, and you watch him carefully, waiting with held breath.

Finally, he sighs sharply, “My residency took two extra years because of it. I needed serious help. If the hospital I worked at had some program that incentivized that behavior? I’d probably be fucking dead. That’s not happening in my department.” Finally, his eyes lift up to yours. You’ve never realized just how blue they are, brilliant and light. “I’m sorry it’s happening in yours. You ever need me down there, just call.”

It takes you a minute to speak, so many emotions tangled up in your gut. You start with a simple, “thank you,” but then it quickly spirals out into, “for telling me about your history, trusting me, I guess and for standing up like that in the meeting, and for being so nice to me during all this when you don’t have to, for- for-”

“Hey, stop,” he stops you as your voice speeds up and shakes. He reaches over and gives your hand one quick, firm pulse with his own. The touch lingers. His thumb on your wrist. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. After a beat, he murmurs, “You deserve better than saying thank you for the bare minimum. Everyone does. I know that I get listened to here when most people don’t. If I don’t say something, nobody will.”

And, god, is that sexy.

You just nod kind of stupidly, trying not to get lost in his eyes like some lovestruck tween.

Thankfully, Brendon’s pager goes off, shocking you both out of the intense eye contact that’s begging to end in a kiss or a confession. He drops his gaze first and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the countless feelings that tumble around in his stomach whenever you look at him because Brendon Park does not get ‘crushes’ on coworkers.

After he closes up his lunch box, Brendon stands, touches your cheek with his thumb so casually it makes you want to scream, and offers, “Lunch is on me tomorrow, alright? Let’s grab something fun instead of moping around in the hospital.”

You’re still finding it a bit hard to breathe, but you manage to reply, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

And that’s how it goes for you and Brendon.

You eat lunch together.

You talk.

You don’t tell anyone in the Emergency Department.

It’s not like you’re hiding your friendship with him since there’s nothing to be ashamed of, not really, but he’s sort of your personal oasis. Your escape from the annoying, unendingly frustrating reality of posters that read things like ‘you can have results or excuses; not both!’ and ‘the body achieves what the mind believes,’ which feels particularly insulting given the emergency room of the whole thing. Every time you top off your coffee, you have to passively wonder if Mrs. Thomas in bed eight can eat, exercise, and think her way out of the pressure sores she’s getting from overnight understaffing or Hannah in the Pitt Jr. can stop making excuses to get the result of fixing her respiratory infection.

Hannah’s parents, of course, are the kind of people who very clearly buy into the ideologies now running rampant in your hospital. You can tell in the way her father looks at you like you’re not a doctor. It’s hard to explain. That look. But you know it well. First, the assumption that you’re a nurse; you’re used to that in your colorful scrubs and being a woman in general. There are worse things than being mistaken for the most competent segment of the hospital. But this is beyond that. It’s the obvious implication that you can’t know what you’re doing because you’re fat. That you must’ve made it through med school on something besides merit because your body is proof that you can’t take care of them.

He makes it patently clear when you suggest a course of treatment that he disagrees with. You’re the one with the education, the expertise, the fellowship, the brain, but he’s the one who gets to say, “Why should we listen to some ‘doctor’ who’s going to die of a heart attack before 40? This is fucking ridiculous.”

Keeping your voice tight and professional as your eyes and cheeks begin to burn, you manage to get out, “I’ll send in another doctor for a second opinion,” before turning around and busting out of the patient’s room. You rush a few steps forward, tap Mel on the shoulder because ‘skinny’ seems to be the necessary qualification, nod back toward the room, and then escape to your office while the tears fight for dominance. Thank god you’re an attending now; crying on shift was so much more annoying before you had a door to call your own. You don’t even know for sure what you’re doing until your fingers are already on your pager.

Exactly two minutes later – one walk down the hall and a slow elevator ride – there’s a knock. He doesn’t wait for your response. Slipping inside the door like it’s a secret, Brendon takes in your tears. You’re leaning against your desk with your arms crossed over your chest.  With a soft anger in his voice, he asks quietly, “What happened?”

His voice snaps you out of it. It’s a losing battle to stop the tears, but you’re still swiping them away with your palms as you tell him, “I’m sorry; I know it’s- it’s so immature to page you during the workday for something personal when-”

Brendon’s shaking his head and closing the space between you in an instant. His arms wrap around you like they were always meant to fit there. And you finally lose it, blubbering out the whole story to him in sniffly, pathetic half-sentences. How much this whole contest is getting in your head and what your patient’s dad said and how it’s all swirling together into something ugly in your mind. Eventually you whimper into his broad chest, “Maybe I should just cave and play along. If I lost some weight, then everyone would-”

“Don’t do that,” he interrupts. Stern. Like it’s deathly serious to him. “Definitely don’t do that.”

You eye him carefully, eyes wide and shiny. The tears stop when you realize he’s looking at you with nothing but adoration on his features. “Why not?”

His cheeks go pink. You’ve never seen him blush before – not like this, not a deep, neon pink that’s blotchy on his neck above his collar. It’s almost cute, if that were a word Brendon Park was capable of embodying. Eyes trained firmly on what’s in front of him, he says, plain and simple, “Your body is perfect. Just the way it is.”

That makes your lips stop wobbling, instead curling up at the corners. You let loose a tiny, sweet giggle, press your hand to the center of his chest, and tease, “Are you hitting on me in my time of need?”

“Stating a fact,” he clarifies with a hard swallow. Unable to meet your eyes because of just how caught he feels, he goes on, “Don’t let this shit get in your head. It’s not worth it. You’re smart, you’re capable, you’re gorgeous; that big sexy brain of yours doesn’t have room for that garbage.”

You bury your forehead against his shoulder and laugh, “My big sexy brain, huh?”

“Damn straight.” He pulls away from you – reluctant – and sighs, “I should get back upstairs; I’ve got to scrub in ten.”

“Sorry again for-”

“No. Don’t apologize. I, ah, I like being there for you. Glad you caught me when I had a minute.”

“Then thanks.”

“Any time.” He does that thing where he cups your cheek again. It takes everything in you not to nuzzle into his palm. “I mean that.”

“I can tell.”

As Brendon leaves your office, you take a minute to catch your breath behind the door, knowing you need to refocus yourself.

That’s when the rage kicks into his gut.

It’s no secret that Brendon has a bit of an anger problem. Not the kind that has him flying off the handle throwing punches, but enough that he’ll call a doctor a dumbass if they compromise a patient’s care or suggest something particularly asinine. Enough that he can’t stop himself from shoving into the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge, where Robby and Jack are both on break, laughing over coffee like they aren’t part of the reason you’re in your office crying when you should be saving kids from polio or whatever's wrong with them.

The moment Brendon’s in the lounge, all eyes turn to him. He’s out of place. Hulking and determined and mean. Without saying a word, he goes around the tables and rips down the first poster he sees related to weight loss or food off the wall, ripping and crumpling it in his hand. As Robby stands to intervene or at least ask anything, Park shakes his head hard and snarls, “Violation of hospital policy. Section 241. Content of materials posted in common areas must be professional and inoffensive.”

Robby scoffs, on the verge of laughing because of how ridiculous it seems to him, “I wouldn’t exactly consider a poster for an HR campaign inoffensive.”

“Then why was I offended by it, Mike?” He goes for the next poster and gives it an equally ruthless treatment, shredding it and trashing it. “Get all this shit down. Other side of the Pitt, too, the pediatric side. People are complaining” 

Watching in shock as Brendon continues to tear down every piece of weight loss promotional content he can find, Robby warns, “Shark, you can’t just come down into my department and-”

Park whips around, pushes a balled-up poster into Robby’s chest, and interrupts, “File a complaint.”

Robby raises his eyebrows to the sky and watches Park stalk out of the lounge, continuing his reign of terror on the bulletin boards that line his way to the elevator. “Ooookay, then.”

Jack releases a harsh laugh. “Who pissed in his coffee this morning?”

When you walk past the lounge, still sniffly and puffy, Robby tilts his head to the side. “I have a feeling it’s about someone else.”

The next morning, you’re lingering near HR’s doors, taking your first break early because Donnie had sent you a text: looks like your boyfriend’s in trouble…

When you’d looked up, you saw Candi Cassidy dragging Brendon toward the administrative section of the hospital, having caught him right after the two of you shared your morning coffee and bitch session in your office. Trying and failing to be subtle, you glared in Donnie’s direction and then high-tailed it over to Human Resources, one hall’s length behind them so you wouldn’t get caught.

You can half-hear the argument behind the door. Candi’s throwing around staff intimidation, employee morale, non-compliance while Brendon’s tossing back hostile work environment, discrimination, bias. HR buzzwords fly back and forth. Voices are clipped and high. Tense. Brendon sounds firm and sure of himself, giving orders, and your brain can’t do anything useful because you’re just imagining what it would sound like to be on the receiving end of that tone in very different circumstances.

After a minute of total silence, Brendon barrels out of the door, clearly still pissed, and nearly knocks right into you. Before he can curse out whatever dumbass doctor got in his way, he realizes it’s you. And his entire being softens – his expression, his tense shoulders, his damn lungs. He lets out a long breath and mumbles, “Shit, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

You nod toward the nearest empty corner, lower your voice, and ask him seriously, “Are you in trouble for your little fit in the ED yesterday? Everyone was gossiping about you all afternoon.”

He snorts like it really is a laughable thought. “No. She doesn’t have any power over me unless I really step in it. Taking down a couple posters isn’t going to do that.”

“So what was all the yelling for?”

Brendon shrugs and averts his eyes, not sure if you’re going to be upset with him or not. “She said I can’t make a scene in front of junior doctors over a new policy I don’t agree with. I said I’d be much happier to make a scene elsewhere if that’s better.”

A smirk flicks at the edge of your cheek; Brendon’s obsessed with the way your skin wrinkles ever so slightly next to your smile. “And how exactly did you phrase that, Shark?”

Almost bashful, he admits, “I threatened to pull my hospital privileges if she doesn’t nix the program. Said I’ll move my practice; UPMC’s been trying to poach me for a decade.”

All choked up out of nowhere, you whisper, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs and searches your face. Like it’s an answer, he says, soft and sweet, “Well, you were crying yesterday.”

With your heart pounding out of your chest, you try on a half smile. “Technically that was because of a patient’s parent, not the weight loss competition.”

“It’s the whole fucking culture,” he sighs. When he runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, it loosens some of his waves. You wonder how he looks without the product in, morning-tousled and sleepy-eyed. “Candi’s all ‘it is what it is’ about this whole thing, about the ‘side effect’ of making people feel like shit. She thinks it’s worth it. For the greater good. Whatever. My practice doesn’t bring in twenty fucking percent of this place’s annual surgical revenue for the hospital to treat its doctors and nurses like they’re just another expense to lower. Makes me fucking sick.”

Your head spins at the idea, running some quick numbers from the figures that get presented every quarter. “Jesus, your practice is worth that much?”

“220 million last year across all my surgeons,” he huffs as though it’s a footnote. Then he touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing you to look at him. To focus on him. Your knees are weak under the intensity of his gaze. “That’s not the point. I want you to go on a date with me.”

“That’s the point?” You laugh. Honestly laugh. Placing your hand at the center of his chest, you chuckle, “You threatened to cost the hospital two hundred million dollars to get me to date you?”

“No, no, not- not like that,” he’s quick to assure. “I really do think this whole thing is bullshit. You know it matters to me, too. A lot. And I speak up. Always have. But you- Getting to know you has made it matter a lot more, okay? Don’t make me defend myself. Just go out with me.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m begging you.”

You let out a sharp laugh that you stifle with your hand, checking around to see if anybody’s noticed how stupid the two of you are, talking about all this out in the open. Sure that you have a moment of privacy, just to drive him crazy, you corner him and lower your gaze and press, “Tell me honestly: Do you have a fat fetish, Brendon?”

For some reason not taken aback by the question, he debates his answer for a minute, tilting his head slightly as he chews on the words. Ultimately, he decides to be honest: “I don’t think it’s a fetish to prefer big girls. And I don’t think fetishes are inherently a bad thing. I have plenty of fetishes.”

That makes your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“Go out with me,” he presses, leaning in much closer than is work appropriate, “and I’ll tell you.”

A little breathless, you insist, “But you do usually pursue plus-size girls?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I get that you’re suspicious – it makes total sense, seriously, I swear I get where you’re coming from – but it’s not any different than wanting a tall boyfriend or something, right?” It makes sense to you when Brendon reasons, “We all have our things we like about someone else’s looks when we get a crush. I think you’re hot as fuck, I’m attracted to your body, and you have a great personality in addition to that. Smarter than me by a mile, sensitive like I can never manage. You’re fucking perfect. I’d be an idiot not to ask you out when you check all my boxes.”

“Pause.” Actually, truly smiling now – flirtatious and adorable enough to make Brendon swoon at the view – you needle, “Did you just say you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, I absolutely did,” he murmurs with cheeks rapidly turning pink. “And that’s mortifying for a guy like me, don’t you think? The kind of thing that at least earns a pity date?”

Dragging out your words, doing a terrible job at pretending you aren’t going to say yes, you lilt gently, all sweet and feminine, “Give me a really good reason and I’ll think about it.”

Brendon’s rich blue eyes absolutely sparkle when he realizes he’s got you. “I’ll give you two. First of all, there’s a special art exhibit downtown this month and a little birdie told me through the grapevine that you love museums.”

You curse under your breath. “Mel, you useless romantic.”

“Secondly,” he goes on, lowering his voice. He steps toward you so that you have to back up. Into the wall. Now it’s his turn to check if you’re alone. With one hand on either side of your head, he presses you against the sheetrock, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that has your resolve to play coy evaporating. “If I like fat girls, and I’ve mostly been with them, you know what that means?”

It’s nearly a gasp as you reply, “What?”

“It means I’ll know exactly how to worship you,” he murmurs. Right against your ear. Your toes curl in your sneakers. Toying with you by dragging his finger along the base of your neck, just a slow back and forth, he muses, “Doesn’t that sound nice? A guy who isn’t a coward about grabbing your stomach? A guy who knows he wants to wear your thighs like earmuffs? A guy strong enough to throw you around the way you’ve always craved?” Hands on your waist now, not overtly sexual but already overwhelming in the most delicious way, he purrs, “Gimme a chance, gorgeous, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Biting your lip and shaking your head because you have to get rid of the absolute ache to kiss his smirk right off him in order to practice medicine for the rest of the day, you ask, “When’s your next day off?”

“I have the whole weekend.”

Your eyes brighten up. “Me too.”

“How early do you wake up on Saturdays?”

“How early is your fancy art exhibit open?”

“Ten.”

“Pick me up at 9:30.”

“I could take you to breakfast first.”

“I refuse to go out with you first thing in the morning; I’ll look like a zombie.”

“Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re such a suck-up.” When your watch buzzes, signaling that your break’s over, you kiss his cheek softly and say, “9:30 on Saturday. Don’t be late.”

“Never have been; don’t plan on starting now.”

Getting ready for your date with Brendon is actually fun. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten ready for a date and felt uncomplicated excitement about it. No nerves about your body because you already know Brendon is beyond into it. So you slip into something that highlights every curve instead of disguising any of them, a maroon silky thing with a long lace hem to show off your legs, low square neck that frames out your cleavage, and straps just thick enough to cover your nude bra. The fabric is thin enough to show the delicate line of your thong in exactly the right lighting, which you’re sure Brendon will manage to find at some point during the day.

He rings your doorbell at 9:28. Doesn’t text to say he’s outside, doesn’t honk the horn for your attention. Walks all the way up to your porch to greet you like an adult. And when you open the door, his absolutely floored expression has you rocketing up to cloud nine on a dopamine rush. Brendon reaches out and touches your waist as he steps just inside the doorway. He revels in every inch of you. You become acutely aware that the two of you aren’t at the hospital anymore with the way his eyes are slow, greedy, savoring. He’s checked you out at PTMC before, for sure, but now he’s basically feeling you up with those baby blues as he whistles low, “Wow. Seriously, wow.”

You smack him on the chest as your cheeks heat up, not used to the obvious desire written all over him. When your hand hits the luxurious fabric, you actually notice his outfit instead of the way he’s devouring yours. In a camel-colored knit polo – you definitely don’t miss the subtle sheen of the Versace logo on the pocket in nearly the same color as the fabric – tucked into slightly high light tan slacks, all under a dark brown coat, he looks modern, stylish, and absolutely positively downright edible. His hair’s moussed instead of gelled, slightly wavy and fluffy, and he’s freshly shaved instead of late-night scruffy.

Dragging your hand down the center of his chest, you shake your head and smile. “Who knew the Shark had actual style?”

He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers. With a too-charming smirk, he murmurs, “Don’t tell anybody, alright? Nobody would be scared of me at the hospital if they knew I’m the kind of guy who drops a grand on a shirt.”

Grabbing your purse and shrugging on your black leather jacket before stepping out the door after him, you reason, “You put in the time and effort to make the big bucks; you have every right to spend it however you want.”

“I’m glad you think that way,” he replies as he guides you half a block down to his parking spot, “because this is my car, and I’m really hoping you don’t think that makes me an asshole.”

“Yeah, it definitely makes you an asshole,” you breathe as you drag your finger along the freshly-shined blue GranCabrio. “This is one slutty car, Dr. Park.”

He laughs – loud and honest like he rarely can during work hours – and opens up the side door for you. “Does that mean you like it?”

“Definitely.” You grin as you slide onto the rich leather interior. “As soon as it’s warm enough, you have to put the top down and take me somewhere you can drive fast.”

“Yeah?” As he settles into the seat next to you, Brendon puts one hand firmly on your thigh as he pulls the car out into the Pittsburgh traffic. With his fingers driving you clinically insane just sitting there on your dress, he flashes you a hunky smile and teases, “Planning on keeping me around that long?”

“Maybe if you behave yourself today.”

“Oh, baby, I never behave myself when I’m off the clock.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the drive there is easy between you, and that same energy carries on as he whisks you through the museum’s entrance and straight inside. He’d already bought the tickets online and added them to his phone wallet, so you don’t even get a moment of feigning like you would’ve paid for yourself. Slick bastard. Brendon just makes every moment so easy to fall into. Not that you’d expected the date to be hard, but you’d figured there would be some kind of adjustment period going from lunches and coffee breaks to a full-on date out in the real world, no pagers or coworkers to separate you.

Instead, it’s not long before you’re instinctively threading your fingers with his and dragging him from exhibit to exhibit. You clearly know a hell of a lot more about art than he does – it’s obvious when every nod of his comes with his eyes drifting over your body – but he likes listening to you talk about literally anything you want to talk about. Just having your voice all to himself is enough to keep him over the moon among the stars.

When you reach the special exhibit – portraits by Viktor Lyapkalo – Brendon takes the time to slow down and read all the plaques and descriptions alongside listening to you talk. The way he engages with the new material makes you wonder if maybe he’s actually just been to this museum enough times that he’s got all the other areas committed to memory, preferring to treat you like the art.

“I love the way he paints women,” you sigh wistfully as you stand in front of a particularly lovely nude: Evening, from 2007. Brendon stands squarely behind you, arms casually around you. Admiring the work up close, you go on, “He notices all the things that make bodies beautiful. The light and shadow on the curves, refusing to make them smooth and pristine, like every single dimple is worth painting for the rest of time to see. They’re all so…lush. Succulent. Like you’d want to reach inside the scene and take a big bite and the juice would run down your chin like a summer plum.”

“You’re describing yourself there, gorgeous,” he murmurs in your ear from behind. Breath hot. Gravelly. Wanting. His hands roam over your waist and hips and stomach, way too slow and intimate for how profoundly in public you are. But you’ve never had a man so openly desire you like this, so you can’t help melting against his chest. Yearning for more. For half a second, he palms your ass, and then he nips your ear to say, “Never wanted to take a bite of anything so badly.”

Before he can fluster you too much, get the upper hand so you’re melting into a puddle on the museum floor, you turn around and kiss him. He makes the cutest surprised sound at the base of his throat like he hadn’t expected you to match his energy. But then you tangle your fingers in his hair. You push up onto your toes. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back. Hard. Commanding. Pieces of his control slipping away with every shared breath. His hands are on your waist and your lower back, desperate to touch more, and you can feel the restraint it’s taking him not to bend you over the bench in front of the art and ruin you.

When you accidentally moan into Brendon’s mouth, a security guard in the nearby archway clears his throat. You stifle a giggle and pull back from him. You’re about to apologize, but he’s faster. Brendon’s breath is hot against your ear as he croons, “Can I take you back to my place now or do I have to look at the rest of these paintings when all I can think about is seeing what’s under this dress?”

With a coy smile, you give him one more quick kiss and say, “Bring me back next weekend so I can finish reading everything and we can leave right now.”

His grin is wicked. “You have yourself a deal, doctor.”

You’re all over him the moment you’re in his bedroom, barely taking a second to absorb the expectedly organized and minimalist space, outfitted only with luxurious staples in cream and navy and no needless clutter. Your dress is somewhere on the staircase up to the second floor, discarded haphazardly as Brendon manhandled you through the space, strong enough to basically carry you any time you lose your footing in the dizzying intensity of his mouth on yours.

By the time you’ve pushed through the bedroom door, you’ve yanked off his (extremely soft) polo and gone for his belt next. As you move, you’re shoving him toward his bed with an eagerness that maybe borders on desperation. It’s been a long time and he’s hot as fuck; god forbid. Trying to suppress his grin as he pulls out of the kiss, Brendon orders, “Don’t rush me, baby. We have all the time in the world.”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you teasingly groan at him, “That wasn’t your attitude half an hour ago.”

He reasons, “Half an hour ago there were several miles between you and my bedroom.”

He steps – ever so casually – out of his slacks, revealing extremely form fitting gray boxer briefs, a drop of precum darkening the front, highlighting the delicious outline of his cock. Not letting you drool too much, those precise hands of his go to your bra clasp, unhooking it with the ease of, well, a surgeon. Enjoying the gentle hitch of your breath when his eyes devour you, he kisses over your pulse point just to feel it quicken beneath his attention. When he’s satisfied with the way your toes curl into the plush rug beneath your feet, he finally loops his thumbs beneath the hips of your underwear.

“But now I’ve got you all to myself-” Brendon slides your underwear down your legs, guides you out of them, and pushes you backwards “-in my bedroom-” your knees hit the bed and you fold underneath his weight, staring up at him as he cages you between his elbows “-at my mercy. No need to rush.”

You raise up an eyebrow and chase him for a kiss that he dodges just to drive you up the wall. Dragging your first finger along his bicep, his trap, his throat, his chest, you muse, “At your mercy, huh?”

He nods with a satisfied, painfully charming smirk. “That’s right.”

Your voice drips with lust. He’s never heard it darken like that and it’s definitely becoming a problem for his patience. “Gonna do whatever you want to me?”

“Yup, absolutely.”

You huff a bit and tut, “Well, you sure are just hovering over my naked body for someone with such big plans.”

He grins and shifts his weight back so he can properly look at you. “What did I just say about rushing?”

You sit up and kiss him hard just because you’re allowed to now. You feel his resolve weaken as you palm the borderline offensive ridge of his thick, hard cock. Your ego tingles a bit at the knowledge that, even if he’s putting on a show of waiting, you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you. “God forbid I want you to make good on all that feeling me up at the museum.”

“Fine, you wanna be in charge so bad?” All dramatic, Brendon flops onto his back next to you and taps his lips. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

You snort out a less-than-sexy laugh, but he finds it just as cute as every other sound you make. “Jesus, Bren, did you seriously just say that?”

“I’m losing my ability to form coherent sentences just thinking about it, frankly,” he teases. You’ve never noticed how much he glows when he’s happy. Then he takes your hand and tugs you toward him, on your knees. “How about ‘come sit on my face right the fuck now’? That work better for you?”

Looking down at his eager expression, nervous and not wanting to disappoint, you bite your lip and admit, “I’ve never done that before.”

It’s a personal offense to him. He props himself up on his elbows as his lips part in true surprise. “Seriously?”

You shrug modestly. “Too nervous to hurt someone.”

“Then you’ve been with weak men,” he says, deathly serious. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze and assures you, completely sincere, “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure it’s so fucking good for you. Give me two minutes of trust and I swear you’re gonna love it.”

Well, you figure, he’s never done you wrong with his promises before. So you swing one leg over his chest and hover suspiciously a few inches above his head. His mouth waters when he can finally see the hint of your pussy beyond your soft, inviting mons.

Keeping his voice so sweet and soothing, he adds, “If it doesn’t feel good or if you’re uncomfortable or anything, just tap me and get right off. You’re in charge.”.3.1 

Still skeptical of the whole affair, you say, “I know you know already, okay? But, like, I’m not small, Brendon, I could seriously break your jaw or something if I slip out of place.”

Craning his neck to try to get to your pussy, he growls, impatient and starving, “Thankfully I know a few good maxillofacial surgeons.”

“Okay, but what if I-”

Brendon rolls his eyes and yanks you down by the hips so your cunt envelopes his mouth. You let out a yelp and grab his headboard to get your balance. Finally, his eyes roll shut with pleasure as your warm, thick thighs on the side of his head muffle any sounds but your pretty moans. He mutters, dreamy and rough, into your pussy, “That’s better.”

You can’t help giggling as you put your other hand in Brendon’s hair for support, grateful to be with someone who makes you feel so comfortable and safe even at the edge of your comfort zone. With Brendon reverently holding your hips, stroking your stretch marks with his thumbs, keeping you grounded on his precise tongue, it only takes you a minute to find the pressure and rhythm that feels comfortable, where you can get out of your head and trust Brendon and your own legs.

Then it finally starts to get good.

Brendon’s cock strains against his boxer briefs when you finally let out that first real, uninhibited moan he’s been craving as long as he’s known you. It’s a high-pitched, surprised thing that rings around his ears like a bell, the sound slightly dampened by your thighs just the way he wanted. He memorizes the exact motion he did with his tongue to work that sound out and repeats. Again. Again. Your breaths get faster. Shorter.

It takes real, actual concentration for Brendon to stop himself from creaming his shorts when he realizes you’re going to cum on his face. Your thighs start to tremble as you resist it at first, reluctant to lose control in such a vulnerable position. But then Brendon’s strong fingers dig into the plump fat off your ass – hard.

Possessive.

The sudden moment of eye-rolling-good pain drops you completely into your body, all doubts and insecurities abandoned, and you snap. Your fingernails dig into Brendon’s scalp as you grip his hair to stay in the moment. Pleasure skyrockets up your spine in lightning strikes. Timed with the pulses of your cunt, begging to be filled by him. 

When it’s finished rolling through you, lungs heaving, you slowly flop off of Brendon and throw your forearm over your face to catch your breath. You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Sweat shines on your hairline and your legs still feel like jelly as Brendon turns onto his side to gaze at you with so much adoration it’s overwhelming.

Pupils blown wide and drunken on your body, Brendon sighs out happily, “Fuck, you’ve got no idea how good you taste.”

“Come here, then,” you giggle, so light and airy with delight that everything has become simple. You kiss him with a greedy tongue and let your own mild tartness linger on your tastebuds. When you pull back, he looks positively dumb. Eyes empty. Nothing but lust in his pretty blues. “Yeah, I do taste pretty good, huh? Bet your cock would like a taste.”

He shakes his head and laughs as he shifts onto his knees above you. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?”

You spread your legs and bat your eyes and savor just how devoted he looks, like a puppy sitting pretty for its favorite treats. “What is?”

“Being so fucking sexy without even thinking about it,” he breathes, sounding a little shaky as he lines up the head of his cock with your orgasm-slick pussy. “Fuck.”

You roll your eyes even as your cheeks burn. “As if you don’t have the exact same gift.”

“No, I have to think about it a lot. I try. You’re just floating around being this damn goddess like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world.”

“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Bren, you’re already about to fuck me.”

He frowns a bit and stills, not thrusting into you just yet. “You know I’m not complimenting you just to butter you up, right?” At the split second of partial disbelief on your face, he shakes his head and leans down and kisses you hard. You’ve never seen his expression so stern. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. After that first time you showed up to my office, I couldn’t stop talking about you to everyone. It was like word vomit.”

“Now that makes me feel sexy.”

“Shut up; I’m not always good with the word stuff.” He wrinkles his brows to try to come up with the right words. “Every single time I see you, my brain stops working. Everything short circuits. Because I just- I can’t even imagine deserving to be in the same room as you, much less between these perfect goddamn legs.” He shifts upward again, hands rubbing up your thighs as he shakes his head wistfully. “Grabbing these gorgeous hips and getting to play with your amazing tits.” His hands follow his words, toying with your nipples until you’re gasping and grinning. “Looking into your beautiful eyes while I get to fuck you.”

As tears sting at your eyes, you turn your head and blink hard, whimpering out nothing but an innocent, “Brendon.”

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he urges as he kisses you. Slowly, so slowly, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes his cock into you. When your lips part softly in pleasure at the way he fills you, Brendon murmurs against your pulse in between kisses to your skin? “There’s my girl. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.”

And he does.

All the while holding you and groaning sweetness into your ears, your lips, your neck, Brendon fucks you like he’s been designed for your pleasure. He takes his time. He pays attention. When he thrusts just right, making you moan his name loud and unafraid as the head of his cock crooks against your g-spot, he keeps it exactly like that and tucks the sound away in a proud little part of his brain.

With how talkative you are, he’d expected you to be vocal in bed. But you’re just loud. And that’s plenty clear for him. So he does the talking, swearing and praising in equal measure. There’s no performative dirty talk from him, nothing that sounds like it’s straight out of a cheesy porno. It’s just you feel amazing, I’m so lucky I get to have you, fuck, this is perfect. You’re melting under him and you barely notice him snaking one hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit until you’re already on the verge of cumming again, him whispering, “there you go, that’s it” right up against your ear in a way that has your toes curling, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blade and his arm, your breaths teetering on the edge of gasps.

“That’s- When you’re gripping me like that, I can’t-” Brendon’s barely able to string words together as your second orgasm threatens, taken well and truly aback by how good you feel wrapped around him when you’ve completely let go of control and fear and shame. When you’re just his and he’s yours and it really can be just that simple. His balls are already tightening up when he manages to rasp out, “Can I-”

You’re nodding into his shoulder before the question’s even finished, shuddering out a shaky and honest, “Please. Let’s- Together, please.”

And you detonate. Both of you. Locked to one another. You can’t bear to close your eyes and risk missing a single moment of Brendon Park’s soft, rapturous expression when his cum spills inside of you. His borderline angelic blue eyes meet yours – meet them, like a handshake between long-lost friends, a meeting that turns to a clasped hug, reluctant to let go – and you’re filled with his heat and he’s founded by having you.

Brendon’s lips kiss the tender sweat from your forehead as he catches his breath. There’s a tiny, secret little smile that exists only for you on his rough features. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Struggling to stifle a smile that’s yearning to split you open, you nip a quick kiss onto his lips and half-giggle, “You’ve mentioned that.”

“And I’m gonna keep mentioning it,” he replies, warm and wonderful as winter cider, “as long as you’ll have me.”

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

It’s not that she’s skinny. Not really. Obviously, in health care, you mainly work with thin people; the field is fatphobic as hell, even the doctors who are doing their best not to be.

Still a veeeery long way to go 🙈

You have maybe two other plus-size coworkers you know, but none in the Pitt. People question your presence all the time in silent moments (and sometimes verbal ones). So it’s not that she’s skinny. But the green smoothie clutched in her manicured hand, the office siren aesthetic designed to show off her itty-bitty waist, the expensive blonde highlights, and the bleached smile raise alarm bells in your brain. And, let’s be honest: Her name is Candice, but she goes by Candi. It’s difficult for you to imagine a more ironic, biting choice than that. You shrink in your seat. Objectively, you know that nobody’s staring at you, but it feels like it. In a room where almost everyone’s below 200 pounds, you’re naked and Candi’s just grown devil horns to shine a spotlight on your stretch marks and rolls.

I can picture her so clearly

Then someone else’s voice rises from the silence. No raised hand. Clear and strong, a man you don’t recognize in dark scrubs and a surgical cap barks out, “This is a terrible program and you should can the whole concept before it crashes and burns.”

Say it louder for the people in the back!!

“Do you have any idea how damaging programs like this are to the actual wellness of your employees?” His steady voice barely conceals rage. You sit up straighter to look at him, surprised to see a buff tall guy on the same page as you. “Let’s start with the obvious: You have no idea how many staff members may have eating disorder histories or are currently struggling with body dysmorphia or the countless conditions that make weight loss impossible or damaging. That alone should be enough to stop this.”

How he calls out the hypocrisy and flaws is very hot and sexy 🙂‍↕️

She scoffs, “Like I said, nobody is required to participate.” “That doesn’t change how you’re creating an outright dangerous environment for them,” he argues. No hesitation or wavering in his voice. “Then let’s talk about how hard it is for overweight patients – who make up the large majority of Americans, let’s keep in mind – to trust their doctors in the first place. They already put off care out of fear and receive worse care because of their doctors’ biases; how much worse do you think it’s gonna be if we have management reinforcing those biases? It’s disgusting and I’m not going to endorse it.”

Preach

“Dr. Park,” she replies, all soft and condescending, “just give it a chance. I promise we have the best intentions here.” “Nope, absolutely not. My practice will not be participating,” he cuts back without any sympathy in his voice. Is that a wet patch in your panties? “In fact, I’m gonna personally buy them all prizes for not doing this and for using their brain power to provide the quality patient care they’re paid to focus on instead of wasting their time with vain competitions that value the hospital’s bottom line over the important work we actually do. Maybe we’ll finish with a pizza party.” Standing up and collecting his things, he concludes by telling her, “My subordinates’ bodies aren’t my business; their skills are. Let’s not pretend this is about anything other than lowering the hospital’s insurance costs so the board can maximize profits.”

You’re trying not to listen to their back-and-forth – Robby talking about his ‘beer gut,’ Jack mentioning his ‘dad bod’ – when Robby nudges you with his elbow and asks, “You gonna get your residents and nurses involved with this thing? I mean, it should be especially important to you, right? Childhood obesity rates rising and everything.” “Which is something I’m not particularly concerned about working in emergency medicine,” you reply, voice shorter than you’d meant. “Last time I checked, being fat doesn’t make kids break their arms, smack their heads, or develop infections.”

For real!

His eyebrows go up, a little surprised at your hard pushback. You’re usually soft and sweet and chatty, exactly the doctor you want helping your baby get better, but he’s clearly hit a sore spot. “I guess that would be a hard no.”

No shit Sherlock

You can tell he doesn’t do it on purpose, but the way his eyes flick down to your hips tells you everything you need to know about what he’s thinking. Spending your life in this body, you can tell what people mean beneath what they’re saying. So you give a tight smile and say, “Well, I’m perfectly fine with mine the way it is. Hope you have fun hating yours.”

Amen 👏🏻

As you push past them and beeline toward the lockers so you can escape to your car as soon as possible, you hear Robby turn to Abbot and ask, “What the hell was that? Did I say something?”Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, “Brother, she’s the only bigger girl on our whole floor. Maybe try being more sensitive than an estranged father at custody trade-off next time.”

Lol he's got a point

“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.” “Because you’re bad with women,” Jack says with a clap to Robby’s shoulder.

Lmao

Just as you start to think he might be a safe space for you in all of this, he play-boxes Robby’s chest and says, “Anyway, night shift’s absolutely gonna crush day shift on this thing. Shen’s been asking me to show him the ropes at the gym for months and Ellis used to box. We can cut weight no problem.”

Of course the veteran that gets shot at in his freetime is up for this lol

Pretty soon after coming into the Pitt Jr. the next morning (as your department has come to be called), you take advantage of a lull in the flow to interrogate two of your residents.

The cutest name 😍

Your brows wrinkle. “Why haven’t I met him? I’ve been here a year now.” He scoffs and offers, “Because you’re insanely lucky?”

Well debatable 🤭👀

You nod slowly but ask, “Okay, so he’s an ortho jock, but what about, like, as a person?” “I’m not sure he even is one,” Frank replies, his expression completely serious. “The only thing I know about him is that he can squat and bench 450.” From behind him, revealing that he’s been listening, Donnie adds, “Don’t forget the 550 deadlift.”

He really seems like a big mystery, that lifts lol

“Yeah, I’m sure the attention he was swimming in after had nothing to do with it,” Frank replies, all cynical. “They put it on the hospital’s Twitter and it went kind of viral. That was a tough season for any of us guys trying to date coworkers.”

Hahaha that cracked me up

Mel nudges him on the shoulder. “You’re just as handsome as Dr. Park.”

🥹🥰🥹🥰

“But I definitely can’t lift the girls I date over my head.” She protests, “That’s not what girls want!”

I mean, maybe not all girls 🤷🏻‍♀️

Watching the video of Park’s deadlift on Donnie’s outstretched phone, sweat dripping down his chest and a driven expression on his face, you muse breathily, “It’s not not what girls want.” You lean in closer to the video and observe, “Wow, those are tiny shorts.”

Exactly 🤭🙂‍↕️

And then he manages to get Donnie into the idea in a ‘get rid of our dad bods’ way, which has you suppressing groans, and then Donnie ropes in another nurse, and Frank ropes in Mel (who has absolutely no weight to lose) because he can rope her into anything, and then you have to be the bad guy.

Someone's gonna be the bad guy and in this case i happily would take on that role

“Please, the hospital doesn’t have the cash to hire a double-board-certified surgeon on short notice,” he scoffs. “I run my private practice out of this suite. I hired her personally; she has hospital privileges just like I do. Pediatric orthopedic surgery’s way harder; I figured if the Pitt’s gonna be bringing in more kids, I’m not gonna have my surgical residents butchering their little bodies in the name of education.”

Thats very unexpectedly sweet

Leaning against the door, you laugh and tease, “You’re kind of a bleeding heart, Dr. Park. I never would’ve guessed.” He looks up at you properly. His eyes rake over your body and he smirks. “Don’t rat me out.”

🤭🤭🤭

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” you start, dropping your eyes from his for the first time in the conversation, “but I just wanted to thank you for saying something during that stupid meeting yesterday. About the weight loss thing. It was nice hearing someone, um, not think my body is inherently bad. So. Yeah. Wanted to introduce myself officially and let you know it mattered to me.” “That’s not embarrassing,” he replies with a furrowed brow. Like he really can’t fathom it. “You have the right to feel safe in the workplace just like anyone else does. Any administrative program that makes my coworkers, my nurses, or my students uncomfortable isn’t welcome in my department.”

Wow,.he really is the gift that keeps on giving 😍

Expression tight and unforgiving, you reply stiffly, “That they’re welcome to work toward the individual prizes on their own time, but, as a department leader, I’m not going to encourage it.” “Very tactful.”

For real

Giving him a conspiratorial little smile that he can’t deny is heart-poundingly cute, you tell him, “Something along the lines of ‘that prissy HR bitch can’t force me to starve myself to save the hospital money and you shouldn’t be sheep’ if I’m remembering correctly.” He barks out a laugh as you quickly cover it with, “Okay, okay, I know, but, in my defense, they covered the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge with these ‘motivational’ posters that make me wanna puke. How am I supposed to enjoy my sandwich with ‘weight loss starts in the kitchen!’ staring down at me? I’m here eating in my car like I did my senior year of high school when girls like Candi fucking Cassidy called me Piggysburgh. Not even that funny.”

Well deserved chosen words🤭

“Come up here and eat with me, then,” he suggests with a shrug. Like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t make your head spin from the easy, casual selflessness of the offer. “You can use the ortho lounge whenever you need a break, too. I’ll get you a badge for our floor. We’ve got bean bag chairs,” he says with waggling eyebrows like that’s the holy grail of accomplishments. “I always make sure the place is stocked with good snacks since our vending machine blows. Plus, we’ve got Roku. And foosball."

What an offer

The next day, you slip away from the emergency room floor with your lunchbox and into the elevator toward ortho without a word, ditching the unspoken, usual routine of eating lunch alongside Robby and Abbot. It’s the time of day when the three of you have a sort of informal meeting about the different cases you’re dealing with, what needs to fill in the broader emergency department, which students need more support – and the results of the latest Pens game. You know perfectly well that they’ll immediately notice your absence, but, you figure, if they really want your time, they can actually schedule something instead of taking it for granted.

Good for her 👏🏻

When you gently tap on Dr. Park’s door, you’re met with a sort-of-teasing-but-mostly-not bark, “That better be the cute Pitt Jr. doctor and not your ugly ass here again to ruin my lunch with another last-minute emergency, Peterson!”

What a welcome 🤭

Park scoffs, reaching around you to open up his door. “I’m your coworker.” “Yeah, but you’re cool.” He chuckles, “I’m cool?” “You don’t hate fat people,” you amend with a shrug. “That’s a good start for me.”

The bar is truly that low

“It’s not the roof, is it?” Your nose wrinkles when you frown and Park catches himself memorizing it. “Jack and Robby are always trying to get me to hang out with them on the roof.” Park cringes at the thought, leading you decidedly away from the stairs. “Yeah, I’ve had nightmares about being the poor bastard who has to put Robinavitch back together again if he ever actually jumps.”

Lol

“Hey, whatever gets the job done.” He replies with a suspiciously knowing sort of sigh, “No bad reason to stay alive.” He opens up an ‘authorized personnel only’ door with his badge key. You step into a room with a warm skylight at the center of the ceiling, the sun raining down onto a small square garden beneath it, ringed by a few plush armchairs. It’s like a miniature oasis, the walls soundproof, the space insulated from the chaos of the hospital. Park explains, “They were supposed to turn this room into a whole zen meditation space thing for families waiting for their loved ones to get out of surgery, but I very kindly explained to the board that I had patients who needed care and couldn’t afford it, so that money should probably be used to start a surgical angel fund and, of course, they agreed with me.”

He really has a lot of pull

“It may have sounded a bit more like ‘you greedy fuckers’ and ‘this disgusts me so much that I’ll move my practice to another hospital,’” he admits with a warm laugh as he opens up his lunchbox, which is an oversized borderline military thing with lots of organization. As he unpacks about a thousand containers, he glances at you doing the same and remarks, “Cute lunchbox.” You show off the pastel bento-style compartments, arranged perfectly with fresh fruit, your favorite snacks, and a pesto pasta salad you’ve been yearning for all day. “Lunch is the only time of day I get off my feet for a solid half hour. I take it very seriously.” “I try to be intentional when I eat,” he replies simply, pouring a homemade dressing on a colorful salad made from ingredients in his different small jars. You have to respect a man who maintains the structural integrity of a salad by mixing it at lunchtime instead of in advance.

Not them having matching very curated lunches 😍

You nod and confirm, “They were pretty eager to have me ogle you.” He waggles his eyebrows; you wonder if any of your coworkers have ever seen him so playful or if you’re already special to him for some reason. “Like what you saw?” “We already covered fishing for compliments, remember?” “Touché.” He laughs and shrugs and stabs into his food.

🤭🤭🤭

“How much honesty do you want?” “Enough to satiate my curiosity without making you uncomfortable.”

What a great answer!

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about it as long as you won’t be uncomfortable hearing it.” Getting something of a sense of where this might be going, you nod and tell him slightly more seriously, “I won’t be. I wanna know, especially if you’re gonna be my regular lunch date.”

Very good answer

The word ‘date’ makes him straighten up and preen a bit. “Well, I think I’d like that.” So he takes a slow breath, debates his phrasing a minute, and ultimately barrels into it, talking fast in a way that seems maybe half nervous: “I had an eating disorder when I was younger. Orthorexia. Back then, it was diagnosed as OCD and ARFID. With the education I have now, I can recognize it for what it was.”

Wow

The honesty hits you hard. You know without it needing to be said that Park isn’t honest like this with most people. He’s decided, in the same way that you have, that the two of you are allies in some kind of way. The two people vocally against this stupid HR thing, yes, but something that matters more, too. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

Wow thats a big thing to share something like that!

With you giving him space, no judgment, just presence, he goes on, following the train of thought and memory and letting you join him like it isn’t the big deal it is, “I was a scrawny kid. Wanted to bulk up some in med school to get girls – I know, I know – and then when I went for ortho, one of my mentors mentioned it was good to build extra strength. In this field, you need endurance, grip strength, upper body strength, core stability.” He chews on the thought alongside his lunch for a moment before clarifying, “But I went about it all wrong. Crash diets with brutal full-body gym days. Cutting out anything that ‘sounded’ bad – first it was fats, then carbs, then just about everything bodies actually need. I stopped caring about how my body functioned and got obsessed with how it looked to everyone else.” Finally, he sighs sharply, “My residency took two extra years because of it. I needed serious help. If the hospital I worked at had some program that incentivized that behavior? I’d probably be fucking dead. That’s not happening in my department.” Finally, his eyes lift up to yours. You’ve never realized just how blue they are, brilliant and light. “I’m sorry it’s happening in yours. You ever need me down there, just call.”

Him opening up like that is very meaningful 🥹

It takes you a minute to speak, so many emotions tangled up in your gut. You start with a simple, “thank you,” but then it quickly spirals out into, “for telling me about your history, trusting me, I guess and for standing up like that in the meeting, and for being so nice to me during all this when you don’t have to, for- for-”

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“Hey, stop,” he stops you as your voice speeds up and shakes. He reaches over and gives your hand one quick, firm pulse with his own. The touch lingers. His thumb on your wrist. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. After a beat, he murmurs, “You deserve better than saying thank you for the bare minimum. Everyone does. I know that I get listened to here when most people don’t. If I don’t say something, nobody will.” And, god, is that sexy.

For real 😮‍💨🤤

And that’s how it goes for you and Brendon.You eat lunch together.You talk.You don’t tell anyone in the Emergency Department.

Let them have their private lunches!

Hannah’s parents, of course, are the kind of people who very clearly buy into the ideologies now running rampant in your hospital. You can tell in the way her father looks at you like you’re not a doctor. It’s hard to explain. That look. But you know it well. First, the assumption that you’re a nurse; you’re used to that in your colorful scrubs and being a woman in general. There are worse things than being mistaken for the most competent segment of the hospital. But this is beyond that. It’s the obvious implication that you can’t know what you’re doing because you’re fat. That you must’ve made it through med school on something besides merit because your body is proof that you can’t take care of them.

Yikes 🫣

Keeping your voice tight and professional as your eyes and cheeks begin to burn, you manage to get out, “I’ll send in another doctor for a second opinion,” before turning around and busting out of the patient’s room. You rush a few steps forward, tap Mel on the shoulder because ‘skinny’ seems to be the necessary qualification, nod back toward the room, and then escape to your office while the tears fight for dominance. Thank god you’re an attending now; crying on shift was so much more annoying before you had a door to call your own. You don’t even know for sure what you’re doing until your fingers are already on your pager.

Thats so fucked up

Exactly two minutes later – one walk down the hall and a slow elevator ride – there’s a knock. He doesn’t wait for your response. Slipping inside the door like it’s a secret, Brendon takes in your tears. You’re leaning against your desk with your arms crossed over your chest.  With a soft anger in his voice, he asks quietly, “What happened?” His voice snaps you out of it. It’s a losing battle to stop the tears, but you’re still swiping them away with your palms as you tell him, “I’m sorry; I know it’s- it’s so immature to page you during the workday for something personal when-” Brendon’s shaking his head and closing the space between you in an instant. His arms wrap around you like they were always meant to fit there. And you finally lose it, blubbering out the whole story to him in sniffly, pathetic half-sentences. How much this whole contest is getting in your head and what your patient’s dad said and how it’s all swirling together into something ugly in your mind.

🥺🥺🥺

Eventually you whimper into his broad chest, “Maybe I should just cave and play along. If I lost some weight, then everyone would-” “Don’t do that,” he interrupts. Stern. Like it’s deathly serious to him. “Definitely don’t do that.”

He means business

His cheeks go pink. You’ve never seen him blush before – not like this, not a deep, neon pink that’s blotchy on his neck above his collar. It’s almost cute, if that were a word Brendon Park was capable of embodying. Eyes trained firmly on what’s in front of him, he says, plain and simple, “Your body is perfect. Just the way it is.”

Is someone blushing? 🤭👀

That makes your lips stop wobbling, instead curling up at the corners. You let loose a tiny, sweet giggle, press your hand to the center of his chest, and tease, “Are you hitting on me in my time of need?” “Stating a fact,” he clarifies with a hard swallow. Unable to meet your eyes because of just how caught he feels, he goes on, “Don’t let this shit get in your head. It’s not worth it. You’re smart, you’re capable, you’re gorgeous; that big sexy brain of yours doesn’t have room for that garbage.”

Period 🙂‍↕️

“No. Don’t apologize. I, ah, I like being there for you. Glad you caught me when I had a minute.” “Then thanks.” “Any time.” He does that thing where he cups your cheek again. It takes everything in you not to nuzzle into his palm. “I mean that.”

He will come for her no matter what

It’s no secret that Brendon has a bit of an anger problem. Not the kind that has him flying off the handle throwing punches, but enough that he’ll call a doctor a dumbass if they compromise a patient’s care or suggest something particularly asinine. Enough that he can’t stop himself from shoving into the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge, where Robby and Jack are both on break, laughing over coffee like they aren’t part of the reason you’re in your office crying when you should be saving kids from polio or whatever's wrong with them.

Oh boy this is gonna be good👀

The moment Brendon’s in the lounge, all eyes turn to him. He’s out of place. Hulking and determined and mean. Without saying a word, he goes around the tables and rips down the first poster he sees related to weight loss or food off the wall, ripping and crumpling it in his hand. As Robby stands to intervene or at least ask anything, Park shakes his head hard and snarls, “Violation of hospital policy. Section 241. Content of materials posted in common areas must be professional and inoffensive.” Robby scoffs, on the verge of laughing because of how ridiculous it seems to him, “I wouldn’t exactly consider a poster for an HR campaign inoffensive.” “Then why was I offended by it, Mike?”

Touché

He goes for the next poster and gives it an equally ruthless treatment, shredding it and trashing it. “Get all this shit down. Other side of the Pitt, too, the pediatric side. People are complaining” Watching in shock as Brendon continues to tear down every piece of weight loss promotional content he can find, Robby warns, “Shark, you can’t just come down into my department and-” Park whips around, pushes a balled-up poster into Robby’s chest, and interrupts, “File a complaint.”

Iconic answer lol

When you walk past the lounge, still sniffly and puffy, Robby tilts his head to the side. “I have a feeling it’s about someone else.”

No shit Sherlock

The next morning, you’re lingering near HR’s doors, taking your first break early because Donnie had sent you a text: looks like your boyfriend’s in trouble…

Oh I know Donnie was grinning typing that message 🤭

He snorts like it really is a laughable thought. “No. She doesn’t have any power over me unless I really step in it. Taking down a couple posters isn’t going to do that.” “So what was all the yelling for?” Brendon shrugs and averts his eyes, not sure if you’re going to be upset with him or not. “She said I can’t make a scene in front of junior doctors over a new policy I don’t agree with. I said I’d be much happier to make a scene elsewhere if that’s better.”

Haha I bet he would lol

A smirk flicks at the edge of your cheek; Brendon’s obsessed with the way your skin wrinkles ever so slightly next to your smile. “And how exactly did you phrase that, Shark?” Almost bashful, he admits, “I threatened to pull my hospital privileges if she doesn’t nix the program. Said I’ll move my practice; UPMC’s been trying to poach me for a decade.”

Wow somone really is committed

All choked up out of nowhere, you whisper, “You didn’t have to do that.” He shrugs and searches your face. Like it’s an answer, he says, soft and sweet, “Well, you were crying yesterday.”

Thats the logical answer for him to that situation obviously

“It’s the whole fucking culture,” he sighs. When he runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, it loosens some of his waves. You wonder how he looks without the product in, morning-tousled and sleepy-eyed. “Candi’s all ‘it is what it is’ about this whole thing, about the ‘side effect’ of making people feel like shit. She thinks it’s worth it. For the greater good. Whatever. My practice doesn’t bring in twenty fucking percent of this place’s annual surgical revenue for the hospital to treat its doctors and nurses like they’re just another expense to lower. Makes me fucking sick.”

Oh so know I know why he has so much pull 👀

Your head spins at the idea, running some quick numbers from the figures that get presented every quarter. “Jesus, your practice is worth that much?” “220 million last year across all my surgeons,” he huffs as though it’s a footnote.

Damn

Then he touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing you to look at him. To focus on him. Your knees are weak under the intensity of his gaze. “That’s not the point. I want you to go on a date with me.”

Oh 👀

“That’s the point?” You laugh. Honestly laugh. Placing your hand at the center of his chest, you chuckle, “You threatened to cost the hospital two hundred million dollars to get me to date you?” “No, no, not- not like that,” he’s quick to assure. “I really do think this whole thing is bullshit. You know it matters to me, too. A lot. And I speak up. Always have. But you- Getting to know you has made it matter a lot more, okay? Don’t make me defend myself. Just go out with me.”

🥹🥹🥹

“Are you asking me or telling me ?” “I’m begging you.”

Hot 🤭

For some reason not taken aback by the question, he debates his answer for a minute, tilting his head slightly as he chews on the words. Ultimately, he decides to be honest: “I don’t think it’s a fetish to prefer big girls. And I don’t think fetishes are inherently a bad thing. I have plenty of fetishes.” That makes your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?” “Go out with me,” he presses, leaning in much closer than is work appropriate, “and I’ll tell you.”

What an offer 🤭

“I get that you’re suspicious – it makes total sense, seriously, I swear I get where you’re coming from – but it’s not any different than wanting a tall boyfriend or something, right?” It makes sense to you when Brendon reasons, “We all have our things we like about someone else’s looks when we get a crush. I think you’re hot as fuck, I’m attracted to your body, and you have a great personality in addition to that. Smarter than me by a mile, sensitive like I can never manage. You’re fucking perfect. I’d be an idiot not to ask you out when you check all my boxes.”

Fair enough 🤷🏻‍♀️

“Pause.” Actually, truly smiling now – flirtatious and adorable enough to make Brendon swoon at the view – you needle, “Did you just say you have a crush on me?” “Yeah, I absolutely did,” he murmurs with cheeks rapidly turning pink. “And that’s mortifying for a guy like me, don’t you think? The kind of thing that at least earns a pity date?”

Good point

Brendon’s rich blue eyes absolutely sparkle when he realizes he’s got you. “I’ll give you two. First of all, there’s a special art exhibit downtown this month and a little birdie told me through the grapevine that you love museums.” You curse under your breath. “Mel, you useless romantic.”

Hahah love that 🤭

“It means I’ll know exactly how to worship you,” he murmurs. Right against your ear. Your toes curl in your sneakers. Toying with you by dragging his finger along the base of your neck, just a slow back and forth, he muses, “Doesn’t that sound nice? A guy who isn’t a coward about grabbing your stomach? A guy who knows he wants to wear your thighs like earmuffs? A guy strong enough to throw you around the way you’ve always craved?” Hands on your waist now, not overtly sexual but already overwhelming in the most delicious way, he purrs, “Gimme a chance, gorgeous, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Damn his arguments are really great😮‍💨

“I refuse to go out with you first thing in the morning; I’ll look like a zombie.” “Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen.” “You’re such a suck-up.” When your watch buzzes, signaling that your break’s over, you kiss his cheek softly and say, “9:30 on Saturday. Don’t be late.” “Never have been; don’t plan on starting now.”

That's what I like to hear 🙂‍↕️

You smack him on the chest as your cheeks heat up, not used to the obvious desire written all over him. When your hand hits the luxurious fabric, you actually notice his outfit instead of the way he’s devouring yours. In a camel-colored knit polo – you definitely don’t miss the subtle sheen of the Versace logo on the pocket in nearly the same color as the fabric – tucked into slightly high light tan slacks, all under a dark brown coat, he looks modern, stylish, and absolutely positively downright edible. His hair’s moussed instead of gelled, slightly wavy and fluffy, and he’s freshly shaved instead of late-night scruffy.

Looking good and putting in some effort 👏🏻

Dragging your hand down the center of his chest, you shake your head and smile. “Who knew the Shark had actual style?” He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers. With a too-charming smirk, he murmurs, “Don’t tell anybody, alright? Nobody would be scared of me at the hospital if they knew I’m the kind of guy who drops a grand on a shirt.”

Fair enough haha

Grabbing your purse and shrugging on your black leather jacket before stepping out the door after him, you reason, “You put in the time and effort to make the big bucks; you have every right to spend it however you want.” “I’m glad you think that way,” he replies as he guides you half a block down to his parking spot, “because this is my car, and I’m really hoping you don’t think that makes me an asshole.” “Definitely.” You grin as you slide onto the rich leather interior. “As soon as it’s warm enough, you have to put the top down and take me somewhere you can drive fast.” “Yeah?” As he settles into the seat next to you, Brendon puts one hand firmly on your thigh as he pulls the car out into the Pittsburgh traffic. With his fingers driving you clinically insane just sitting there on your dress, he flashes you a hunky smile and teases, “Planning on keeping me around that long?” “Maybe if you behave yourself today.” “Oh, baby, I never behave myself when I’m off the clock.”

The chemistry between them is through the roof

The rest of the drive there is easy between you, and that same energy carries on as he whisks you through the museum’s entrance and straight inside. He’d already bought the tickets online and added them to his phone wallet, so you don’t even get a moment of feigning like you would’ve paid for yourself. Slick bastard. Brendon just makes every moment so easy to fall into. Not that you’d expected the date to be hard, but you’d figured there would be some kind of adjustment period going from lunches and coffee breaks to a full-on date out in the real world, no pagers or coworkers to separate you.

Very thought through

Instead, it’s not long before you’re instinctively threading your fingers with his and dragging him from exhibit to exhibit. You clearly know a hell of a lot more about art than he does – it’s obvious when every nod of his comes with his eyes drifting over your body – but he likes listening to you talk about literally anything you want to talk about. Just having your voice all to himself is enough to keep him over the moon among the stars.

He is enjoying his view, maybe just not the art 🤭

“I love the way he paints women,” you sigh wistfully as you stand in front of a particularly lovely nude: Evening, from 2007. Brendon stands squarely behind you, arms casually around you. Admiring the work up close, you go on, “He notices all the things that make bodies beautiful. The light and shadow on the curves, refusing to make them smooth and pristine, like every single dimple is worth painting for the rest of time to see. They’re all so…lush. Succulent. Like you’d want to reach inside the scene and take a big bite and the juice would run down your chin like a summer plum.” “You’re describing yourself there, gorgeous,” he murmurs in your ear from behind. Breath hot. Gravelly. Wanting. His hands roam over your waist and hips and stomach, way too slow and intimate for how profoundly in public you are. But you’ve never had a man so openly desire you like this, so you can’t help melting against his chest. Yearning for more. For half a second, he palms your ass, and then he nips your ear to say, “Never wanted to take a bite of anything so badly.”

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Before he can fluster you too much, get the upper hand so you’re melting into a puddle on the museum floor, you turn around and kiss him. He makes the cutest surprised sound at the base of his throat like he hadn’t expected you to match his energy. But then you tangle your fingers in his hair. You push up onto your toes. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back. Hard. Commanding. Pieces of his control slipping away with every shared breath. His hands are on your waist and your lower back, desperate to touch more, and you can feel the restraint it’s taking him not to bend you over the bench in front of the art and ruin you.

Close call 🤭

When you accidentally moan into Brendon’s mouth, a security guard in the nearby archway clears his throat. You stifle a giggle and pull back from him. You’re about to apologize, but he’s faster.

Whoops 😅

You’re all over him the moment you’re in his bedroom, barely taking a second to absorb the expectedly organized and minimalist space, outfitted only with luxurious staples in cream and navy and no needless clutter. Your dress is somewhere on the staircase up to the second floor, discarded haphazardly as Brendon manhandled you through the space, strong enough to basically carry you any time you lose your footing in the dizzying intensity of his mouth on yours.

Brendon’s breath is hot against your ear as he croons, “Can I take you back to my place now or do I have to look at the rest of these paintings when all I can think about is seeing what’s under this dress?” With a coy smile, you give him one more quick kiss and say, “Bring me back next weekend so I can finish reading everything and we can leave right now.” His grin is wicked. “You have yourself a deal, doctor.”

Great deal🙂‍↕️

By the time you’ve pushed through the bedroom door, you’ve yanked off his (extremely soft) polo and gone for his belt next. As you move, you’re shoving him toward his bed with an eagerness that maybe borders on desperation. It’s been a long time and he’s hot as fuck; god forbid. Trying to suppress his grin as he pulls out of the kiss, Brendon orders, “Don’t rush me, baby. We have all the time in the world.” Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you teasingly groan at him, “That wasn’t your attitude half an hour ago.” He reasons, “Half an hour ago there were several miles between you and my bedroom.”

Fair enough

He steps – ever so casually – out of his slacks, revealing extremely form fitting gray boxer briefs, a drop of precum darkening the front, highlighting the delicious outline of his cock. Not letting you drool too much, those precise hands of his go to your bra clasp, unhooking it with the ease of, well, a surgeon. Enjoying the gentle hitch of your breath when his eyes devour you, he kisses over your pulse point just to feel it quicken beneath his attention. When he’s satisfied with the way your toes curl into the plush rug beneath your feet, he finally loops his thumbs beneath the hips of your underwear.

Definitely drool worthy

“But now I’ve got you all to myself-” Brendon slides your underwear down your legs, guides you out of them, and pushes you backwards “-in my bedroom-” your knees hit the bed and you fold underneath his weight, staring up at him as he cages you between his elbows “-at my mercy. No need to rush.”

Hot

Your voice drips with lust. He’s never heard it darken like that and it’s definitely becoming a problem for his patience. “Gonna do whatever you want to me?” “Yup, absolutely.” You huff a bit and tut, “Well, you sure are just hovering over my naked body for someone with such big plans.”

Love that even in the heat of the moment the joke and banter 🤭😍

“I’m losing my ability to form coherent sentences just thinking about it, frankly,” he teases. You’ve never noticed how much he glows when he’s happy.

🥰🥰🥰

Then he takes your hand and tugs you toward him, on your knees. “How about ‘come sit on my face right the fuck now’? That work better for you?” Looking down at his eager expression, nervous and not wanting to disappoint, you bite your lip and admit, “I’ve never done that before.” It’s a personal offense to him. He props himself up on his elbows as his lips part in true surprise. “Seriously?” “Then you’ve been with weak men,” he says, deathly serious. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze and assures you, completely sincere, “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure it’s so fucking good for you. Give me two minutes of trust and I swear you’re gonna love it.”

He is very persuasive

Well, you figure, he’s never done you wrong with his promises before. So you swing one leg over his chest and hover suspiciously a few inches above his head. His mouth waters when he can finally see the hint of your pussy beyond your soft, inviting mons. Keeping his voice so sweet and soothing, he adds, “If it doesn’t feel good or if you’re uncomfortable or anything, just tap me and get right off. You’re in charge.”

So sweet 🥰

  Still skeptical of the whole affair, you say, “I know you know already, okay? But, like, I’m not small, Brendon, I could seriously break your jaw or something if I slip out of place.” Craning his neck to try to get to your pussy, he growls, impatient and starving, “Thankfully I know a few good maxillofacial surgeons.”

Great answer 🤭🙂‍↕️

Brendon rolls his eyes and yanks you down by the hips so your cunt envelopes his mouth. You let out a yelp and grab his headboard to get your balance. Finally, his eyes roll shut with pleasure as your warm, thick thighs on the side of his head muffle any sounds but your pretty moans. He mutters, dreamy and rough, into your pussy, “That’s better.”

He is in heaven

You can’t help giggling as you put your other hand in Brendon’s hair for support, grateful to be with someone who makes you feel so comfortable and safe even at the edge of your comfort zone. With Brendon reverently holding your hips, stroking your stretch marks with his thumbs, keeping you grounded on his precise tongue, it only takes you a minute to find the pressure and rhythm that feels comfortable, where you can get out of your head and trust Brendon and your own legs.

🥰🥰🥰

It takes real, actual concentration for Brendon to stop himself from creaming his shorts when he realizes you’re going to cum on his face. Your thighs start to tremble as you resist it at first, reluctant to lose control in such a vulnerable position. But then Brendon’s strong fingers dig into the plump fat off your ass – hard.

Hot 😮‍💨

The sudden moment of eye-rolling-good pain drops you completely into your body, all doubts and insecurities abandoned, and you snap. Your fingernails dig into Brendon’s scalp as you grip his hair to stay in the moment. Pleasure skyrockets up your spine in lightning strikes. Timed with the pulses of your cunt, begging to be filled by him. 

Understandable 😮‍💨

Pupils blown wide and drunken on your body, Brendon sighs out happily, “Fuck, you’ve got no idea how good you taste.” “Come here, then,” you giggle, so light and airy with delight that everything has become simple. You kiss him with a greedy tongue and let your own mild tartness linger on your tastebuds. When you pull back, he looks positively dumb. Eyes empty. Nothing but lust in his pretty blues. “Yeah, I do taste pretty good, huh? Bet your cock would like a taste.”

Good for her easing up a bit 🙂‍↕️👏🏻

He shakes his head and laughs as he shifts onto his knees above you. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” You spread your legs and bat your eyes and savor just how devoted he looks, like a puppy sitting pretty for its favorite treats. “What is?” “Being so fucking sexy without even thinking about it,” he breathes, sounding a little shaky as he lines up the head of his cock with your orgasm-slick pussy. “Fuck.” You roll your eyes even as your cheeks burn. “As if you don’t have the exact same gift.”

Real

“No, I have to think about it a lot. I try. You’re just floating around being this damn goddess like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world.”

Oh he is so gone

He frowns a bit and stills, not thrusting into you just yet. “You know I’m not complimenting you just to butter you up, right?” At the split second of partial disbelief on your face, he shakes his head and leans down and kisses you hard. You’ve never seen his expression so stern. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. After that first time you showed up to my office, I couldn’t stop talking about you to everyone. It was like word vomit.” “Now that makes me feel sexy.”

As it should 🤭

“Shut up; I’m not always good with the word stuff.” He wrinkles his brows to try to come up with the right words. “Every single time I see you, my brain stops working. Everything short circuits. Because I just- I can’t even imagine deserving to be in the same room as you, much less between these perfect goddamn legs.” He shifts upward again, hands rubbing up your thighs as he shakes his head wistfully. “Grabbing these gorgeous hips and getting to play with your amazing tits.” His hands follow his words, toying with your nipples until you’re gasping and grinning. “Looking into your beautiful eyes while I get to fuck you.”

Thats cute ans hot 🤤

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he urges as he kisses you. Slowly, so slowly, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes his cock into you. When your lips part softly in pleasure at the way he fills you, Brendon murmurs against your pulse in between kisses to your skin? “There’s my girl. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.”

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

All the while holding you and groaning sweetness into your ears, your lips, your neck, Brendon fucks you like he’s been designed for your pleasure. He takes his time. He pays attention. When he thrusts just right, making you moan his name loud and unafraid as the head of his cock crooks against your g-spot, he keeps it exactly like that and tucks the sound away in a proud little part of his brain.

Storing that sound deep in his memory

“That’s- When you’re gripping me like that, I can’t-” Brendon’s barely able to string words together as your second orgasm threatens, taken well and truly aback by how good you feel wrapped around him when you’ve completely let go of control and fear and shame. When you’re just his and he’s yours and it really can be just that simple. His balls are already tightening up when he manages to rasp out, “Can I-” You’re nodding into his shoulder before the question’s even finished, shuddering out a shaky and honest, “Please. Let’s- Together, please.” And you detonate. Both of you. Locked to one another. You can’t bear to close your eyes and risk missing a single moment of Brendon Park’s soft, rapturous expression when his cum spills inside of you. His borderline angelic blue eyes meet yours – meet them, like a handshake between long-lost friends, a meeting that turns to a clasped hug, reluctant to let go – and you’re filled with his heat and he’s founded by having you.

🥵🥵🥵

Brendon’s lips kiss the tender sweat from your forehead as he catches his breath. There’s a tiny, secret little smile that exists only for you on his rough features. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Struggling to stifle a smile that’s yearning to split you open, you nip a quick kiss onto his lips and half-giggle, “You’ve mentioned that.” “And I’m gonna keep mentioning it,” he replies, warm and wonderful as winter cider, “as long as you’ll have me.”

🥰🥰🥰

I absolutely LOVED this 👏🏻

[thykingdoncome]

his best girl

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | ao3

rabbot x reader

summary: You’re Robby’s favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn’t hesitate to offer you up. Your night does not turn out how you planned.

|| smut MDNI 18+, more poly discussions, possessiveness, subspace, dom/sub dynamics, pinv [with jack], pussy slapping, crying during sex, big sub drop!!!, intense orgasm, big emotions, jack learning how to dom, m!receiving oral, aftercare, robby is a capital C cuck || a/n: here is that second part for you! please please please heed the crying tag, this is a very intense chapter for reader. wc: 11k

You were grateful it wasn't a far drive. It wasn't that the trip was an awkward one, but things still felt tense. You played with a frayed edge of your sweater, trying very hard not to look over at Brendon Park in the driver's seat.

You could understand that what you and Robby had looked odd from the outside. But there wasn't a world in which you could see yourself doing anything different. What Brendon wanted… wasn't something you could give.

It hurt to think it, to think about him one day understanding and maybe finding a cute nurse or fellow surgeon to fill that space for him. Someone who could ride in the exact passenger seat you were in now, in his sleek black BMW, where he'd pull her hand up to let his lips occasionally brush over her knuckles at a red light. Someone he could laugh with and kiss softly without either of them wondering if it would be the last time. Someone who wanted dinner dates and easy goodnights and the normal, steady forward motion of a relationship that made sense to everyone looking at it.

That version of you had died in the car accident years ago, it felt like.

The version who dated because dating meant marriage one day. A house with children's voices filled the halls. Parents to take care of, holidays to split. A future like felt like tempting something cruel by wanting too much of it.

By the time you pulled up to Robby's, you were nearly in tears again, but this time it had nothing to do with Brendon saying the wrong thing. It was your own spiraling thoughts, your own grief, your own stupid imagination handing him a life without you.

"Maybe you should just—" you began, one hand already on the door handle.

But Brendon was already getting out of the car.

Shit.

You jogged up behind him to catch up, but before you could reach for the door in hopes of sneaking in without being seen, the large oak door was pulling in.

Robby stood in the threshold, one hand still on the knob, his brows pulling together at the sight of the ortho surgeon in front of you.

"Hi, honey." he said stiffly.

Except he was looking at Park.

"Hi." you said, stopping just beside the ortho surgeon.

Robby's eyes moved over you, quick at first, then again a little slower. You didn't know what he was looking for. You wondered what he saw—glossy, red eyes, a swollen mouth, if your clothes were still askew. The whole assessment made your stomach turn, mostly because you knew you were failing some part of it without knowing.

"What do we have here?" Robby asked.

"Brendon was just dropping me—"

From somewhere behind him, you heard Jack call your name, the clacking of crutches against the wood floor, and then he appeared at Robby's shoulder, his expression changing almost immediately when he saw who was standing there.

Park looked at Jack, then at Robby, and his mouth pulled into a smile that made your entire body want to leave. He looked like his coined nickname. His teeth gleaming in the dark with a smile that was not really a smile at all.

"Well," he said with a dark chuckle. "Isn't this rich."

Your eyes flitted between the three of them—Robby and Jack were looking at him strangely now, both of them wearing different versions of the same hard expression. No one explained anything. No one even really moved. The three of them just looked at one another and somehow you understood there was a conversation happening that you were not part of, some silent thing passing over your head while you tried to figure it out.

Robby leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, almost casual if not for the look in his eyes.

“Surprised you stayed long enough to walk her to the door,” he said.

Park’s smile sharpened, quick with his retort. “Surprised you let her out of the house.”

Jack gave a quiet breath through his nose. “Christ. Do you rehearse that shit on the drive over?”

Park’s eyes slid to him. “Still here, Abbot?”

“Looks like it.”

“Must be nice. Robby always did like keeping a spare around.”

Jack’s mouth pulled to one side. “And you always did mistake being tolerated for being wanted.”

“Okay,” you said, cutting them off, trying to step forward. “I’m gonna go inside now.”

But Park's hand came up before you could move far. It wasn't rough or menacing in any way, hell—he'd put his hand on the back of your neck plenty of times before, it was a touch you usually liked. But tonight it felt different. Your breath caught, more from confusion than anything else. You looked back at him just as his thumb settled on the side of your throat.

Park looked down at you. "Where's my goodnight kiss?"

The silence after that was immediate and awful.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You looked at Robby before you could stop yourself, then at Jack, because you had no clue where the rules were right now. You didn't know what had changed in the time between leaving earlier and now as you stood under the porch light with Park's hands on you.

Your eyes stayed on Robby—his face had gone almost amused. Brows lifting faintly, mouth relaxed in a way that could've looked calm to anyone who didn't know better. But you did. You knew better. You knew the difference between calm and deadly quiet.

Jack, on the other hand, looked like he was battling his inner most thoughts of stepping over the threshold to start throwing right hooks.

Robby looked over at him, "What do you think, Jack? Think our guy deserves it?"

Jack's head turned slightly, eyes still fixed on Park.

You looked at him too, pulse jumping. There was a beat where you almost didn't understand what Robby had done—but then you did.

Jack was part of this now. Jack got a say. Robby was giving him the space to use it.

Jack's answer came without hesitation. "Absolutely fucking not."

"Oh." Park said, glancing between them with that look that made your blood rush cold. "Big man lets you make decisions for our girl now?"

"Our girl, huh?" Jack scoffed. "Not sure you get that privilege. Look at her, Park. The hell did you do?"

Park’s thumb soothed up and down your neck. You weren’t sure if it was tender there because of his touch or because of what you knew was true.

You sniffled, the emotions ready to boil up again. You felt stupid standing there in front of two men who’d had such a good conversation with you earlier, who’d trusted you to understand what this was, and you’d gone and done this.

It was just kissing, you told yourself. Relax.

But still. Whether it looked like more or not, it still felt like crossing a line now. You were certain the argument was still all over your face, the evidence of you and Park written into your rumpled hair, your swollen mouth, the way you could barely bring yourself to look at Robby or Jack.

Robby pushed off the doorway, reaching his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Inside."

Park's hand tightened on your neck for a moment, just a little squeeze, before you were moving forward and accepting Robby's hand in yours. His fingers closed around you gently, but there was no mistaking the way he pulled you toward him, out of Park's reach and into the house.

You turned to say goodnight to him, heart still up in your throat.

But the front door was already closing behind you with a heavy slam.

The three of you stood silently in the foyer. You could hear Park's receding footsteps, his car starting outside, the engine revving loudly before peeling from the curb. You waited until you couldn't hear the angry thrumming of it before you spoke again, breathing uneven.

"I had no clue he was going to be there." you whispered quickly.

Robby nodded, eyes down on the floor. His weight shifted back and forth between his feet. He looked sort of folded in on himself, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other bent up with his hand over his beard, rubbing the heel of his palm against his mouth.

Jack stood just beside him, looking between the two of you, his weight a little uneven where he leaned onto his crutches. His expression was still stormy, but somehow you knew it wasn't at you.

"What the hell happened?" he asked.

"Everything was fine—" you began, swallowing hard, "I was just hanging out with Jesse and Mel mostly, and Brendon just…showed up out of nowhere. He said he wanted to talk to me."

"Just to talk, huh?" Robby asked, a little humorous.

"I thought so." you said, your voice small.

Robby's eyes lifted to yours then, and your stomach tightened at whatever he saw on your face.

"How do you explain that then?" he asked, pointing.

Your hand came up immediately, fingers pressing to the side of your neck.

Your skin felt hot beneath your touch, tender too, but you still didn't understand. You only knew that both of them had seen something there outside. That Brendon had put his hand there.

Robby reached for you with one arm, careful but firm, drawing you closer by the shoulder. He turned you toward the mirror by the front door.

For one second, all you saw was yourself.

Your cardigan pulled crooked from the drive home. Your hair a little mussed from the party. Your eyes glossy and red. Your face a little peaky and strained.

But then your eyes drifted down, and your mouth parted in surprise.

"Oh, shit." you whispered, grimacing. You touched the column of your throat again, lighter this time, and the soreness answered under your fingertips. The whole night folded backward in your head at once—Brendon's mouth on you in the bathroom, sucking and nipping hard at your neck. How he'd made sure that they'd seen it when you were being passed over like a hostage negotiation on the porch.

Robby sighed, "So? What happened?"

You turned around and headed for the kitchen before you could answer, because standing in front of the mirror with both of them looking at your bruised throat made you want to crawl out of your skin. You padded across the house, kicking your shoes off somewhere near the edge of the hallway, then flinging your cardigan over the back of a kitchen chair as you made a straight line for the cabinets.

You filled it with water, took a few sips, then filled it again and stood there with one hand braced on the counter, trying to breathe like a person who was absolutely not about to get herself in even more trouble by explaining the trouble she was already in.

Robby and Jack followed you in after a moment. Jack took the barstool closest to the end of the counter, setting his crutches carefully against it, while Robby stayed standing at the side, both hands pressed into the cool granite.

"He said—he was just apologizing for last week." you said, looking at Jack, who was grinding down on his teeth hard enough that you could see the muscles tensing under his skin. "He said he missed me, and then—" you licked your lips, "he kissed me, and things kind of got heated…"

"Did you have sex with him?" Robby asked.

"No!" you said quickly, heat flashing up your face. "No. It was just kissing. He, um—we—"

You looked at Jack, then back at Robby, because there was no good direction to send your eyes.

Robby lifted his hands to his face, rubbing them hard up and down before hooking them behind his neck. His elbows flared out, his fingers squeezing at his own nape, and heels of his palms pressing into his cheeks for a second before he dropped his hands again and looked toward Jack.

"Jack, I need to hear all of this." Robby's voice was controlled with forced calm. "If it's something that's going to upset you, you can head home. Thanks for hanging here tonight. With me. But I don't want you to get—"

Jack shook his head, "No, it's okay. I want to be part of this. The good and the bad. Go ahead."

"Are you mad at me?" you asked, your voice so small it felt childish.

Jack hesitated, but then he reached across the counter, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist. His thumb pressed at the pulse there, so warm and steady, and his head tilted until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"No, sweetheart." he said. "I'm not mad at you. I'm pissed at Park for acting like a possessive asshole."

Robby let out a big, heavy breath, almost a groan, his head tipping back for a second before he looked down again.

"I'm gonna need to talk to him this week." he said. "Put an end to this bullshit he keeps pulling."

"I didn't stop him, though, it's my fault too—"

Jack's hand tightened a little around your wrist. "How did he know you were even there?" he asked. "Was he there from the start?"

"I think Frankie told him." You shook your head, trying to pull the whole night into order and failing. Your brain still felt a little fuzzy, but all the chaos of the evening had sobered you up quickly. "I don't know. That part was confusing. I'm sorry. I smoked a little with Jesse, and—"

"Did anything happen with Jesse?" Robby cut in.

You bit your lip. But nodded. "We kissed."

Robby's eyes stayed on you, big and brown and hurt in a way that made your chest cave in around itself.

"Our four weeks are up, Robby." you said, trying to hold onto that even as your voice wavered. "I'm allowed to kiss people."

He shut his eyes tightly.

"We should've discussed it first." he murmured.

You looked away, shaking your head. "No, see, this is the thing—you can't just change the rules whenever you think—"

"I'm not changing rules, honey." Robby's voice climbed despite the fact that he was clearly trying to keep it steady, his hands falling back to the counter as his eyes opened on you. "But you are doing things without talking to me first. Don't you understand how that feels?"

You looked over to Jack.

"Listen," Jack sighed, shaking his head and sitting back, "I'm new to this, sure, but I agree with Robby, sweetheart. We should've talked about it before you left. But that's partially on us. On me. I got carried away, we barely talked about what that looked like going forward, especially with the others."

Your stomach sank, even as his eyes softened at the look on your face. Your hands tightened around your glass of water, condensation making it sweat a little.

"Brendon was mad because he thinks I'm…" You went on, licking your dry lips. "He thinks you—Robby, I mean—he thinks you're keeping me in something. Or making me do things. I don't know. It's like he's always trying to save me from something."

Robby looked at you.

"Do you want him to?"

When you looked back at Robby, his face was so open, so plain with hurt, with expecting the answer he always feared.

"No," you said, your voice even for the first time since you got home. "No, I don't."

Robby's breath left him slowly.

You set the glass down and took one step toward him before you could overthink it. He met you halfway, arms wrapping around you from behind, turning you so your back to was his chest in a hold that was firm enough to make your eyes sting. You let your head fall back against him, your hands closing over his forearms, feeling the comforting shape of him around you.

"You should've at least texted me." he said in your ear. His voice had settled, the hurt soothed with touch. "That he was there… that you wanted to… I don't know."

You nodded your head. "It all happened so fast. I'm sorry."

His arms tightened. For a moment, he didn't answer, and you wondered if he couldn't yet. If the apology wasn't enough, if the hickey was still too bright under the kitchen light, if Jesse's and Park's name and the porch were all sitting too heavily between the three of you.

Then his lips brushed near your ear. "It's okay, honey." he said. "Do you want to tell me what else happened?"

Your eyes opened, and you looked over at Jack, who was watching the two of you from the barstool. He gave you a small nod, his expression still tense, but steadier now.

You breathed in. "We…went into the bathroom."

Robby didn't move behind you. "Okay."

"We…there was a lot of, like, heavy petting, grinding." You whispered, your face already going hot again, because there was no way to say any of this that didn't sound awful and embarrassing in your own mouth. "He…"

Jack sat forward a little. "What did he do?"

You covered your eyes with one hand. "Um. He…finished."

Robby stilled behind you.

"But you didn't—?"

"Clothes stayed on." you said quickly.

There was a pause.

When you looked through the slats of your eyes, Jack had his lips pressed together hard, mirth clouding his eyes as he looked over your shoulder.

"Don't—" you groaned, trying to bite back your own smile.

You felt Robby try not to laugh, his chest pressing harder against your back before the sound finally broke loose into your neck. "Damn."

"He came in his pants for you?" Jack asked, his voice already shaking with the laugh he was failing to hold back.

"Jack."

"I'm just asking for clarification."

"Poor guy." Robby said, a laugh still shaking his chest behind you.

"Stop…." you groaned, feeling bad for Brendon now that you'd said it. "Be nice."

"What?" His brows lifted, but there was finally some life in his face again, something warmer creeping in around the edges of his anger. "Not like he deserves any niceties after the shit he pulled."

"He was being an asshole." Robby agreed.

"Can we please not make fun of him too much?" you asked, softer now. as you wrapped your arms around where his pressed against your chest. "I know he was being shitty outside, but he was upset. And I feel bad."

"What a sweet girl you are, feeling bad for the Shark." Robby said, then kissed near your ear again, not quite your cheek, not quite your neck.

"Anything else?" he asked.

You breathed out, fingers curling lightly around his forearm.

"No," you said. "That's it."

Robby sighed behind you, his arms adjusting tighter around your shoulders, forearms still laid firm over your chest. Comforting, somehow, even with the weight of the night still sitting around all of you. He had every reason to be upset. To feel lied to, maybe, or left out, or undermined by the way Park had stood on his porch with his hand around your neck. You had been ready for a real argument when you walked in, half from what Park had turned the night into and half from how tightly wound you had become on the ride home.

"I do think some form of… retribution is in order, though." Robby said in your ear. His lips grazed the shell of it, and goosebumps rushed up your arms before you could pretend otherwise.

You licked your lips, eyes widening as you looked over at Jack's growing grin.

"Why don't you…" Robby began, pausing to kiss your earlobe, "go into the bedroom and strip for us."

Your breath caught.

"I'd like you waiting for us on the bed when we come in." His eyes moved to Jack then, and his voice changed a little, rougher. "What do you think, Jack? Fully nude? Or should we let her keep something on?"

Jack pressed his lips together, trying and failing to tame the smile on his face.

"I think I'd like to see what color she's got on, brother." His gaze came back to you. "Panties and bra only, sweetheart."

Robby's hand moved under your chin, turning your face just enough for him to see you. "Okay?"

You nodded, breath already coming quicker.

His thumb brushed along your chin, then over your lips, parting them as his eyes grew hungrier. "Words."

"Yes," you said. "Okay."

"Good girl."

Your thighs pressed together, and Robby's arms finally dropped from around you as he said: "Go on."

You started past him, trying for dignity and not getting very far before his hand cracked lightly against your ass.

You squealed, half scandalized and half laughing, and bolted toward the main bedroom before either of them could see just how badly your legs had begun to shake.

Only a few minutes later you were sitting on the bed, only your bralette and panties on.

You'd thought about changing into something cuter, something matching or just… sexier, but thought better of it. Robby would know, and then he might add onto whatever punishment he had in store. So it was just the little blue cheekies you'd worn that day and your black bralette. You reached up to adjust the one strap that twisted slightly after pulling off your shirt.

The men had made their way in eventually, Robby taking the armchair by the door, leather made and tucked into the corner. Jack walked in, smiling down at you as he made his way around the bed. You lifted your eyes to follow him, heart jumping a little when he slowed beside you. He reached out and cupped your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek, not saying anything. Just looking at you for one long, warm moment before he readjusted his grip on the crutches and passed.

Once he settled against the cushions of the bed, you turned your head to look at Robby, who's eyes were narrowed, but you could see the smirk pulling his lips.

"Come over here." he said, patting his thigh. Your tongue slipped over your bottom lip before you could help it. Jack's attention followed you as you stood from the bed, and you let your hips swing a little on the walk over.

You went to go to Robby's side, where you usually draped across him for these sorts of things—over his knee—but his hand shot out, only to lay gently on your hip. He squeezed, and shook his head.

"Not today. Sit up and face him."

You looked over to Jack, then back at him, your eyes clouded by uncertainty.

Robby nodded, patting his thigh again, "C'mon now. Be a good girl."

The words worked, sending a rush of tingling heat through you. All you wanted to do was make him happy when your blood began to rush like this and he got that look in his eye. So you slowly lowered yourself onto his knee, facing the bed, facing Jack, and Robby's arms closed around you from behind, forearms crossing your middle as he pulled you back to his chest. The hair on his arms brushed your bare skin, his breath against your ear.

"Can you tell Jack what your safeword is, honey?"

You sucked in a breath, nodding, "Pickleback."

Jack grimaced. "Quite the choice. I prefer Yuengling."

You smiled.

"And," Robby continued, his lips close to your shoulder now, "when you can't talk?"

You lifted your hand and snapped twice.

Robby kissed your shoulder. "Very good. Now…do you know why I need to correct your behavior?"

"Yes." you breathed. Your blood had become loud in your ears, nerves scattering through your limbs, down your belly, between your legs. Jack's eyes were darkening as he watched you from the bed.

"Why is that, honey?"

You swallowed. "I—I didn't talk to you before…before Brendon."

"Before Brendon what?"

"Before he and I…um…"

Your eyes drifted before you could stop them.

Jack had settled back against the pillows, knees parted, one hand near his lap and the other stretched over the cushions. His shirt was a little rumpled where he'd thrown it off at the edge of the bed, his mouth twitching, but the look on his face had changed. Less gentle now, less amused. He looked comfortable there, almost cocky, watching you sit half-naked in Robby's lap while you tried to confess your sins.

His staring made your pupils dilate to drink him in. He looked so good, so tempting spread over your pillows like that.

Robby's hand went to your face, and his thumb and forefinger pinched your cheeks as he shook you only infinitesimally. "I'm talking to you, young lady. Before you and Brendon what?"

Your stomach flipped.

"Before we went into the bathroom."

His hand left your face and traveled down the front of you, so slow, making you feel every rough callous of his fingertips. They ventured your throat, your chest, slipping under the edge of your bralette and traced the sensitive flesh beneath before completely sliding into the cup to massage at your breast. He hummed in approval, your head lolling a little at the feeling of his hands on you.

"Did you have fun tonight, honey?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You knew better than to lie. "Kind of."

Through your half-lidded eyes, you could still see Jack. His face was amused, still watching you, but his eyes had darkened. "Kind of?" he echoed.

You nodded. "I wish… I wish I had just come home." you hiccuped as Robby pinched your nipple under the fabric. Your hands went to his legs, gripping them tightly, nails digging in. A little sound slipped out as he switched to the other side, slipping his hand under the cotton covering you again.

"Why's that?" Robby whispered.

"He was… he was such an asshole after." you breathed out.

Jack's jaw ticked.

Robby's palm flattened over your breast, holding you there for a moment before sliding down your stomach. His other arm stayed locked around you, keeping your back to his chest when your body wanted to squirm.

"S'okay, honey." he said. "I'll talk to him."

Your eyes fluttered shut.

"No more Shark tonight." His lips touched the side of your head. "You're home. You're with us now."

You nodded. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry for tonight."

You meant it for both of them, and when you looked over, Jack's features had softened. Robby kissed your shoulder again, squeezing you against him a little harder.

"I know, honey. I know. It's okay. Gonna take care of you." His mouth brushed your skin. "But first—"

His hand slid down your belly and over your thigh, hooking your knee over his and opening you up before doing the same with the other. You gasped when your balance shifted, body falling back entirely into him, spread open on his lap with nowhere to hide.

He hummed, and you watched Jack as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. His hand went to his jeans again, not resting this time but squeezing over the growing bulge there, the heel of his palm pressing down.

"Do you wanna tell her what we're gonna do, or do you want me to?" Robby asked.

Jack's head tilted, his eyes dark as they moved over you. "Robby's gonna make sure you remember to tell us when Dr. Park shows up next time, sweetheart." His voice had dropped rougher, the sound of it making your thighs squirm over Robby's. "And then you're gonna come over here, and I'm gonna have my turn with you."

You wondered if they could see your pulse through your skin, how hard it was beating, how every part of you had gone hot and embarrassed and eager all at once.

"Wha—what's my punishment?" you asked meekly.

"Let me show you." Robby murmured.

His hand moved from your thigh to the front of your panties, his fingers soothing over the damp cotton where your arousal had already started to soak the fabric. His long digits felt so good it was almost like relief as they rubbed over your covered mound.

You barely had time to understand the change in his touch before his palm lifted.

Smack!

You lurched, stomach pitching, your heart stopping, mouth opening into an—"Ah!"

Robby groaned behind you, his chest vibrating against your back as his arm locked tighter around your middle. He gave you half a breath to settle, then lifted his hand again and brought it down in the same place, the same pressure, the sting blooming hot through the fabric. This time, your surprised gasp turned into a moan.

Jack's smile pulled wide from the bed. "Is it really a punishment if she likes it, brother?"

"Oh, yes." Robby said, voice thick with amusement. "Yes, indeed."

His fingers hooked over your panties then, pulling them aside, and Jack let out a little groan at the sight of you. Wet. Eager. "Fuckkk…" he whispered, his hand tightening at his pants.

Robby's mouth came back to your ear, low enough that only you could hear him. "Go ahead and ask him, honey. Know you want to watch."

You swallowed, breathless, eyes fixed on Jack. "Jackie, I wanna see you play with yourself. Please."

Jack smiled wider at the nickname, "Happy to, sweetheart."

He unbuttoned his jeans slowly, watching your face while he pushed them down enough to free himself. His heavy cock settled in his hand, and your breath stopped short as you watched him stroking himself there on Robby's bed, the other hand gripping into the pillows harder behind him as his head tilted back for a moment, teeth tucking over his bottom lip.

Then his eyes came back to you.

"Again." he said, looking past you to Robby.

"Hold these open for me, honey," Robby said, bringing your hand down to your center.

Jesus Christ.

You brought your own hand down and hooked your fingers into your cotton panties, holding them aside the way he asked. Your whole body burning from the position, from the exposure, from the fact this was all because of a stupid hickey and a man with an ego.

Robby's hand made contact with your waiting pussy with an even louder, wet smack!

"Fuck!" you squealed. The pain was sharper without the cotton there to soften it, the sting spreading up through your belly and down your thighs into your toes. Your knees tried to close, your grip slipped, your back curling against Robby's chest as his other hand kept you held open for him at your knee.

"Good girl, good girl." Robby soothed, mouth grazing your hair. "C'mon now. A few more."

You whined as the sting settled into heat, your breath shaky while you forced your legs open again and fixed your grip on the ruined and soaked edge of your panties.

Smack, smack, smack!

Three in a row, each one landing wet and mean against you, had your head falling back, eyes rolling as the moan tore out of you. The sting stayed, bright and pulsing, your hips trying to run from it and rock into it at the same time.

Robby's breathing had gone rough behind you.

Jack cursed under his breath, hand moving faster over his cock, his eyes fixed between your legs like he couldn't look away.

Robby let his fingers slide up and down your sopping folds, sensitive to his touch, making you moan anyway.

"You're so wet, honey. How are you so wet from just a little smacking, hm? You enjoy your punishment?"

"God, yes."

"Ask for more then."

"Please," you whispered. "Please."

"Ask Jack like a good girl."

You opened your eyes, wet with the prickling of tears from the sting. His mouth was open, his fist pumping a little faster, his chest rising and falling under the strain.

"Please, Jack, please. Can I have more?"

"Fuck, yes, sweetheart." His voice was rough, almost breaking around the words. "Go on. Give her five more. Then she's mine."

You bit on your bottom lip, your eyebrows threading, body tensing as you waited for it.

When all five came at once in a speedy rhythm—smacksmacksmacksmacksmack!—you were mewling, crying out in pain and pleasure, shutting your thighs quickly. Robby's hand was still over your pussy, the press of his fingers relieving there as he growled into your ear.

"Gooood fucking girl, takin' it so well, honey. S'okay, s'okay, you've learned your lesson, huh?"

"Yes!" you squealed.

"Okay, okay, breeeeeathe, honey." His hand stayed between your legs, rubbing now, soothing over the ache he'd put there. "Just breathe. Can you look at me?"

You did so, peeking your eyes up at him. You'd kind of fallen down his lap as your body twitched and curled in from the pain, looking up at him from where your neck was cramped against his belly. You could feel, suddenly, the bulging tent in his pants against your shoulder.

His other hand came up to cup your face, his eyes sparkling with pride. "You did so good, honey. Why don't you go over to Jack and tell him how grateful you are for your punishment, hm?"

You nodded, trying to get up on shaky legs. As you stood, you heard a click of teeth from behind you.

Robby's eyes had darkened as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes. "Crawl."

You immediately obeyed, knowing that tone, and getting on your hands and knees.

"Jesus." you heard from the bed.

Your knees touched the carpet first, your palms following. The sting between your legs made every little movement feel too shaky. Your eyes locked onto Jack, who had slowed his hand around himself now, watching you with his mouth parted and his eyes blown wide.

You began crawling toward him.

Behind you, Robby shifted in the chair, and you heard the low sound of his zipper coming down. You knew he was watching the way your ass moved, the way your panties were askew and ruined, the way your thighs trembled each time you brought yourself closer to the bed.

Jack's hand had stopped completely by the time you reached him.

You crawled up between his open legs, smiling a little at the look on his face, at the way he seemed caught between reaching for you and waiting to see what you would do first.

"Hi, handsome," you murmured.

"Hey, sweetheart." he whispered, finally reaching out to pet your face with his free hand.

You leaned into it, eyes fluttering before you remembered what Robby had told you to do. Your hands settled on Jack's thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans as you looked up at him from between his knees.

"Thank you." you said softly.

"You're very welcome, sweetheart." he murmured, "What good manners you have."

You bit down on your lip, his warm look of pride and eagerness making your belly twist on itself. You looked down at his thick, throbbing length in his hand.

"Can I help you with that?" you asked cheekily.

He smiled wider, "Think we could work something out."

You glanced over your shoulder at Robby, only for Jack's hand to move to your chin, stopping you. "Eyes on me. Don't look at him."

"Listen to Jack, honey." you heard Robby say from the corner.

"Okay," you nodded, your smile gone, your heart leaping into your throat, "yes, Jack."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and you opened for him, taking it into your mouth without being told. You sucked gently, tongue moving around him, letting your teeth graze his knuckle enough to make him groan. It was a noise you missed.

"Do you want me to suck your cock, Jack?" you asked, eyes wide as you kissed his thumb.

"That what you want, sweetheart?"

You nodded.

"Go on then." he said.

He laid back into the pillows, and you lowered yourself slowly between his legs, keeping your eyes up until your mouth met the thick head of him. The first taste of him made you moan, your hand curling around his base while the other settled on his thigh. Jack whimpered with you, his hips shifting beneath you when your tongue dragged along the underside.

"Oh, fuck." he breathed, head tipping back. "Oh my god."

You let yourself sink into it, mouth stretching around him, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. Your ass stayed lifted behind you, knees spread on the bed, and you could feel Robby watching from the chair without needing to look. It made you wetter, made you work your mouth slower at first, then greedier when Jack's fingers slid into your hair.

"She gets so fucking wet sucking dick, brother." Robby said from behind you.

Your hips wiggled in response, shameless and involuntary, though you couldn't answer with Jack's cock filling your mouth.

Jack laughed under his breath, gathering your hair in his fist and pulling it clear from your face as you bobbed over him.

"Hold her down." Robby said through what sounded like gritted teeth.

Jack's grip tightened in your hair, and he guided you lower.

You gagged almost immediately, his size too thick, too overwhelming—throat fluttering around him, your nails pressing into his thigh as your eyes watered. You were nowhere near taking all of him, not really, but the sound Jack made above you was enough to make your stomach twist hot and needy.

"Looks to me like you've got some learning to do." Jack said, voice rough from above. "Can you go any deeper, sweetheart? Hm? Or does Robby not teach you these things?"

"Fuck off." you heard from the chair.

Jack chuckled again, breathless, but eased his hand when you gagged again. You pulled back with a gasp, spit slick on your lips and chin, lungs dragging in air while your hand stayed wrapped around him.

You barely had time to recover before Jack was sitting up and kissing you.

His mouth came up hard against yours, open and hungry and wanting— pushing you back into the bed as his hand moved between your shoulder blades to deftly unclasp your bra. It was dragged off with clumsy urgency, tossed somewhere near the pillows, and then he was over you, chest pressing yours, hips heavy between your thighs while he kissed you deeper.

You moaned into his mouth, hands going into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he settled against you. He felt so good, so warm, so oddly familiar already. The push of his tongue was welcome between your lips, your mouth wet where your spit had dribbled down your lips, his cock hard against your thigh while he kissed you like he'd been waiting all night to get you under him.

"You are so beautiful," he sighed when he unlatched his lips from yours, kissing down your chin, your jaw, onto your neck.

"No, you are." you said with a smile.

"Ha, ha," he chided.

"I mean it." you said, "I'm a lucky girl." you added.

"Think we're the lucky ones." you heard from behind, and you craned your neck to look back at him.

Robby was fisting his own long cock in his hand, but he smiled at you when you met his gaze. You licked your lips, watching his hand move up and down, his other hand coming down to cup his balls. "Look at Jack, honey. Keep your eyes on him like he said. Be a good listener."

Before he'd finished, your chin was being brought down to look not just at him but between your bodies. Jack's cock was lining up with your entrance, and your eyes widened, the memory of the last time rushing up to the forefront of your mind. How big he felt—how he filled you and stretched you like your whole body felt split in half.

"Ohhh god." you breathed, muscles tightening.

Jack looked up at you, then leaned down to press a long kiss to your mouth as he nudged closer, dragging his cock through your wet folds. Both of you moaned at the feeling, your hands clutching at his shoulders, and then he was notching himself at your core.

"Breathe, honey." Robby said from the corner. "Curl your toes if you have to. Let out a long breath."

You did as he said, curling your toes into the bedding, sucking in a long breath through your nose. When you let it out, Jack joined you with a groan and pushed inside.

Your arms and legs clamped around him immediately, fingers pawing at his shoulders, ankles digging into the backs of his thighs.

"Ohgodohgodohgod—"

"S'okay, s'okay," Jack was moaning, petting your hair, his mouth held open in a perfect 'o' and his brows threaded as he pushed further in.

You whimpered as your body adjusted around him, ducking your face into his neck when his weight settled over you. He was hot everywhere, chest to chest, his arms braced around you, his breath breaking against your hair while he worked himself in slow.

"God I missed you," he whispered into your ear, half choked. "Missed you so much sweetheart."

Your belly flipped a little at that, or maybe at the feeling of overwhelming fullness, or your nerves as you felt Robby's eyes on you from behind. Jack held there when he was finally inside you, hips flush, his body pinning yours in place while you shook around him.

"How's that feel, honey?" Robby asked. "How's that big dick feel inside you, huh? Talk to us."

You nodded, clinging to Jack while you forced your shallow breathing to settle, forced your muscles to loosen around him. Finally, you let your head fall back against the bed and turned your eyes toward Robby.

He looked more wrecked than he had a few minutes ago. Before, he had been sitting back, stroking himself slowly with that narrow concentration in his eyes, but now his gaze had gone heavy, his jaw slack, his big hand tightening around the base of his cock. The tip was flushed angry red, precome pearling at the slit while he held himself back.

You licked your lips, blinking slowly.

"He asked you a question, sweetheart," Jack murmured in your ear, nipping your delicate lobe, letting his tongue peek out to trace the shell.

Your skin lit up, your eyes threatened to roll.

"Feels sooo… mmm—ah!" you gasped when he pulled out an inch, "big!"

You had half a mind to glare at both of them when you heard a resounding chuckle through the room.

"And how's she feel, Jack?" Robby asked. "God, I wanna be inside you so bad right now, honey—fuckkk…"

"Oh, our sweet girl feels like goddamn heaven." Jack sighed, pulling his cock out by inches and slowly pushing back in.

Your head knocked back, chin tipping, mouth falling open around a mewling cry as he filled you again, the stretch of him dragging in and out of your cunt, making you feel every notch and vein of his length.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed out. "I know, I know. Takin' it real slow, getting your little pussy adjusted, right, sweetheart?"

"M-more—" you sighed, legs tightening around him. "Want more."

Jack tipped his head toward Robby, and when you looked up, there was a smirk pulling at his mouth.

"What do ya say, brother?"

"Put her leg over your shoulder." Robby demanded from the corner, the words coming out rough. "Hug it close to your chest. You can—"

"Listen to him." Jack's eyes came back to you, amusement braided through the arousal in his voice, deep and husky as his mouth tilted. "Talkin' to me like I'm one of his residents."

He clicked his teeth and pulled back from where he had been laid over you. For a second, you thought he might do exactly what Robby said, but instead he leaned to grab one of the pillows, pushing it beneath your lower back and ass with a confidence that made your stomach jump.

"He thinks I don't know how you like being fucked." Jack murmured, hands sliding down your thighs, then back up to your hips. "Isn't that right?"

You gnawed at your lip, breath snagging when the shift changed the angle of him inside you. His cock pressed up against you differently now, fuller somehow, deeper without even moving much. Jack hoisted your hips, sheathing himself all the way inside again, and your gasp tore out of you before you could swallow it down.

"He thinks I don't know exactly what angle to make you tighten up real good around me," Jack said, "How to make you see stars, sweetheart."

You heard Robby's warning from the corner: "Abbot…"

"Don't worry," he said, flitting his darkened eyes over to the other attending, "I've done this before."

"You are such a —" you shook your head with a lazy smile, but Jack moved before you could finish.

His hips swung back, and he began fucking you in earnest now, and the words breaking apart in your throat—the new angle dragging you right back to the truck a month ago, to the cramped backseat and the way he had figured out your body with an almost infuriating ease, shifting you up until he found the spot that made your breath go stupid. He found it again now, much faster this time, his hips driving into you with the pillow lifting you up to meet him, your body taking him deeper with every thrust until your vision blurred at the edges.

"Oh fuck, Jack!" you squealed.

His cock pistoned in and out of you now, hard and slick, the sound of it obscene beneath your panting. Heat coiled fast in your belly, your muscles tightening before you were ready for it. Your legs widened around him, hands losing strength where they clung to his wrists, to the sheets, to whatever you could reach as his fingers clamped around your hips and held you in place.

"She's close." Robby said through gritted teeth.

Jack's mouth pulled, the crinkles of his eyes deepening. It was a look of both fondness and cockiness you couldn't take the time to distinguish because that swell in your hips had built up, your pussy constricting his cock, sucking him in.

"You wanna come, sweetheart?" he cooed from above you, hips still snapping into that perfect place. "Been a while, huh?"

You noddded, "Oh, yes, yes—"

Jack's forehead was dappling in sweat, his top teeth hooked over his bottom lip, eyes black and glazed as he watched you under him.

"Jesus, I might—oh god—" he stuttered, lungs catching, his brows pulled together tight. He reached between your bodies, and your eyes widened.

"No no no no—don't!" you shrieked, pleasure shocking up your spine before he had even touched you the way he meant to. "I'm gonna—I can't—I can't hold it—"

"Ask real nice now, honey." Robby moaned from behind you, breathless. "Ask Jack. Ask for it, and you can come. Beg."

"Pleaaaaase!" you moaned, nearly in tears, your brain lagging behind anything that wasn't the hot, overwhelming locking up of your muscles. Your body thrashed under Jack, heels digging into the bedding, hips trying to meet him and run from him at the same time while his cock kept kissing your womb, right at the perfect spot inside you, again and again and again.

His eyes stayed locked on your face.

"Please, what, sweetheart?" His voice shook now, almost whining with you, his own restraint starting to splinter. "C'mon. I'm so close. Gonna come in your sweet pussy if you just ask real nice."

"Please let me come, Jackie, please please please—" The words tore out of you, wet and desperate, your hands clawing uselessly at his shoulders. "I'll be so good, I promise. I'll be so good—I'm—"

He was nodding down at you, breathing hard through his mouth. "Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Go on—"

"I'm sorry." you choked suddenly, the words coming from somewhere you hadn't meant to open. "I'm sorry for being bad."

Jack's face changed. Yours felt wet and hot now, too.

"Come for us, sweetheart." he said again, softer now, but his voice sounded further away.

"Jack—" you heard Robby say from the corner.

You didn't know what the warning meant. You could barely hear it over the sound of yourself, over the blood in your ears, over the horrible, perfect pressure building too fast to survive.

"Oh fuck—please!" you wailed.

"Go on, it's okay, it's okay, come for us sweetheart."

You realized at once it was tears that were spilling hot down your temples into your hair, over your cheeks. You tried to moan and sobbed instead.

Your body locked up on you, muscles clenching down hard around him. Your back arched so hard it pulled you nearly off the bed, eyes wide open even as your vision went white, as if the whole room had been struck by lightning. The wave that had been building in you for weeks finally crested and broke, but it didn't roll through you the way it usually did. It swallowed everything. Your stomach twisted, your thighs clamped around Jack's hips, your fingers curled so hard they cramped, and Jack's cock pushed in deep, so deep it felt like he hit the center of you and split the feeling open.

When you came back down to earth, everything felt so wrong.

Your vision had cleared, and above you was Jack, his mouth open and panting, his face caught somewhere between awe and panic. His eyes were so wide and unsure.

And you were crying.

Really, really crying. Harder than you had in a very long time.

Through the sobs, you could hear Robby saying something from the corner, but Jack was all you could see. His face shifted as he realized it was not stopping, that the sounds coming out of you were not pleasure anymore. He leaned back over you, mouth parted, hand cupping the side of your head too hard before he caught himself and loosened his grip, fingers dragging into your hair instead.

Their voices came in and out of your ears, fuzzy, but there.

"Shit—shit, shit, I'm sorry—what did I do?"

"Nothing, it's okay—" you heard Robby say. "You didn't do anything wrong—"

You couldn't talk, it was just their voices swirling around you.

"Sweetheart? What's going on?"

"Jack—"

"Sweet girl, look at me, look at me now."

"Abbot."

Jack's voice went quiet, his chin lifting to look at the other attending. He sucked in a deep, calming breath, even as yours felt lost in your chest, choking and wailing and lost in the room, caught somewhere behind your chest where every breath scraped on the way up through your lungs.

Your whole body still hadn’t stopped reacting, little tremors running through your thighs, your stomach, the muscles low in your belly clenching, leaving you open and spent and helpless beneath him while your mind kept trying to catch up to the fact that it was over, that you had come, that after a month of being held back from it, the thing your body had wanted so badly had finally broken over you and left nothing solid behind.

"Breathe," Robby said, "it's okay. This is called a drop, just talk to her."

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed, the words tearing out of you before you even knew what you were apologizing for, your hands curling uselessly in the blanket, unable to grip.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay, Jack has you."

"Listen to my voice, sweetheart." Jack said, his hands petting heavier and soothing now, the heel of his palm moving over your hairline, then your cheek, then back again. Though his breath was against your mouth, too fast for someone trying to calm you, and then you felt him swallow hard, felt the effort of him trying to force himself calm.

There was no one word for the rush of emotions that swept through you like a tidal wave. You didn't even have time to try and name one of them before another took over. Relief, euphoria, then anxiety and shame, and then back to a euphoric state so sharp it almost hurt.

Tears came quick and thick down your face, sliding into your ears, wetting the bedspread beneath you, your mouth open in a wail, your head thrown back into the covers while the ceiling blurred into blocks of light and shadow. You wanted to disappear, you wished your limbs didn't feel so heavy so you could cover your face. You felt mortified, you felt ashamed. You wanted to be held. You wanted to be alone. But you couldn't stand the idea of either of them leaving, couldn’t stand the thought of Jack lifting off of you or Robby stepping away from the room, even while every part of you felt too exposed, your legs still open, your skin too sensitive where the sheets touched it, your chest heaving against Jack’s.

"Robby, brother, maybe you—"

"It's alright—just keep talking to her."

You could feel Jack lean down, lips against your ear, could hear his soothing nothings even as you hiccuped and sobbed, your chest feeling tight, your throat scraping against the sound of your cries. It was too much and too overwhelming, the mattress under your back, Jack’s weight over you, the damp press of his mouth at your temple, Robby’s voice from the corner with that steadiness that made the room feel less like it was tilting as he spoke in hushed tones to his fellow attending.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me? Listen," Jack said into your ear, his arms coming around you tightly, holding you to his chest. He was still inside of you, your legs still fallen open. "You're okay, you're such a good girl. Listen to me."

You only had half a mind to listen, your eyes still glued to the ceiling, your body sunken deep into the bed like you could never find your way out. As if a pit had opened in the covers and you'd fallen down into it, their voices far, far away up above. They kept talking, but you could hardly make out the words at all, only soothing cander, Jack’s gentle breath against your skin, Robby’s lower voice, the sound of your own breathing coming in broken little pulls that didn’t feel like enough air to live on.

This drop was like none you'd had before. Usually it came after the sex entirely, sometimes even days later. But this—the during—it was too much. There was no little pause where your body understood the scene had changed. The pleasure had crested, shattered, and then opened straight into panic, with no seam between one feeling and the next. Your body still thought it was being asked for more, still fluttering around Jack, still shaking from the release, while your mind had gone soft and frightened and far away.

"Answer me, sweetheart." Jack whispered.

A choked sob came out of you, and you finally were able to form a word: "W-what?"

"I asked if you could hear me."

"Y-yes." you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut, gulping in air, their voices becoming a little clearer, Jack’s hand finally settling at the back of your head instead of moving everywhere at once.

"Have her hold onto you—" you could just barely hear Robby's voice from the corner.

"Put your arms around me, sweetheart." Jack said gently in your ear. "Like this," and he brought one arm from around you and lifted yours around his neck, his fingers so gentle as he rubbed the skin there.

"That's a good girl, other arm too," Jack said, repositioning his hand beneath you to lift the other around his neck, "That's it."

Robby's voice was muffled behind you, "There you go. Let her just breathe, then we can check in."

"Deep breath, sweet girl, c'mon now, breathe with me, I've got you, you're safe, you're doing so good."

You shakily let air depress out of you, inhaling again slowly, even if it was a little uneven. Your mind started to come back to you in pieces: the sheet bunched under your shoulder, Jack’s hair caught between your fingers, the warm weight of him, the damp place on his neck where a cold sweat had broken out. Fresh tears no longer fell from your face, only clinging to your lashes when you blinked.

"That's it, what a good listener. Just breathe—"

You felt the mattress dip, two hands up around your face, tilting it back. Robby's eyes found yours, leaning up above you. The light above made a sort of halo around his rumbled hair. Jack's face stayed in the crook of your neck, just whispering praise.

Robby's thumbs soothed across your temple, and he made a show of breathing in and out deeply above you. You matched his rhythm, in through the nose, out the mouth. Long, long breaths until they eventually evened out, until the tight pull in your chest loosened, until the room stopped slipping at the edges and you could see the crease between his brows, the careful set of his mouth, the way he was watching you for every little change.

"Okay," Robby said, leaning back a little, but still sitting on the bed.

Jack pulled away only enough to be able to look down at you, his worried eyes skating across your face, checking your mouth, your eyes, the wet tracks down your cheeks. He still held you around your body, but eased up on the tightness, bringing one hand up to your face to soothe it where Robby's were, his thumb brushing close to the corner of your mouth before dragging back over your cheek.

"I'm okay," you whispered out your next breath, "I'm sorry—"

Both men were shaking their heads before you even finished saying it. "Don't apologize," Jack said gently, leaning down to press a faint kiss to your parted lips, barely there, more breath than anything. "Nothing to be sorry for."

"I must've really—" you breathed in again, breath still a little hard to pull, your chest hitching before it settled, "Really scared you there. It's never…never been like that before."

"Been a long time since we had a drop like that," Robby agreed, his hand now petting the bowl of your skull, fingers moving through the hair at the crown of your head. He tilted his head to find your eyes when you looked up at him, his voice staying even, careful.

"Are you alright? We're going to stop now, okay?"

You breathed in, and the question moved through you slowly, too tender to answer from. Stop sounded like relief. But stop also sounded like this was all your fault. It sounded like Jack pulling away from you, like the room going too quiet and cold. You hadn't even realized your hands had found the back of Jack's hair, wrapping a curl around your index finger, fisting the locks with a weak little grip that made him glance down at your lips before his mouth pulled into a small smile. He looked shaken still, but there, staying right where you had pulled him.

"Okay…maybe just for a little? Can we… cuddle? Maybe watch something?" you finally answered.

"Of course we can." Robby said, and then looked at Jack, nodding.

Jack began to pull away, but the second his weight shifted, the adrenaline in your blood shot up again.

"No—no—no, I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I don't want to stop, please!" you begged.

He stopped immediately, one hand braced beside your head, his face lowering back toward yours. Though he had completely softened, he was still inside of you, and the closeness of him was the only thing keeping your panic from tearing wide open again.

Robby was there in an instant, his hand finding yours before you could curl it into the sheets. "Okay, why don't we do this?" he said, his voice low and close. "I'll hold your hand, and Jack is going to sit back. He's just going to sit on the pillows, honey. He just wants to get comfortable to watch something with us, okay? I'll be right here. I'll hold you."

Your chin was wobbling, and Jack began to pepper more kisses over your face, his mouth touching your cheek, your temple, the wet corner of your eye. "I'm right here, I'm right here, we're not mad at you, sweetheart. You're so special to us, our sweet girl. My sweetheart. I'm just sitting back, you can come with me."

You nodded, though fresh, quiet tears had begun to fall from your face. You felt so silly, so stupid. Crying because he would be apart from you—for what, a second?— crying because you ruined such a good time, something they were enjoying and you had to go and cry about it, had to make both of them stop and look at you with all that worry, had to make Jack’s hands shake when he was only trying to be good to you.

"You're our best girl," Robby cooed as if reading your mind, leaning down to kiss your face, still holding your hand like he promised while Jack slowly pulled away. The air felt cold without him, and you began to cry softly again, your thighs drawing together. Your free hand searched blindly until Jack caught it and brought your knuckles to his mouth before fulling sitting back. While one hand was held in Robby's, his other continued to pet at the crown of your head soothing you gently, whispering praise and kissing your face.

"Okay," Jack exhaled against the headboard, shifting up onto the pillows, one arm already opening for you. "C'mere, come cuddle me, sweetheart."

Robby lifted you into a seated position, keeping one hand at your back until you had your bearings. The room tipped for a second, your head still light from crying, the duvet half rumbled around your hips, and then you were climbing up the bed into Jack, koala-ing yourself to him, tucking yourself into the arm he held open. He lifted the covers around you so you could get warm, his arm snug around you as you fell into him, your cheek pressing against his chest, your fingers finding the fabric at his side and holding there. It felt good, just skin on skin like that.

Robby got up with a groan as his knees cracked, standing and heading for the door.

"Robby—" you croaked, your eyes widening in panic.

He was quick to come over and lean over the bed, fists holding him up so he could lower himself to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek bone. "I'm coming right back. Just getting you some water, honey. Stay here with Jack."

His dark eyes found Jack when he pulled away, something silent passing between them. Jack’s hand moved over your back slowly, answering it without words, and Robby nodded before he lifted himself from the bed and headed for the hallway.

You felt Jack's warm kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles along your spine. You tucked in closer to him, your arm draped around his middle and cheek pressed to the bare warmth of his chest. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The room had gone quiet enough that you could hear the soft drag of his palm over your back, the shift of the blanket where it was tucked around your shoulders, the faint sound of Robby opening a cabinet in the kitchen. Jack kept his mouth near your hair, kissing you there a few more times, and you held onto him tighter when your breathing stuttered again.

Robby was back soon, three glasses of water balanced between two hands, his steps careful so the rims didn’t knock together. He bent to hand one to Jack, and put the other two on the bedside table, beside the lamp and the little mess of tissues already pulled from the box for you. Jack brought his glass down to you, holding it until your hands found it, and you sat up just enough to sip lightly at the rim.

The cool water slipped down your throat, and you felt it all the way into your chest, cutting through the heat that had climbed into your blood. Your hands were still a little unsteady around the glass, so Jack kept his fingers near yours, ready to catch it without taking it from you.

It had been such a deep drop, deeper than you knew what to do with, but the room was starting to come back now: the weight of the covers over you, Jack’s arm behind your shoulders, Robby sitting down on the edge of the mattress again, the glass leaving a cold ring of damp against your palm. You felt yourself beginning to climb out of that far-away place finally, leaning into their closeness.

Robby's arm came around you so that you were positioned between the two men, and you snuggled up closer to Jack, your leg hooking over his.

"Let's put on some of The Office, huh?" Robby murmured from behind you, "how's that sound?"

You nodded, "Good."

You saw the crinkles around Jack's eyes deepen as he gave you a small smile, leaning down to kiss your forehead once again. "I think Robby is feeling a little lonely, sweetheart, mind if he cuddles up too?"

"Yes, please," you said, turning your chin to look over your shoulder.

Robby grinned down at you, his other hand coming to rest on your hip as he leaned into the curve of your back. He kissed the crest of your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, eyes on the screen, scrolling through the list of episodes.

After a while, with the TV screen flashing blues and grays over the three of you, you had finally settled in, and your mind began to remind you of what had just happened.

"I'm sorry." you whispered into Jack's chest, because the words kept sitting there in your mouth, in your head, stirring around all useless and heavy and gnawing.

Robby's hand moved over your hip beneath the covers. "Honey."

"I know," you said, voice cracking. "I know you said it's okay, I just…"

Your throat tightened again before you could finish. You swallowed around the lump forming again, squeezing your eyes shut. Jack's arm tightened around you, and you felt the press of his mouth into the crown of your head.

"You're allowed to cry." Robby said from behind you, his voice low near your ear. "You don't have to stop yourself. It's okay that you cried earlier too. It's just release, honey."

Your face crumpled at that, embarrassed by how badly you needed permission for something already happening again.

"It'll feel good to cry a little." he murmured. "You had a big night. Your body doesn't know what to do with all of it yet."

You nodded, eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped out. Jack's thumb moved over your upper arm slowly, while Robby's hand stayed warm as it snaked around your belly to pull you into him. There was no space where you weren't comforted, held, known. Neither of them rushed you. Neither of them tried to make you talk your way out of it.

"You did so good." Jack said quietly.

Your mouth trembled harder, and you pushed your face into his side to hide.

"I don't feel good." you admitted.

"S'the drop talking," Robby murmured, as if it wasn't meant for you, and then, his lips went to your ear, "You're the best girl, honey. You were so good, you listened to well, took those four weeks so well. You're just a little overwhelmed, huh? Lots of emotions."

You nodded.

Jack's cheek rested against the top of your head. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

You didn't know. You were not sure you could pull together an answer better than this, than the covers and their bodies around you and the distant smell of sex still in the room, Robby's warms arm around your belly and Jack's at your shoulders and his heartbeat against your cheek.

"This." you whispered finally.

Robby's hand squeezed you. "Then this is what you get."

Jack kissed your forehead again. "We're not going anywhere."

Somewhere between Jack's fingers moving gently through your hair and Robby's breathing going slow against your back, your eyes closed, and you fell asleep tucked between them.

🏷️ @realwhoreforfictionalmen, @kittymeowmeow17, @viviandarkbloom11, @kneelforloki, @kitkatrina, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @anthropsych, @shawnysimp, @1-800-bobcut, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @thoroughfareblues @isasdreams @katestuff17 @obi-wansgirl @archxve, @readersassemble5, @ohmeohmy0, @vipervixxen @earthhtoness, @kkatnapp, @macbaetwo, @honeylilli, @marvel-mistress, @harryswizzle, @imabapical, @rosetintmworld, @satanssideho,@imabapical, @pearlessance

previous | next | masterlist

[seitmai]

Oh they are getting into a groove the three of them real fast 😮‍💨

Good for them, like getting through that drop together definitely is an instant bonding experience!

Can't wait for more of them how this dynamic plays out with the others 👀

[thykingdoncome]

his best girl

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | ao3

rabbot x reader, jesse van horn x reader, brendon park x reader

summary: You’re Robby’s favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn’t hesitate to offer you up. A certain someone shows up to a party and throws things off kilter.

|| smut mdni 18+, dom!robby, polyamory dynamics and discussions, dom/sub dynamics, cuckholding, free use, heavy convos, partying, recreational drug use, shotgunning / smoking, drinking (wine), kissing lots of kissing I love kissing, grinding, dirty talk, dr desperate park, premature ejaculation, arguing, no pinv || a/n: due to the fact tumblr has a 'block' limit, I had to split p6 in half. though, it kind of works out? so I hope you enjoy! 16k words

"Don't tell me you're nervous?"

Robby's eyes twinkled with mirth as he backed you into the kitchen counter, his hips against yours, belly to belly as your back hit the marble edge. The counter was cool through the thin cotton of your shirt, the cabinet handle pressing into the back of your thigh while the oven warmed the room behind him.

Your mouth twitched as you looped your hands around his neck, "Not…nervous." you said, though your heart skipped a little beat when his big hands settled on your hips. "Just excited."

He nodded, a real smile pulling at his mouth, his eyes creasing deeper as he studied you.

"Food's gonna burn." you murmured when he only stared down at you longer while your fingers played with the hair on his neck.

"Mhm." he hummed, his hands slipping under just your the hem of your shirt. His thumbs dragged lightly across your sensitive skin above your waistband as he bent down to press a kiss to your lips. His mustache tickled, and you breathed him in— toothpaste and whiskey on his lips.

Tonight was the night Jack Abbot would be joining for dinner.

He'd agreed to come over on a night he wasn't on shift, and Robby wasn't working either. For once, there'd be no interruptions or excuses, no run-ins that were bound to happen if you tried to meet either of them at work. It would be just the three of you sitting down together and seeing where the conversation went.

It did make you nervous, admittedly. Not enough to make you want to stop or back out, or pretend you hadn't been counting the hours until he got there— but it did make your stomach give a little twist every time you glanced toward the front door. Jack was Jack, and you knew him well enough to know you wanted him there. Still, wanting him with Robby in the room, wanting him after everything you’d already done wrong, wanting him now that the wanting had permission—it made your fingers restless against the back of Robby’s neck.

But what excited you most, though, was that the four weeks was up.

Your long, long punishment for stepping across boundary lines was finally done and paid. Four weeks of trying to be good, of no sharing and no release. Showing Robby that you could be trusted, that you still wanted to be with him. Your legs squeezed together at the thought of how many times he'd brought you to the edge only to be denied. And now, finally, that would be ending.

You weren't sure when, or how, but knowing that it was finally done…

"Little too excited, maybe?" Robby chuckled when he pulled away. His eyes dropped to the movement of your thighs, then came back to your face with a look that made your stomach squirm again.

You shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent.

"Tonight is only about discussing things." His voice was still warm, still Robby, but there was a firmer edge beneath it now. "We don't want to put any pressure on him, remember? No fun."

"Yeah, you're right. No fun." you said sarcastically.

He pinched your skin, making you yelp with a little giggle, before returning to the stove.

"Behave." he said, reaching for the wooden spoon. You smiled, even if the simple word made your face heat.

You watched him stir the pan, his shoulders relaxed beneath his shirt, one hip leaned into the counter, the deep brown hair across his forearms twitching as he flexed, moving the food around. He looked so ordinary like this. Domestic. Sweet.

You knew well and good he had his reasons for being so strict the past month. He'd explained them to you more than once, always with that steady patience of his, always making sure you understood the punishment wasn't because you were bad. You'd made a bad decision. You'd crossed a line. There was a difference, he'd said, and you believed him.

It still made guilt creep up your neck as you watched him now.

You resumed your work at the cutting board, laying out the washed lettuce and chopping with the knife, only the noise of domesticity filling the room now—your knife meeting the board, the sizzling of the chicken in the pan, the faint thunk of Robby pushing the spoon around the skillet.

"Go sit," he said gently. "I've got this."

You didn't need to be told twice, taking his bid and putting down the knife to leave.

But as you turned your back, you felt his warm hand latch around your arm, and suddenly pull you tight against his side.

You gasped, chest going flush to him.

The spoon was still in his other hand as the chicken hissed in the pan. His fingers wrapped around your arm, intense but not hurting as he held fast.

"When Jack gets here," he murmured, his voice different now— baritone and intense. It made your skin rise in goosebumps. He leaned down further, his face inching closer, voice lowering, "I want you to answer the door and give him a kiss, okay?"

You swallowed dryly, the gentle pulse that had been a distant reminder between your legs now jumping in earnest.

"Yes, Robby."

Something pleased moved through his gaze before his grip on your arm loosened.

"Good girl." he said, kissing you one last time, chaste and quick on the lips before letting go.

And as if on cue, the doorbell rang. Robby's eyes lifted toward the front of the house on instinct, and then came back to you. His mouth twitched, something knowing in the corner of it.

"Go let our guest in, honey."

Your skin went hot all at once, nerves lighting up through your chest, down your arms, into the tips of your fingers. But you tried not to show it. You only nodded and slipped away from him, padding quickly down the hall until the front door appeared.

You sucked in a deep breath, checking your reflection in the little hanging mirror above the entry table, where your chapstick and house keys laid haphazardly in the catch-all. When you made eye contact with yourself, you could see you were doing a terrible job of hiding your nerves after all. Your eyes were bright and wide, your skin dappling with perspiration as your shoulders sat just a little too high and tight.

You shook yourself. It was just Jack.

Turning back towards the dark oak door, you took hold of the handle, and opened it.

In front of you was one of the most handsome men you'd ever known.

He'd dressed nicely for you tonight. A short sleeve button up, dark wash Levi's, his emergency department shoes long gone and replaced with clean white sneakers. His hair looked like he'd run his hand through it one too many times just on the walk up the stairs, the graying short curls a little messy in the most charming way. And there was some small, careful nervousness in the way he stood there, crutches held in one hand even though he wore his prosthesis, and his backpack hung from the other shoulder.

"Hi." you said, a little shyly.

"Hey," he breathed out. You wondered if he'd been holding it the same way you had.

"Um, come in," you said, making way for him.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said.

As you stood aside, he walked in and got closer, bending down to give you a hug, his free arm wrapping around your shoulders. You lifted your arms around him too, his shirt soft beneath your hands, the clean smell of Irish Spring and aftershave close in the collar. And before he could pull away, you held on a little tighter.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you hello, Jack?" you whispered in his ear.

When you looked back at him, a blush had flooded his cheeks, a cheeky little smile pulling at his mouth. He'd shaven recently too, you realized, though the roughness had already started to come back along his jaw.

"Yeah," he murmured, leaning down again. "Yeah. Course you can—c'mere."

You reached up, pressing your lips to his gently.

Your whole body seemed to notice it at once. It still felt the same—hot, immediate, like stepping into a room with a fire already going. Memories threatened at the back of your mind, how possessed he'd gotten when he began to kiss you in the truck, how he'd yanked you into his lap at the first chance. Last week in the exam room when you'd asked for a chaste kiss goodbye. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing. His lips were a little chapped today, his jaw rough beneath your fingertips where your hand had lifted without thinking.

"Evenin', Jack," Robby greeted from the mouth of the hall.

You hadn't realized you'd been kissing Jack for so long until you pulled away. Robby was smiling though, one shoulder leaned against the wall, his eyes moving over you, so warm and proud that it made your heart leap.

Jack looked at him, clearing his throat with a small smile. "Thanks for havin' me, brother." He stepped forward, bringing Robby into a hug. Robby patted him on the back in greeting, squeezing his shoulder as they parted.

"Good to see you." Robby said. "Come in. Honey, will you take his things while I get Jack a drink? What'll you have? Just got his new Bourbon you'd like."

You went to Jack, taking his backpack from his shoulder, but as you held your hand out for his crutches, he kept it in his hand.

"S'alright, sweetheart. I'll keep this." he said gently, nodding down toward his prosthesis. "Wanna get the damn thing off as soon as I can, anyway."

You nodded, quickly going to set his things down in the entry way.

As you lingered in the hallway, you heard their conversation carry through the house, something about how old the new bottle was, what notes the whiskey had, whether Robby was overselling it. Jack complimented the smell of dinner cooking. It all felt so…normal. Just two friends talking in the kitchen, shoes on the mat by the door. Jack's backpack looking less out of place than you'd expected.

Except your pulse was still kicking hard from a simple kiss from him.

You hurried into the kitchen, taking the auburn liquid from its decanter before they could get to it, hastily busying yourself. You poured Jack two fingers into a glass as they chatted and grabbed Robby's from where it sat on the counter, walking over to them and handing them their respective drinks.

"What a sweet girl you are," Jack cooed as your fingers brushed, taking the glass from you.

Your belly swooped.

"Isn't she?" Robby agreed, bending to kiss your cheek. "Why don't you sit with Jack at the table, honey? I'll bring the salad."

You nodded, nerves feeling jittery and your steps a little quick as you went to the table and sat by your guest.

"You mind if I get this thing off sooner than later?" Jack asked, lowering himself into the dining chair with a careful groan. The cheekiness eased out of his face for a moment, replaced by something more pained and sheepish as he glanced at you. "Not exactly dinner table etiquette, I know."

"I don't mind." you said easily, pouring all three empty water glasses full from the jug in the center of the table.

The table was set with one of Robby's nicer sets, not the fancy kind of serving plateware you had grown up around, the kind married couples got in boxes with tissue paper and little cards tucked inside. But still, the plates and salad bowls were a pretty gunmetal gray, the silverware true silver and gleaming beside the folded napkins.

Robby shrugged, uncaring as well, as he poured you a glass of your favorite wine.

Jack said a gentle thanks as you finished pouring his water, and he began to undo his prosthesis. When the end of his leg became visible, he rubbed his palm over it, letting out a deep sigh.

"Better?" you asked quietly, sipping your water to quench your parched mouth.

He leaned back into the seat, hand still at his knee, rubbing the day from it. "Yeah. Better."

Robby brought over the large salad bowl, the alabaster tongs waiting at the top. He set it down in the middle of the table, then took his seat and doled out a few helpings of salad onto each plate. He put your wine glass in front of you, then settled back with his own bourbon in hand.

For a moment, the three of you just sat there.

The table was ready. The salad bowl between you, water glasses filled, silverware laid out beside folded napkins, dinner still warm in the oven, waiting to be served. Jack had his bourbon in one hand, his other still massaging his residual limb. Robby sat across from you, one ankle hooked under his chair, his gaze moving between you and Jack with a funny look in his eyes—but he was smiling.

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, heating rising to your cheeks without even having to have take a sip.

"Well," you said, lifting it, your voice only a little uneven. "Here's to…new beginnings. And good company."

Robby looked at Jack.

Jack looked at Robby.

A smile tugged at Jack’s mouth first, softer than usual, though with that same cheekiness that always lit his eyes, and he held up his bourbon, looking over to Robby, who lifted his.

"To new beginnings." they said together.

Dinner went normal. Natural as anything, like it was just you and Robby enjoying dinner with a dear friend. Nothing about whatever this was got brought up, whether because no one dared to bring it up first or because the conversation flowed easily enough without it, you couldn't be quite sure.

Every so often, Robby's hand would rest lightly over your knuckles when telling a story, the lines beside his eyes deep when he smiled. You felt Jack toe at your ankle once while you listened, thinking it was just a mistake, and then he did it a second time, then a third, until you began to nudge him back beneath the table. Your toe traced up the outside of his calf, careful at first, then a little braver when his mouth twitched around the rim of his glass. He took a bigger bite just to hide his own smile when you hooked your foot behind his ankle.

By the time the plates were cleared and the three of you rejoined in the living room, your belly felt warm and content, cheeks hot with the effects of a couple glasses of wine and good food.

"If it's okay, Jack—" you said, stopping him before he could sit in the lone armchair across the sofa, his weight bearing down on his crutches as he moved into the room. "I like…um…I like touching. For conversations like these."

"Oh?" he asked, standing a little straighter, fixing his grip on the crutches and crooking his head at you.

"Like…" You felt your heart race up a little, a bashful smile twitching at your lips. "I don't know. It helps me feel more connected, I guess. If I can reach for you, touch you." You patted the cushion beside you on the large couch. "Can you sit next to me here?"

Jack's expression softened, though the teasing stayed at the edge of his mouth.

"Yeah, sweetheart." he said. "I can do that."

He made his way around the coffee table, setting his crutches at arm's length before sitting down. The couch dipped around his weight, a long sigh expelling from his lungs as he settled his arm along the back. He was close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and the contact sent a little spark of nerves through your stomach.

Robby joined you too, just on your other side, but not before handing Jack his refilled bourbon. He gave you your wine, then sat close enough that his knee pressed into yours. When all three of you had your glasses, you lifted them one last time, the rims touching with a small clink before everyone took a sip.

"So—" you breathed, settling further into the cushions and looking between them, "who'd like to start?"

"Start?" Jack chortled, "I've been here for two hours. Thought that's when we started."

Robby smiled at the fellow attending just as you did. "She means to talk about the three of us, Abbot."

"Oh, I know." Jack said, glancing at you. "I just like pushing her buttons."

"I know you do." you said, rolling your eyes and chuckling. "Okay, how about this: what is something important to you in a relationship?"

"A relationship? So we're just jumping in?"

"Yeah, we are," you nodded, "What do you look for in a partner?"

Jack pursed his lips, shrugging, "I like someone kind." he said. "Not just to me, but to people around them too. Waiters, nurses. The person taking too long in front of them at the pharmacy. You know."

You nodded. "Sure, yeah. That's definitely important."

"And funny." Jack added, then glanced at Robby. "Which is unfortunate for him."

Robby's eyebrows lifted. "Might come as a surprise to you, Jack, but some people do find me funny—even charming."

Jack lifted his glass a little, his smile gentling. "Then they get to know you and realize it's mostly deflection."

You looked at Robby, expecting a retort, but he only huffed through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. You laughed too, some of your nerves loosening with it. Robby's hand squeezed your knee before settling again.

You leaned into him, resting your chin on his shoulder for a moment as you asked: "What about you, Robby?"

"I…like…" he thought for a moment, his eyes on his knees then over to you, soft and warm and crinkled at the corners, "you."

You smiled, eyes narrowing, "Try again."

He smiled wider, looking away and nodding, "I look for…someone who is honest, who says what they mean. I want someone who I can count on to be there, to trust. I like…taking care of people, so that sort of thing is important. For someone to let me do that."

"Okay, not fair—" Jack interrupted, "he already had an answer locked and loaded."

"No take backs." you teased, shrugging as you peeked over at him.

"Not taking it back, just…" Jack shrugged back, "Okay, what about this? I like someone who is…comfortable in their own skin. Knows how to dance through dark days. Who…wants to do that. With me."

The room went a little quieter around his words, but not quite heavy. There was a stillness, an awareness of a tender wound he was showing so easily. So generously. Robby's hand moved over your knee. You took your chin from where it had rested on his shoulder to look up and over at Jack fully. He looked away first, taking a sip of bourbon with a faint pinkness at the tips of his ears.

"Very deep, Dr. Abbot." you said gently, reaching for his hand that rested in a fist on his thigh.

"Thank you, sweetheart." he nodded once, as if in mock bow, squeezing your hand where it held his. "What about you?"

"Me?" you asked.

"Yeah, you." Robby said, his hand still cupping your knee, resting their before sliding up and squeezing your thigh. "What do you want?"

You sat back a little further into the couch, thinking.

What did you look for in a partner?

Someone kind, yes. Someone trustworthy and honest too. Someone who could hold your hand through the darkness. Of course.

But also, you wanted someone who could take care of you and still allow you the freedom to choose. Someone who could see and know the worst parts of you and not just the sweet ones. Someone that could handle those selfish, scared parts of you. The parts that wanted too much.

That was the thing, wasn't it? All this want. Sometimes it felt bottomless. Maybe not every second of every day, but often enough that you knew it was there. A deep, hungry place in you that wanted to be filled with unconditional love. A reciprocated want just as deep if not more. It was embarrassing, it made you feel greedy and guilty all at once. It didn't have a clinical name for it, a nice way of asking for it.

You looked down at your hands— Robby's on your thigh, Jack's intertwined fingers.

"I think I want someone who sees me for who I am," you answered finally, "and instead of questioning it, wants it."

Your face warmed as soon as you said it, the rest on the tip of your tongue wanting to get out, but you bit down and held it back.

"I know…" you sucked in a breath, steadying your nerves, "I know I can be a lot sometimes. Too much… so… someone who can… handle that, want that… it's all… I don't know."

Robby leaned forward, tilting his head so he could find your gaze, making you look at him, "You are not too much." he said, so so gently. You felt Jack squeeze your hand, and you looked between them.

Jack's eyes were narrowed in a way that flamed your face—he was studying you so intently you wished you could sink into the couch cushions and disappear. This was all so new to him, you remembered. Not only this dynamic that was forming and changing and being shaped, but the big conversations. It felt a little scary now to you too. Exposed, open. The three of you sitting here with your feelings out where everyone could see them.

But Jack didn't seem scared off or worried he was getting into something he wasn't expecting. if anything, he seemed softened by it, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

"What—" you cleared your throat, "what about… how will the three of us be together? Like… will you come here? Will I go to you?"

You were asking Jack, who breathed in fresh breath, sitting up a little. His eyes flicked to Robby too, including him before he answered: "I guess…would it be like split custody?" he asked. "Some nights with me? Some nights with you? Or what?"

"I think—to start— we should be together." Robby answered, "Just until we can get a feel for it, so no one feels left out."

"And will the two of you…?" you asked, the question filling your mind and slipping out before you could stop it. "Is this a triad now? Are you two—"

Robby's face lit up red as anything you'd ever seen, his breath huffing a little, shaking back and forth.

"Woah, woah, woah." He shook his head, his hand lifting from your thigh to rub the back of his neck. "I don't think—I'm not really—"

"What does triad mean?" Jack asked.

Robby's hand moved from his neck to around his beard, covering his mouth as he said, "Means you and I would also be—"

Jack smiled widely. "I mean, Mike, you're handsome and all, but I don't—"

"Yeah, no." Robby said quickly, smiling despite himself while refusing to make eye contact.

"The maturity of two teenage boys…" you whispered through a laugh, sitting back and watching two grown man blush and fidget.

"Oh, yeah?" Robby teased, mirth in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

Before you could answer, his arm came around you and pulled you back against him, turning you with such easy strength that you ended up laid across his lap, your back to his chest, your legs stretching over Jack's thighs.

"Robby—!" you squealed, reaching your wine glass out so it wouldn't spill.

Jack smiled, taking it from you before the wine could slosh over the rim. His fingers brushed yours for a second, then he set the glass safely on the coffee table.

"There." he murmured. "No casualties."

Your face burned as Robby's arms kept you cradled up against him. You were half laughing still, breathless from how quickly he'd moved you, but the sound caught when his hand came to your jaw. His fingers settled beneath your chin, thumb along the side of your face, turning you so that you had to look up at him.

He was smiling, but not in the same way now. The playfulness was still there, just there in the lines beside his eyes, but his grip had gone certain. Familiar in the way that made your body remember him before your head caught up.

"Count your lucky stars I don't take you over my knee for laughing at us like that." he murmured.

You giggled some more, your spine tingling when you felt Jack squeeze the tops of your legs, rubbing his palms up and down them.

"Thought you said we weren't gonna have fun tonight." you murmured with a wicked smile.

Your knees shifted apart without much thought, the movement small but obvious with your legs draped over Jack's lap. His hands paused for one little second, the three of you seemed to notice it at the same time.

"I never said he and I weren't allowed to."

Jack's palms slid a little higher over your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your knees before dragging back down. A slow massage, nothing hurried. Still, your skin lit under his hands, and the hem of your skirt bunched slightly beneath his fingers.

"Tease." you muttered.

Jack was watching his hands and the way you squirmed beneath them, a shy, sly smile pulling at his lips. Robby was smiling down at you too, thumb brushing your cheek before tapping twice to draw your attention back to him.

"Are you going to behave, young lady?" Robby asked.

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip.

"Somehow I don't believe her, brother." Jack said, and you could hear the smile still in his words.

"Me neither." Robby's hand tightened at your jaw, moving your face back and forth once before giving it a little shake. "You are so cute." he whispered.

You smiled wider, your hands coming up to wrap delicately around his wrist. "So are you."

"That so?" Robby asked, amusement lighting up his features.

You nodded.

"And what about him?" he asked, shifting your face so you were looking at Jack. "Do you think he's cute too?"

You nodded again. "Very."

"Aw, shucks," Jack said, a tinge of red flushing his cheeks again.

Robby's thumb pushed deeper into the flesh of your cheek as he asked: "Why don't you go show him how cute you think he is?"

You looked up at Robby, uncertain.

"Just a little kiss." he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips over the tip of your nose. "Would you like that, Jack?"

"Course I would."

"Go on," Robby said.

You sat up, your body a little wobblier now, the warmth from both their hands lingering in places that made you feel too aware of yourself.

Jack sat back, widening his thighs so you could climb on top of him. You moved slowly, hands finding his shoulders first, his finding your hips in return. His palms settled there, thick and warm around you, holding you with a care that only made your stomach flip harder. Your skirt bunched where your thighs spread to make room for the breadth of his body, the fabric pulling high. You felt your nerves light up your skin.

You bit down on your lip again, smiling, "Hi."

He smiled a little crookedly, "Hey,"

You glanced over at Robby, who was watching intently, his hand along the back of the couch, legs spread open, his bourbon back in his hand.

"Go on." he said once more, tilting his glass toward you before taking a long sip.

Slowly—carefully— you leaned down and pressed your lips to Jack's. He was so warm, and you could taste the malted rye of bourbon just on his lips. He breathed in as you kissed him, his hands moving along your sides until they wrapped around you completely, keeping you glued to his chest. His muscled arms squeezed, making you gasp, opening for him, and he let out a little pleased hum at that as his tongued dipped to taste behind your lips.

You settled into him easily then, your arms wrapped around his neck, leaning further into his hold. As you sat deeper into his lap, you could feel that bulge grow eagerly now, both of you enrapt in one another. Your head went light at the feeling, with the heat of his mouth and the slow slide of his tongue, the wet sounds of your lips parting and finding each other again.

This was a different kiss. Where the kiss at the door was sweet, easy, lingering too, it wasn't as… intense. That kiss had piqued your memory, where now they were coming back in a flood—grinding down on him in the front seat of his truck, him languidly kissing your chest, the wild little panic of doing something you shouldn't and yet not being able to get close enough no matter how hard he pulled you in.

This kiss was still tender, still a little unsure, both of you retesting the motion of it in front of Robby, but that heat was there underneath. That need. The way Jack kissed like he meant it. All of it was there, simmering below the surface.

When your lips parted, your eyes caught on the shine of his bottom lip, wet and a little swollen from your mouth.

He kept you close, belly to belly, but leaned his head back and looked toward Robby while he pulled in air. You followed the angle of his face, dazed enough that it took you a second to remember Robby was right there when you looked over.

His glass rested low in his hand now, his eyes dark and fixed on the two of you, his thumb rubbing along the side of the tumbler.

You leaned down to kiss Jack's cheek, then the line of his jaw, nestling into him because you could. Because Robby was there watching and nothing about it was hidden. It felt good. Felt right. Less like sneaking away to give in to one another and more like being given the room to want it. Like space had been made for the hunger instead of everyone pretending it wasn't there.

"There is one thing I wanted to…" Jack started, breath still uneven. He cleared his throat. "I just want to say it before we get too far ahead of ourselves."

You kissed just under his ear before pulling back to look at him. "What is it?"

His arms loosened around you, though his hands stayed on your hips. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your shirt, the calloused tips brushing hot skin, and even with the seriousness moving into his face, he still touched you gently.

"I don't want to feel like… like I'm just a guest in this," he said. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back up to search your face. Then he looked at Robby.

"I get this whole thing, I think. Or I'm trying to." His thumb moved over your hip. "You being in charge. Telling her what to do sometimes. How to do it. And I can see she likes it."

Your face flamed. Jack's mouth twitched, but he didn't tease you for it.

"You told her to kiss me when I walked in the door, didn't you?" he added.

You looked over at Robby, gnawing on your lip a little.

Robby nodded. "Yeah."

"See, and that's…" Jack breathed out through his nose, trying again. "I'm not saying I didn't like it. I did. I do. Clearly."

Your stomach squirmed, and his hand squeezed your waist, as if he could feel your unease. He looked up at you, licking his bottom lip.

"I just don't want everything between me and you to feel like it's… " he went on, quieter now, his pretty eyes looking into yours. "Like I'm waiting for permission. I respect what you two have. I don't want to come in here and step over boundaries and rules, but… I want to be able to be with you because you want it, too. Not just Robby telling you to."

"I hear you," you whispered gently, your hands moving to his face, cupping his jaw.

His eyes softened on yours.

"So do I." Robby said. You turned slightly in Jack's lap to look over again. Robby had set his glass down on the side table, his elbows resting on his knees now, body angled toward both of you.

"I think we can set parameters." Robby said, clearing his throat. "What we both feel comfortable with. What she feels comfortable with. But you're right. I don't want you feeling like you're just waiting for me to hand you a hall pass."

"Yes, definitely." you agreed, thumb brushing over the edge of Jack's jaw. "I don't want that either."

Jack looked between the two of you, his hands still petting the warm skin beneath your shirt. "Okay, so…"

"So tell us what you'd like to do." you said. "What you wouldn't like, what feels good, what feels weird. We can talk about it."

He sighed. "Geez, I feel like I'm in a therapy session."

You pinched his ear lightly. "Don't be so dramatic. It's just a conversation, Jack."

He gave you a look, but his hand tightened at your hip like he liked the scolding.

"You're sitting in my lap asking me to define my emotional needs." he said. "That's therapy."

"Your therapist sits in your lap?" you asked, crooking your gaze.

"Oh, you are a testy little thing." Jack narrowed his gaze, smiling up at you.

"Told you." Robby chuckled.

You smiled despite yourself, still close enough to feel Jack's breath against your face. "Then start with something easy."

Jack's eyes flicked to your lips, then back up.

"Easy?" he repeated.

You nodded.

His fingers spread against your back beneath your shirt, his voice low and settling deep in your belly as he said: "I'd like to kiss you without needing Robby to tell you to."

Robby's gaze moved to you.

You swallowed, then nodded. "I'd like that too."

Jack looked at Robby.

Robby sat back a little, hand rubbing once over his beard, taking the sight of you in Jack's lap with a careful breath.

"That's fine by me," Robby said.

Jack's eyes came back to yours, and the little shift in him made your heart kick. His fingers brushed up along your lower back.

"Can I kiss you again, sweetheart?"

Your face warmed, but you smiled. "Yes."

And he did, starting slow and tender again, just a gentle brushing of lips before you pulled him tighter, letting your tongue trace over the seam of his lips.

But you pulled back, just teasing, licking at his open mouth as he gasped.

"What else?"

He groaned, head tilting onto the back of the couch.

Robby chuckled from the other side of the couch, "You're killing him, honey."

"Yeah," you said, "but im having so much fun."

You leaned back, resting your hands on his chest, "Okay, what about… what about when we want to…do more than just kissing?"

The men shared a glance, and Robby said: "I had said in the beginning that maybe we should start with the three of us together. At least under the same roof."

You looked over at him. "You want me to…to be intimate with you when Jack is here?"

"And vice versa." Robby said, nodding.

Your mouth fell open a little, bemused.

You'd known, in theory, that this was where the conversation would go. It had been sitting under every touch, every glance, every careful little permission Robby had given since Jack walked through the door. Still, hearing it out loud made your stomach dip, because suddenly it wasn't some…thing you had all been circling. It was Robby saying yes, Jack's hands on you, your body still warm in Jack's lap while Robby watched from an arm's length away.

"I actually thought, maybe…" Robby shrugged, but the color rising in his face made your attention sharpen. His fingers flexed once against his own knee, then stilled. "It could be fun to…"

"Go on." you said, sitting back further on Jack's thighs.

You were suddenly very interested in what was going to come out of Robby's mouth next. He looked at you, then down at your hands where they rested on Jack's chest. His jaw shifted and his eyes flicked away.

"Touch?" he murmured, eyes barely glancing at you.

That one word changed your whole face. Not because it was sexual. But because it wasn't, not exactly. It was a sign. A bid. The word both of you used when what either he or you wanted felt too tender to ask for straight on. Touch meant come here, help me say it. The need for reassurance, connection. Something as simple as your hand in his did wonders for bravery.

You reached for him at once, leaning over without leaving Jack's lap. Robby scooted closer and took your hand in his.

His palm was warm and a little damp from the glass, his fingers closing around yours in a firm hold. You squeezed once, and he squeezed back, his index finger finding the inside of your wrist. That was all it was. Just skin and pressure. Just the reminder that he wasn't saying this from across the room by himself.

You had told Jack at the beginning that touch helped you. That you liked being able to reach for someone during conversations like these. But Robby needed it too sometimes. He needed the physical proof of you there while he let himself say something that scared him.

Jack didn't interrupt. His hands stayed on your hips, but his thumbs stopped moving, studying the two of you, watching how you went about this.

Robby looked down at your joined hands, then cleared his throat.

"I think I would like it if…" He stopped, ears going pinker now. "Maybe I came home and you two were already…"

You kept your voice gentle. "Already what?"

Robby breathed out through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. "Already together."

"Like you're walking in on us?" you asked.

His eyes flicked up to yours, embarrassed and interested and a little relieved that you had said it for him.

"Okay," you said, nodding, but gnawing it over in your head. Picturing you and Jack together, tangled limbs, sweaty and gasping. "How would that work?"

"We could text about it first." Robby went on. "A day when you're here, that is. And I'm coming back from a shift or something. Not really a surprise. Just…set up like one."

Jack was looking between the two of you, one hand still resting on your hip.

"Is that something you'd want to try too?" you asked him.

He shrugged, mouth pulling to one side. "I…have no idea." Then, more honestly, "Yeah. I mean, it sounds pretty sexy. Just… I've never done something like that."

He looked at Robby then, no judgment in his face, but like he was trying to understand—brows pulling together, his fingers tightening and loosening on your waist.

"Doesn't it kind of go against what you were saying? About wanting to be together when we're intimate?"

Robby's thumb paused against your hand, his lips pressing tightly together. There was almost a shyness to him.

You looked over at him, squeezing his fingers. "Is it okay if I try to explain what I think you mean?"

He nodded, though his face was still flushed.

"It's more like…" You glanced at Jack, then Robby again, careful now. "He likes seeing it. Me wanting you. You wanting me."

Jack's eyes moved from you to Robby. The latter's hand tightened around yours, but he didn't stop you.

"But not if we're lying about it." you said. "That's what is different from this and…what we did before. If it's sneaky, or if he walks in and actually thinks something happened without him knowing—that's not fun. That would just hurt him again."

Jack grimaced, looking apologetically at his fellow attending. Both of them looked at each other for a long moment before you continued.

"So we'd talk about it first, texting, plans, whatever. He'd know what he was coming home to."

You looked at Robby then, your voice softening a little. "And he likes knowing I still want him there. That when he walks in, I look for him. That I want him to see me. That I want him to do something about it."

Robby breathed out a quiet laugh, embarrassed but not disagreeing.

Jack seemed to let out a breath too, relief at Robby's reaction. "That about right then, Mike?"

Robby brought his other hand up to his beard, thumb dragging along the corner of his mouth. Still a little shy now, not quite looking at either of you.

"Yeah," he said, nodding once. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

You smiled, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles, the wiry hair there tickling your lips. Robby's thumb brushed under your chin after, fond, quiet— and for a second none of you said anything.

It felt like the three of you had actually done it. Started the conversation, not fought about anything. A good start, at least. There would be many more to come, you were sure of it.

Jack's hand gave your hip another small squeeze, and Robby was still close enough for your fingers to stay tangled with his.

For a moment, none of it felt impossible.

And then, from the other room, your phone started ringing.

All three of you looked towards the sound. It took you a second to place it. Your bag was still in the kitchen, abandoned on one of the stools from when you'd come in earlier, and the ringtone sounded too loud against the hush that had settled over the living room.

You blinked, still half caught between them.

"Is that me?" you asked, though it obviously was.

Jack's brows lifted slightly. Robby's hand loosened around yours, grunting as he got up from the couch, "I'll grab it."

You watched him disappear into the kitchen, your brain still slow to catch up with the sound. A second ago, you had been sitting in the center of something warm and strange and careful, all three of you talking around sex and rules and wanting like it was something that could be held without falling apart. Now your phone was ringing from the other room, so ordinary, and yet felt like dragging the rest of the world back in by the collar.

Robby came back with it in his hand, the screen lighting his face from below. He frowned down at the name, not suspicious exactly, just confused.

When he handed it to you, you saw Mel King glowing across the screen.

You blinked.

"Hello?" you answered, a little timid.

"Hi!"

You startled at her loud, chipper voice. She sounded like she was in a car somewhere, her words a little muffled behind the engine and the faint rush of the road.

"Hey, Mel." You sat up a little straighter. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, totally." she said quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I probably should've said that first, right? That it's not an emergency. I forget sometimes that's how people hear phone calls. I'm a really bad texter so …But no, it's okay. Everything's okay."

Your eyes flicked to Robby, who had settled back beside Jack, still watching your face with that narrowed, assessing look he got when he was trying to decode something, whether it was a differential or just your expression. Jack looked confused too, but quiet.

"Okay…" you said slowly. "That's good."

"What? Oh, um, anyway— I was just wondering if you were going to Whitaker's tonight?"

You looked between Jack and Robby.

Robby's brows pulled together, both of them seemingly able to hear Mel's voice through the speaker that held to your ear.

Jack mouthed, Whitaker?

You shook your head a little, just as lost.

"One of my residents," Robby said under his breath, tapping Jack on the side.

Jack gave him a flat look. "I know who Whitaker is, Mike." he whispered back, "My memory is just fine, unlike yours."

Robby's mouth opened, already offended and ready to retort, but you reached over and tapped his chest before he could start.

Both of them looked at you.

You narrowed your eyes and pressed a finger to your lips, and then returned your attention back to the phone.

"Uh, why?"

"He's having some sort of party!"

"Oh." You glanced down at your bare knees, at the edge of your skirt, then across the living room where Robby's glass still sat on the table. "That's nice."

"Yeah! I think so. Maybe. I don't know." Mel's voice dropped a little, the brightness wobbling at the edges. "There are supposed to be a lot of people there, and I know some of them, obviously, but not like…know them know them. And I don't know what kind of party it is. Like if it's a standing party, or a sitting party, or if people are going to be weird if I leave early."

Your expression softened.

Robby must have caught the change, because his posture eased a little too.

"I was wondering if you were going." Mel continued. "But if you're busy, that's fine. You don't have to. I know it's late notice. I probably should have texted instead of calling, but then I thought you might not see it, and then I thought calling would seem too serious, and now I'm doing the thing where I explain the whole thought process, so…"

You bit back a smile. "I hadn't planned on it, but…"

"Oh, that's okay. I understand if you're busy or something." she said quickly. "I was just kind of maybe hoping you would come? Just so I can…well, you and I seemed to—"

She stopped, like the sentence had gotten too personal too fast.

You waited.

Mel took a breath, audible through the phone.

"I would just feel comfortable if you were there." she said finally. "As my backup."

The words landed in you gently, but with more weight than you expected.

You looked at Robby again. His face had changed now, the confusion giving way to something quieter. Jack's mouth softened too, his eyes moving between you and the phone like he understood enough from your expression.

"I didn't know you required backup, Dr. King." you teased, because it felt easier than letting your voice get too sweet. "You're always so well adjusted."

There was a tiny pause.

"Really?" Mel asked, quieter.

You could almost hear the smile through the phone.

Your own smile faded a little, turning tender before you could help it.

"Yeah," you said. "Really."

"Thanks." she said, almost under her breath. "Well. Okay. I'll see you around then."

"Hey—Mel?"

"Yeah?"

You looked between the two men again.

The night you had been having was still all over the room. Robby's warmth, Jack's hands on you, the careful conversation you had barely finished having. Part of you wanted to stay exactly where you were, to fold back into the strange little world the three of you had made on the couch and not let anything else in.

But Mel had called. And she had asked you to be there in the only way she could manage.

"I'll come."

"Oh!" Mel's voice jumped. "Are you sure? I have to tell you about this thing that Frank—"

The sound muffled suddenly, like she'd turned away from the phone to say something, and then just as soon as she did, she was back, her voice clear in your ear, "Sorry, I mean Dr. Langdon. He did this thing today, and it was insane—"

"Yeah, okay," you said, laughing softly. "I can't wait to hear it! Listen, I'll text you when I'm on my way, okay?"

"Okay! Bye!"

"Bye." you murmured, holding back a smile as the call ended.

Both the attendings in front of you let out little laughs. Your head snapped up. "Hey!" you said, swatting Robby's arm. "Be nice. Mel's my favorite."

Robby held up both hands in mock surrender, his mouth twitching. "Hey, hey, she's a great doctor. She's just a little…"

"Odd?" Jack finished.

You looked at him, offended, and Jack's face changed immediately.

"I like odd!" he said, one hand lifting from your waist like he was defending himself in court. "Hey, I'm as weird as they come. Trust me when I say I get it."

"As you should, night crawler." you said, still nudging him lightly in the chest. He caught your wrist with his hand, finger engulfing the delicate joint.

"Do I at least get a goodbye kiss?"

You glanced down at him, trying for wicked and probably landing somewhere closer to breathless. The sudden dip in his tone had your heart jumping into your throat. "Dunno. You'll have to come and get it when I leave."

Jack clicked his teeth softly when you squirmed again, holding both of your wrists between his wide hands with very little effort. As if to remind you that he was bigger than you, stronger, that his arms could keep you exactly where he wanted if you let them.

"Nuh uh." he said. "Want it now."

"Greedy." you chastised.

"Oh, you've only seen the start of it."

You meant to say something back. You really did. Something smart, something teasing, something that would make Robby laugh and give you another second to pretend your pulse hadn't jumped even harder now.

Then he kissed you again, not quite so sweet. His bottom lip caught yours, teeth grazing just enough to make you inhale through your nose, and his mouth curved like he'd felt the sound before you could hide it. The kiss went wet and slow, his hand climbing into your hair while the other stayed around your wrists, keeping you close while he took one more and then another until your head felt warm and your body forgot why you had been getting up at all.

"What about me?" Robby asked.

His voice was mild, almost amused, but still, your stomach flipped just at the sound. Oh, this was going to be fun.

You pulled away from Jack with a small, wet sound, blinking like you'd been caught doing something far worse than kissing a man you had very much been told to kiss.

"Can't leave without saying goodbye to me too, can you?" Robby said, his voice hoarse.

Jack's hand stayed locked around your wrists, not letting you go entirely, so you leaned awkwardly across the space between them. It was clumsy, your skirt twisting under you and your fist bracing against Jack's chest so you wouldn't tip sideways.

Robby met you halfway, his hand coming to the back of your neck, guiding you the last few inches to his mouth. His beard rasped softly against your chin, the smell of bourbon and want on his tongue when he pushed it into your mouth. It was sharp and sweet beneath the bite of liquor, his lips moving familiarly over yours.

There was a difference to their kisses, outside the obvious physical sensation of beard versus scruff. Jack made you feel fluttery and nervous and heavy with a curiosity that only knew of wanting. But with Robby, Robby you knew. And he kissed you like he knew you. He didn't rush or show off, he didn't need to make it clear you were his, because when he kissed you, you melted into it. Completely and utterly at home in your body with him.

When he pulled back, his beard had left your lips tingling.

You stared at him a second too long.

Jack gave a low chuckle, his hands still secure around your wrists. "Yeah, alright. That's a hell of a goodbye."

Robby's eyes flicked to him, still amused, still warm from the kiss as he sat back. "I couldn't be left out after yours."

Jack frowned like he had to consider it, then nodded. "Fair. Mine was pretty good."

You looked between them, face hot, still a little breathless, then finally unwound your hands from Jack's grip, pulling down your skirt as you stood.

"What?" Jack asked, adjusting himself a little beneath the throw pillow he had pulled into his lap.

You pointed at him. "Subtle."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"Clearly."

Robby huffed a laugh into his glass, which only made you shake your head harder. You readjusted your clothes, hoping neither of them noticed how unsteady your legs were, though the silence behind you told you they absolutely did.

"You two are so…" you shook your head.

"So…?" Jack asked.

You looked between them, both of them spread out on the couch, smug in different ways and entirely too pleased with themselves.

You scoffed. "Never mind."

"No, go on." Robby said.

"Nope." You grabbed your phone and started toward the bedroom. "You don't wanna know." you called over your shoulder.

"Say it." Jack called after you, teasing. "Old? Cranky? Jealous?"

"Annoying?" Robby added.

"That's yours." Jack said.

You reached the archway of the door and paused, turning back with one hand curled around the edge of the wall, fingertips pressed to the opening. Both of them were watching you.

Jack still looked rumpled, flushed and smiling with one hand smoothing down his shirt. Robby sat spread comfortably on the couch, bourbon back in his hand, his mouth still shiny from your kiss, his beard a little damp at the corner.

Your stomach flipped all over again.

"I was gonna say—hot." you said.

Jack's smile widened first, pleased and almost boyish. Robby's brows lifted, slower, his eyes darkening just enough to make you regret giving him anything to work with.

"You better be careful, honey." Robby said, his voice dropping in that awful, familiar way. "You keep talking like that, you're not gonna make it out of the house."

You grinned, backing away before either of them could pull you back in.

"Nope! I have to go be Mel's emotional support person. You two figure out how to survive the compliment."

Whitaker's house wasn't actually Whitaker's house, you remembered on the way over.

It was Trinity Santos' apartment, technically, though apartment felt like the wrong word for it. It was more like a renovated house split between floors, with a narrow downstairs hallway that led to the stairs and then up to her actual front door.

You'd changed before leaving Robby's too—something easy and a little warmer, less date-night than what you had worn for Jack and Robby. Simple shorts, a top, a cardigan for the chill of the evening. You pulled it closer around yourself as you stepped out of the Uber. The cool gust of wind helped cool the ghost of the memory of Robby's warm mouth and Jack's hands on you.

They'd both insisted on driving you, but after their multiple glasses of bourbon you'd given them a very stern talking to about drinking and driving. So Robby ordered you an Uber Black without argument.

The party was loud enough you could hear it from outside the porch. You tried the handle instead of knocking, knowing no one would be downstairs to hear it. You slipped inside to the bass pounding down the stairwell, the vibration of music along the banister as you used it to guide your way up to the front door. Slipping inside, the music swelled and you could smell the heat of bodies and incense burning.

You wondered if the downstairs neighbors were just really cool, hard of hearing, or dead asleep by some miracle.

"You're here!" you heard from your left. The living room was crowded, Santos and Whitaker already sitting on the couch beside a few other familiar faces you knew well. Mel jumped up from her spot on the floor and was bouncing in front of you before you were able to close the door.

"Hey," you said, smiling. "You good?"

"Yeah," she said, then paused, "Actually, yeah. I am. Trinity is asking everyone to play a game in the living room. Want to join?"

You glanced past her, watching the card game unfold, Santos explaining loudly over the music while she rolled her eyes and talked with both hands, Whitaker already looking like he deeply regretted whatever rule clarification he had asked for.

"Looks very serious." you said.

"It's not. Seems very easy. Dennis said you just need to play to understand."

"That sounds like something Dennis would say when he doesn't understand either."

Mel smiled quickly at that. "Maybe, yeah."

"Okay, let me… get a drink, say hi to some people then I'll come find you?"

"Yeah, okay." Mel nodded, then hesitated just a second longer. "And…thanks again. For coming. I thought this would be worse. I'm actually… I'm good. If you decide to not to stay long. I'm sure you had plans and all so—"

"It's all good, really, Mel. I'm happy to be here."

She smiled, nodded, and headed back to the living room.

You turned into the kitchen, ready for a much needed vice for the evening.

Someone was standing in the middle of the room, though—tall and lanky with dark, gray hair, tattoos on his arms. He had one hand shoved into a pocket of his black jeans while the other held a red solo cup and a rolled paper between two fingers.

Your shoulders dropped, and you couldn't help the full smile that pulled your lips wide. "Hey, Jesse."

His gaze flitted up to you at the sound of your voice, face braking immediately into a big grin that crinkled his dark blue eyes. "Hey."

He stood a little straighter, pulling his hand from his pocket to open his arm to you, and you slid underneath it, tucking yourself into his side and bringing an arm around his middle. He was tall, your shoulder fitting just right under the crook of his shoulder, one cheek against the worn cotton of his shirt, his arm folding easily over your shoulders.

"Having a good night?" you asked over the music.

"Am now." he replied, cheekily squeezing you closer. He lifted in red cup in solidarity. "And I have off tomorrow, so I'm celebrating."

"I need a drink so we can cheers to your twenty four hours of freedom." you said, elbowing him. His gold chain necklace glinted as you saw a silent huff of laughter shake his shoulders.

There was always something easy about being around Jesse. He never crowded a room or made himself known loudly, but he was never absent from it either. He stood steady in the chaos of the ED, quiet and always ready, the kind of nurse who seemed to know what was needed before anyone had to say it. When to move, when to wait, when to put a hand on a shoulder or a firm voice into the air.

And outside of all that, he was funny. A little dorky, once you'd gotten to know him. He played guitar in a small cover band, hunted down good coffee like the hipster he swore he never was.

Cool, you thought. Jesse was cool in a very… Jesse way.

He squeezed you again before letting go and turning to the counter top, stretching his hand wide across the array of liquor, "Pick your poison."

You wrinkled your nose as you scanned the vodka and tequila, some bottle of something blue you didn’t trust on principle, all of it sure to punish you tomorrow after the glass of wine already sitting warm in your stomach.

Jesse watched your face, the corner of his mouth tugging.

“If you’re interested, I was actually about to go outside.”

When you looked back at him, he waggled the joint where it was held between two fingers.

You nodded, "Yeah, okay."

He reached out his hand, bony and long-fingered, and you took it gratefully, letting him lead you through the house.

The kitchen had spilled into the living room by then, people standing in the walkway with drinks in their hands, shoulders turning sideways to let each other pass. You smiled when you saw Mateo chatting with Victoria in the corner, and Whitaker and Joy somehow enjoying themselves on the couch with Ogilvie. Trinity sat on the loveseat beside them and Mel, who was sipping at her drink, caught up in whatever story someone was telling while the game went on.

You didn’t stop to say hello, but when Trinity’s eyes found yours, you smiled. She lifted her cup a little from where it rested against her knee, and you kept moving, Jesse’s hand warm around yours, his shoulder turning sideways to make room for you towards the back of the house.

Outside, the air was crisp against your cheeks. The back door shut behind you with a muffled click, cutting the music down to a low thump through the walls. You pulled your cardigan closer around yourself as you stepped onto the deck, the railing damp where you leaned your hip against it.

Someone had left a citronella candle on the little table by the door, burned down to a shallow pool of wax and there was stack of empty Solo cups sat beside it, one fallen on its side.

“I never knew Trinity and Dennis had such a cute place,” you said.

Jesse shrugged, looking back through the glass door for a second, then over at the kitchen window before bringing pinching the joint between his lips.

“Me neither." he said, a little muffled, "I also never knew how much they really loved avocados.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head with an amused, questioning smile.

“Think I counted… like ten on their counter,” he said, flicking his lighter a few times. The little wheel scraped under his thumb, sparks catching and dying until a flame finally burned bright. "'nd one open in the fridge when I went to get a water."

A smile huffed out of you, remembering an argument between them about avocado stealing as you watched Jesse. The flame bent sideways, lighting the end of the stick in an uneven orange line. He inhaled, cheeks hollowing slightly, the tip brightening before he pulled the lighter away.

Then he looked at you with a small smile and handed it over. You took it between two fingers, bringing it to your lips, but the end had already gone out. You held out your hand for the lighter.

Instead of giving it to you, though, Jesse took a step so he was directly in front of you. He moved in closely, his hand coming up to cup around the joint near your mouth while the other held the lighter up. You couldn't help but study his face while he sparked the light—his cute gray curls and the salt and pepper goatee, the tiny creases beside his eyes and the blue gray circles under them that had gotten deeper since last time you saw him.

The flame sparked again, and you pulled a few light breaths until the end caught, smoke filling your mouth with skunky richness. It warmed your throat, holding there for half a second before pursing your lips and blowing it away from him.

"Thanks," you said, handing it back as he moved away. Jesse took it from you without looking away for long though, his fingers brushing yours before he brought it to his mouth.

“Y’know,” he said after a second, voice easy enough that you almost missed the carefulness, “people have been missing you a lot in the Pitt.”

"You guys still call it that?" you chuckled, and when he didn't reply, you shrugged, pulling your cardigan tighter where it had slipped down one shoulder. “Just been taking a bit of a break, I guess.”

“Robby being tough on you or something?” he asked.

He took another smaller hit after he said it, then turned his head and blew the smoke away from your face. The question might've sounded prying from anyone else, maybe it was. But Jesse had a way of being gentle with something like this, but in a way that made you know you couldn't get away with half-assed answers.

You took a second to answer, looking down into the yard below instead of him. There wasn’t much to see beyond the deck light: a few bare branches shifting at the edge of a fenceline, a trash can near the side gate, the pale square of a neighbor’s window through the dark.

"Nothing I didn't deserve."

When you looked back at him, he had his head bent a little, looking at you funny.

“What?” you said, a little defensive, crossing your arms.

He shook his head and handed you the joint, and you took it without taking your eyes off of him.

“Seriously, what?” you asked again, holding it between your fingers and waiting. “Stop looking at me like that, Jess.”

He shrugged, leaning back. His knee brushed yours as he stepped closer to you along the rail, the wood creaking a little beneath his weight as he settled against it. He looked comfortable here, one palm planted on the top, lighter stuffed back into his pocket.

“S’just…” he began with a sigh, eyes dropping briefly to the deck boards before coming back to you. “We get a little… worried.”

You'd been taking a hit when he'd said it, and you coughed on the rough pull.

“Worried?”

You handed the joint back quickly and pressed the heel of your hand to your chest, blinking through the sting in your eyes. Jesse took it, but he didn’t make a joke or laugh at you for coughing. He only licked his lips, gaze steady on your face.

If you knew one thing about Jesse, it was that he was not one to pull back from this kind of thing. A hard discussion. The thing that needed saying. He’d let other people talk themselves in circles if they needed to, but when it mattered, Jesse stepped in.

You could feel your limbs begin to get heavier even while your head still buzzed with nerves under his searching gaze. Your brain felt a second behind suddenly, too aware of your own hands, the thick lumpiness of your cardigan where it had bunched under your arms, the cold railing pressing into your hip.

"Yeah, worried, kid." he repeated. "We like to make sure our best girl is happy. That you're not…being…" He shrugged, glancing down at the joint between his fingers. “I don’t know. We just like seeing you. Like having you around.”

You licked your lips, unsure of what point he was trying to make, but you shrugged anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, Jess. Promise.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look away. You watched as the party moved behind him through the glass door, bodies passing in and out of the kitchen light, the music softened to bass and a loose scatter of voices. Out here, it felt so much more quiet, so still.

You looked at him again, realizing he'd asked you something when you saw the waiting look in his eyes. “What?”

“Taking a break,” he said, carefully. “Was that something you wanted?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Jesse took another hit, but he didn’t rush you. He turned his face aside to exhale toward the yard, smoke thinning out past the railing.

“It wasn’t…” You rubbed your thumb over the inside of your wrist, where your sleeve had ridden up. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, I agreed to it."

“Okay.”

“And I needed it,” you added quickly, a little too quickly. “Probably.”

One corner of his mouth pulled, but he kept it soft. “Probably?”

You huffed, embarrassed despite yourself, and looked toward the yard again. “It’s complicated.”

“Usually is with you two.”

You glanced back at him. Jesse had the joint held low now, his palms braced behind him over the railing, his face quiet in the deck light. Just waiting, not prying—but also not letting you escape his questioning, either. He was such a nurse. Always noticing the in between of things that anyone else might miss. He was like this in other scenarios too, you remembered. Your traitorous brain picking the worst time to flood your mind's eye with memories. Making you tell him how you liked it, how good his fingers felt inside of you. He would make you tell him what you wanted him to do to you, telling you how good you were for using your words. He was always a giver, as long as you asked for it nicely.

You swallowed.

“The four weeks are up anyway,” you said, trying in vain to keep it all so casual. “So… technically, the break is over.”

For a second, Jesse didn’t move, as if he hadn't heard or maybe hadn't cared. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth. It was quick, barely anything. But you caught it, and once you caught it, you felt it everywhere: in your chest, behind your knees, in the sudden warmth that pushed up through your throat despite the cold air.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice lower.

You nodded, and watched as he slowly pried his fingers from the railing, his body leaning forward and then walking towards you. He stood so close your chests nearly brushed, his long, lean body looming over you.

"Jess…" you murmured, trailing off.

He brought the joint up to his lips, sucking in a long pull.

"Hm?" he murmured, his eyes a little glossy and red even in the dark.

He brought his boney hand to your face, cupping so gently. His finger tips were cool to the touch, soothing against your warm skin. He leaned down so that you had to lean back to make room, the hand with the joint braced on the railing beside you, the other still gentle at your jaw. His mouth opened a fraction, and he released a slow breath. Not all of it at once like an exhale, but softly enough that the smoke drifted between your faces, thin and warm as it curled over your lips.

You gasped, inhaling the herbaceous scent. Along with it, was the smell of him—patchouli, spice and some sort of freshness. It was almost just as intoxicating, it made your head feel softer, your body slower to remember itself.

He pulled away, his eyes glossier now, licking his lips once again. He didn't move far though, just dropped his hands from your face to bring the joint back to his lips.

"One more?" he whispered.

You nodded. You weren't entirely sure if you'd have words now, your brain still lagging behind every movement.

He brought the burning stick back to his lips one last time and took a deeper hit, cheeks hollowing as he filled his lungs. Then he crushed the burnt end carefully against the ashtray on the railing, setting it aside before he reached for you with both hands, a little more eager.

His palms framed your face, thumbs near the corners of your mouth, and he bent down until there was almost no space left between you.

You opened for him too, your lips so close to his as released the smoke into your waiting mouth. It was shockingly intimate, intense, his body radiating heat as your chest brushed his.

And when he'd run out of smoke to give, you closed your mouth over his.

The kiss was cotton dry, but still warm. You barely hesitated to deepen it, your hand fisting in the cotton of his shirt, pulling him into you. He tasted like some sort of mixed drink, and for one ridiculous second, it made you wonder what his favorite was. If he liked tequila, or vodka, or maybe he was a gin kind of guy.

Then his tongue pushed past your lips, and all the silly thoughts went straight out of your head.

Both of you moaned when your tongues slid against each other, mouths opening wider, rougher, teeth clacking together in the clumsiness of it. It made you giggle against his mouth, and you felt his answering breath of laughter before he pushed his body harder against yours. He kissed so sweetly and yet so hungrily, everything intense and slow while still moving quicker than your brain could follow.

Your hand reached into his hair then, fingers sliding through the dark gray curls before you pulled lightly. He moaned deliciously into your mouth, a thick groan vibrating against your lips.

When he pulled back to breathe, he was panting, forehead dropping to yours. For a moment, he stayed there, breathing against your lips, his hands still holding your face. Then he rolled his forehead against yours before pulling away, only to press another quick kiss to your mouth.

"Definitely missed that." he said, voice hoarse.

“Wha—” you began as he pulled back, the cool air filling the space that had been so warm a moment ago. “That’s it?”

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your chin before he let you go.

“For now. Besides, I think I’m too high.” His grin came back easy and lopsided. “And I at least want to be able to remember the next time I get to have fun with you, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could admit you were maybe a little too stoned too, feeling clumsy and giddy under the warmth of his gaze. He was so smiley all of a sudden, all crinkled eyes and pleased amusement, and it only made you smile wider too.

"Never took you for such a tease, Jess." you said.

“If you want more, you know where to find meeee…” he trailed off, already backing toward the door with one hand reaching behind him for the handle. “C’mon. You need water. And so do I.”

You sighed, but agreed, pushing yourself off the railing to follow him inside.

Inside, Jesse made good on his promise for water.

He guided you into the kitchen with his hand loosely back in yours, then pressed a cold bottle into it before getting one for himself. You drank half of it quickly, water slipping from the corner of your mouth and down your chin, which made Jesse laugh under his breath before he wiped it away with the side of his thumb.

“Hydration first, then go eat something,” he said seriously, lifting his own bottle, and licking the water from his digit.

You snorted. “Yes, nurse Jesse.”

That made him laugh, grinning at you for a second before someone called his name from the other room. He wandered off toward the hall, leaving you with the water bottle sweating cold in your hand and the warm, loose feeling of his mouth still lingering on yours.

You drifted back toward the living room and found Mel on the couch, high as a kite too after someone had given her a gummy. You meant to sit with her for only a second to check in, but she was glassy-eyed and too funny about the chips in her lap, and you were still stoned enough that everything she said made you fold into yourself with laughter. The two of you ended up tucked together on the couch, sharing from the same bowl, shoulders pressed close while the party moved around you.

It felt easy for a little while. Warm. Stupid in the best way. Mel kept leaning in to say things she clearly thought were very important, only to lose her own point halfway through, and you kept laughing with your hand over your mouth, trying not to choke on the sharp salt of the chips.

You didn’t notice when the front door opened again, but you did notice the change in the room. The way the voices closest to the entryway thinned out first, then the living room seemed to follow, conversation dropping until even Mel’s laughter faded beside you.

“Oh—” you said suddenly, realizing why the party had gone quieter, why no one was talking in the living room anymore.

Standing in the middle of the room, somehow the most shy and uncomfortable you’d ever seen him before, was Brendon Park.

He had his keys gripped in one hand, his shoulders held a little stiffly. There were no black scrubs, no badge clipped to his chest. Just a simple tee shirt pulled across the wide breadth of him, blue jeans, and a pair of casual loafers that made him look so oddly normal your brain took a second to catch up.

"Brendon?" you asked, standing up to come to him. His hair was different too, less severe. Usually it was slicked back from his clean face, but tonight it was barely brushed, dark pieces falling soft over his forehead.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Sorry, it’s just…” He took a look around the room, the keys tight in his hand. “Can we talk?”

"Yeah, of course—is everything okay?"

He looked a little shy, though when his eyes moved from you and to the onlookers, they darkened into that usual piercing gaze.

“Let’s go talk back here,” you offered, taking his hand in yours and pulling him away into the hallway. “C’mon.”

The noise of the party swelled again when you guided him from the room, though it muffled a little once you turned the corner. The hallway was dark except for a strip of light coming from under the bathroom door, two bedroom doors shut at the end.

“I’m sorry, Bunny,” he began with a heavy breath. “I just wanted to see you.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Langdon told me, actually.”

"What?" you asked, looking back at the party, as if you'd be able to pick him out of the crowd. "Frankie's here?"

"He dropped Mel off, her DD or something he said."

"Oh…" you murmured, your brain scrambling to make sense of that. Frank and Mel?

"I wanted to see you, talk to you." he went on. He leaned in a little as he said it, your back settling against the wall. It was less intense than it had been the week before in the hallway, but still. Brendon had a way of taking up space without trying. His chest was wide beneath the cotton of his shirt, one shoulder angled above you, his head tipped down so his voice stayed low between the two of you.

"About what?" you asked, your voice small as a mouse.

“I’m sorry about how I acted,” he said gently, his face closer now. “I was a dick in the hallway last week. I shouldn’t have come onto you like that.”

“It’s okay, Bren—”

He shook his head.

“No. Not out in the open like that. And Abbot—” He hissed in a breath, closing his eyes for a second. The name on his mouth sounded like it took everything in him not to curse. “He got under my skin. And I’m sorry.”

Your hand came up to his jaw, light stubble beginning to grow there, rough beneath your touch.

“Brendon, it’s okay. I promise. I was really worked up that day and just overwhelmed.” You swallowed, thumb brushing once near the corner of his mouth. “From… not seeing anyone in a while.”

He nodded, his thick hand coming up to gently hold yours against his face, "Me too."

Your brows threaded. "What do you mean?"

His eyes were on your mouth now, and it was like he couldn't help himself, he leaned in, pressing a feather light kiss to your mouth. Then another. The third one lingered, his lips slotting against yours with more pressure, one careful breath leaving him through his nose. You welcomed it, your brain still airy and full of static, your body heavy and light at the same time.

"Miss you," he murmured against yours lips.

You hummed into his mouth, opening for him when his tongue brushed at the seam of your lips, warm and slick against yours. His free hand found your waist then, not grabbing quite yet, only settling, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your belly beneath your layers.

The kiss stayed careful for only a few seconds.

Then his mouth opened wider over yours, and you felt the control in him start to slip. His hand tightened at your hip. His body came closer, pinning you tighter to the wall. You made a small sound into him when his hand that was holding yours against his face slid down your arm and up to your cheek, cupping your face and tilting your head back against the wall so he could gain better access to lick behind your teeth.

Fuck, he felt so good. Big and warm against you, his tongue pushing hungrily yet so gentle. You pulled it between your lips, suckling on it, making him moan.

When you let go, he was panting against your mouth, and then, his hand left your side to lean across you and push open the bathroom door.

Light flooded the hallway before he was pushing you inside, easily manhandling you onto the sink where he pushed himself against you when the door closed.

"Fuck, Bunny," he breathed when your legs wrapped around his hips. You sat on the edge of the porcelain, cold through the thin fabric of your shorts, close enough to feel him through his jeans. Thick and hard and wanting. Your cardigan slid from your shoulders, and you shook it off completely, letting it pool around you on the counter. Brendon took advantage of the movement, pushing the straps of your tank top down until your breasts spilled free, his mouth closing over one of your nipples.

You threw your head back with a breathless moan, your hand going straight into his hair. It felt so different than usual, soft and loose under your fingers, short enough that you could drag your nails over his scalp when you gripped him. He groaned at the feeling, sucking your pebbled nipple harder.

His swollen lips traveled across the valley of your breasts to take the other one into his mouth, licking and nipping until it peaked just the same. His hand came up to massage the other, squeezing it hard in his big hand.

“Jesus, Brendon—” you whimpered, your hips searching for friction.

He was panting when he kissed back up your neck, and you let him. You leaned your head back to give him more room, and he sucked harder on the sensitive column of your throat, groaning into your skin. His arms wrapped around your body to pull you nearly off the counter entirely, his hips grinding into yours.

Your body was a little contorted now, shoulders digging into the corner where the mirror met the counter, but you didn’t really care. Not with the way he was pushing his straining bulge against you, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against the thin fabric of your shorts. You could feel the seam of his zipper, the hard shape of him, the way he kept pressing in like he was trying to get closer than clothing would allow.

His entire torso eclipsed the light above you, throwing your body into shadow beneath him. Your back curved awkwardly against the small single sink, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, your hips tilted up toward him while the weight of him crowded you into the porcelain.

"Feels so good, Bunny—" he moaned, mouth wet against your neck. “How does that feel, hm? Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes—” you panted, your hooded eyes dropping between your bodies.

You watched the hard press of covered cock grind against you, watched the way his hips rocked into yours, the denim rubbing your thighs raw, hands tight on your waist. It was messy and clumsy in the small bathroom, his lips on your throat, his breath rough against your skin, both of you trying to get more from the little space you had.

“Love grinding on your sweet little pussy, Bunny,” he groaned. “Missed you. Missed touching you, missed fucking you—miss this. Shit, oh shit—”

His hand came up beneath your jaw, tilting your head back so he could kiss you. It was so rough that your teeth clicked together as he ate at your mouth, all heat and spit and tongue, and you opened for him without fuss, hooking your ankles behind his back to pull him in closer.

"Feels so good, Brendon—oh my god—wait—no, no, no—please—"

A building pressure was heightening in your belly, coiling down into your hips, making them tremble and ache where they tilted up towards him. Every drag of his denim-covered cock against you made it worse, the hard pressure catching just right through your shorts until your breath started to break.

"Yes," he urged, and you moaned at the lewd way he kissed you now, spit shining on his upper lip, biting at your bottom lip harder.

“I don’t—I can’t—” you gasped, fingers twisting in his shirt. “I don’t wanna come, Brendon, please. I’m n-not allowed to—”

“Fuck that,” he cursed, the words broken against your mouth before his tongue pushed back inside.

“No, no, no—” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut.

He was so hard against you. So hot and desperate, his hips losing rhythm now, grinding in shorter, rougher movements while his hands gripped you enough to bruise.

"Wish I could feel it on my cock, Bunny," he panted, "what I wouldn't do to have your tight little pussy coming around me right now—oh god—fuck I'm gonna—oh, fuck—!"

His body locked up, and for a second, he looked almost shocked, eyes widening as his hips shoved hard against yours. Then he came with a low groan, mouth falling open against yours, his breath spilling hot over your lips while his body jerked between your thighs.

You kept kissing him—suckling at his lower lip, nipping gently while his body came back to himself. Your own impending orgasm ebbed as the grinding stopped, the sharp climbing crest of the wave now settling down. Air filled your lungs in a shaky rush, your head a little more woozy than before, hips aching from the stretch of where he leaned into the cradle of them.

Brendon stayed pressed to you for a second longer, breathing hard, forehead dropping near your temple.

“Shit,” he whispered, "I can't believe…I just..."

You let out a huff of laughter, your hands going into his hair, scratching behind his ear. You turned your head to kiss the delicate lobe, "I thought it was hot."

He shakily chuckled with you, and then finally pulled back with a deep sigh. Shaking his head and looking down, a little bashful, he cursed under his breath.

"Feel a little like a teenager." he said with a lopsided grin, reaching for the toilet paper as he unbuckled his belt.

You sighed too, letting your body melt against the sink, stretching your legs out straight before letting them back down to the cabinet and sitting up. You watched him clean himself up, a little pulse between your legs as you watched him handle his half-hard cock, sticky wet spend glistening along the shaft.

Guilt began to curl up in your belly while you watched him, thinking of Jack and Robby. Wondering if they were both still on the couch, talking about you, about what things would look like. What would they think, knowing this is where you were? Watching Brendon Park clean himself up after he left his house in the middle of the night to come find you.

"Tell me what’s going on with you lately." he said as he looked at you again, studying your face. "I’m sorry. I get so—” He swallowed, eyes flicking over your expression and then shaking his head as he zipped his pants back up. “You’re so— I guess I just miss you. I just wanted to see you.”

You licked your dry lips as you looked over at him, tapping your heels lightly against the wood cabinet under you.

"I miss you too," you said quietly, "Things are alright. Robby and I are still—"

“Bunny,” Park sighed, cutting you off as his hands settled on either side of your hips, leaning in. “I don’t really give a shit about Robby right now.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, then dragged back up. “And I especially don’t want to hear his name when I was this close to bending you over this sink and fucking the shit out of you despite him.”

Heat rose fast into your face, and you had to bite back a smile before you could school your features.

“I know,” you said gently, reaching up to pet the back of his neck. “I know. But right now, I really don’t want to get in more trouble.”

“You’d never be in trouble with me, Bunny,” he said, very seriously. “Whatever Robby’s problem is, he can talk to me about it. I want to take care of you the way you’re supposed to be taken care of.”

Your brows threaded, "No it's—it's not Robby that's the problem, Brendon."

His face changed at that, darkening a little, but he still stayed gentle as he said: "So he's got it in your head that you somehow are?"

You bit your lip, unsure what to say to that.

He brought his hand to your face, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin to pull your lip from beneath your teeth. He leaned in, kissing you gently. His lips were swollen and soft from his ministrations on your skin.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured. “And this mess he’s got you in is just going to end badly, Bunny.”

His voice was still so gentle, and it took your staticky brain a moment to catch up to what he meant.

You sat up straighter on the bathroom counter, "Brendon, I don't know what you're trying to get at, but if you're trying to get me to leave Robby, it's not going to happen. He and I have agreed to what we have."

“Yeah?” Park said, still standing between your legs, his hand coming back to your face when you tried to look away. His thumb caught beneath your chin, fingers firm, turning you back to him. He looked too big for the little bathroom, shoulders nearly filling the space between the sink and the door, his chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

"Listen to me, Bunny." he said, voice so soft it made your stomach twist, "You deserve better than Robinavitch. He's an emotionally stunted old man that is going to break your heart."

Your gaze narrowed on him.

For a second, you just took him in. That sharp gaze softened on you, his massive shoulders crowding the room, the swollen place on his mouth where you’d kissed him, the hair you’d ruined with your own hands.

Your hand came up to his wrist, nimble fingers wrapping around it, tightening them around the joint.

"Jokes on you, Sharkie. I don't have one."

You pulled your cardigan back over your shoulders, slid off the sink, and pushed past him out of the bathroom.

You didn’t stop in the hallway, or the living room to say your goodbyes, or even when you heard your name being called. You made a beeline for the front door, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes, your cardigan clutched crookedly around you.

“Bunny!” you heard Park call behind you, but you wouldn’t turn around. He called again, this time with your actual name, the sound chasing you through the open door and out into the cold.

You stopped on the sidewalk, the tears you’d tried holding back spilling down your face as you brushed at them with your sleeve. You clutched your phone tightly in one hand, thumb hovering over Robby’s name.

A hand came down to your shoulder, and you jumped.

"Hey, shit—I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have said—oh, bunny, c'mere," Park cooed. He pulled you into his arms before you could decide whether to let him, massive and warm around you, your face burying into the center of his chest.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, one hand cupping the back of your head. “Please don’t cry.”

You didn’t hug him back, but you let him hold you. The front of his shirt was soft beneath your cheek, still carrying the heat of him from inside the house. His nose pressed into the top of your head, his arms folding around you tighter when your breath hitched.

"You're such a dick," you cried between the deep valley of his muscular chest.

"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that." you muttered wetly.

He sighed, the breath moving through his chest against your hair. For a moment, he swayed you a little, one hand spread between your shoulder blades, the other hooked around the back of your neck. Then he let you go, but only enough to hold you by the cups of your shoulders.

“I’m a jealous asshole, okay?” he said. “I know that. I’m jealous Robby gets to have you all to himself. I’m jealous he gets to call the shots with you when you’re your own person able to make your own decisions. It pisses me off, Bunny.”

"Brendon—"

“I could be so much better for you,” he went on, low, urgent now, the words rushing and his hands griping a little harder on your shoulders. “I would be so good for you. You’d never have to wonder if I wanted to be with you. I’d never tell you who you could or couldn't talk to— I’d never make you feel like wanting more was something you had to be punished for, and—”

“Stop!” you exclaimed.

The word came out louder than you meant it to, sharp enough that his mouth snapped shut. You pushed his arms down and off of you, putting space between your bodies so fast you nearly stumbled. Your face was wet again. Of course it was. You wiped at your cheeks with the heel of your hand, glaring up at him.

“You don’t get it, Brendon. And that’s fine. Maybe you never will, and you don’t have to. But I need you to stop thinking that I’m, like—stuck in this thing with him!”

Park looked down at you very seriously, his arms going across his chest. The light from the front door cut along one side of his face, catching the line of his jaw, the place where his mouth was still swollen from yours. He looked so handsome and so furious and so hurt. And though it pulled your heart nearly out of your chest, he had to understand.

“I chose this with Robby,” you said tersely, pointing a finger up at his chest. Your voice shook, which only made you angrier. “I want to be with him. The bullshit of the past few weeks was because I crossed a line. I slept with Jack Abbot without telling him, okay? Me. I did. Not Robby. And now this—you and me tonight—”

Your throat tightened around the words.

You looked away, one hand pushing hard over your mouth.

“I shouldn’t have even…” You stopped, breath hitching. “Jesus.”

Brendon didn’t say anything. He only watched you, face unreadable in the dim light, and somehow his silence felt worse than a retort.

“I was punished for sleeping with Jack,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him again. “And I’ll probably get shit for making out with you in there too. And that’s okay. That’s part of the deal.”

His expression shifted, jaw going tight. You saw it happen and rushed on before he could start.

“No, don’t look at me like that. Don’t do that.” Your hand lifted between you, palm out, trembling a little. “That’s what I mean. You hear the word punishment and you decide you know everything. Like you think I need saving or something. But you don’t know what it’s like with him. You don’t know what I asked for. You don’t know what I want.”

“And what you want is that whatever Robby says goes?” Park asked, disbelieving.

"Yes." you hissed.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s not about making you feel better!”

Your voice cracked then, and you hated that too. The whole night had cracked open somewhere you couldn’t close it, and now everything was spilling out wrong, too loud, too much, too honest. You crossed your arms over your chest like you could hold yourself together physically if nothing else.

“So all of this,” he said after a long moment, voice lowering, though a scowl still pulled his features tight, “the crying, the pulling away, telling me no last week and then kissing me back tonight, then looking scared because we—what? Made out? Something we’ve done plenty of times before, but because Robby’s waiting for you at home now, it’s different? That’s all because you want it this way?”

He took one step closer, then stopped himself. “If it is, tell me now,” he said, his voice so low you had to strain to hear it. “I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t come to you. You and I will be done.”

Your throat burned even worse when you looked at him now, your eyes softening and going wet again.

"I don't want you to be done with me." you croaked.

His face softened at your words, his shoulders dropping. But he kept his arms folded across his chest, still staring at you with a piercing gaze.

It sounded so childish, so quiet and defeated, completely different from your sharpness before. "I want you, Brendon. I like how you look at me. I like kissing you. I like all of it, and it’s just—” You dragged in a breath, pushing both hands into your hair. “Shit is weird right now.”

"But it doesn't have to be, Bunny."

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“But it is. It is, and things will go back to normal soon, it’s just—” You sighed, pushing your hands into your eyes until you saw little sparks of color behind your lids. “I don’t know how to do this right now. I keep fucking up. I don’t know how to want you and not make everything worse.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

When you dropped your hands from your face, Brendon was right in front of you, closer than you expected but not touching you yet. His gaze moved over your face, taking in the tears, the heat of your face, whatever wreckage the argument had left behind. Then his hand lifted, slower this time, giving you every opportunity to move away.

When you didn't, he pushed your hair back from your face, careful around your temples, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Okay,” he sighed against your skin. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

You sniffled and looked away.

He exhaled long and controlled, the way he did when he was forcing himself not to say ten other things.

"Can I take you home?" he asked softly, "We don't have to fix this tonight I just…want to at least get you back safe."

You nodded, arms crossing in front of your chest. "Yeah, okay."

“Okay, c’mon.” he murmured.

His arm came around you, pulling you in close. It didn't feel possessive anymore or unwelcome. It was just the warmth of his body against yours as he guided you to the sleek black BMW, and you let yourself be led. You leaned against him, exhausted by the conversation.

When he opened the door for you, you climbed in wordlessly, shutting it behind you with the rest of the evening.

fun fact: I have a friend in an enm relationship and she read it over and me the two thumbs up on this !! even about having someone outside the relationship trying to push that they know better for you.... mmmhmmm

🏷️ @realwhoreforfictionalmen, @kittymeowmeow17, @viviandarkbloom11, @kneelforloki, @kitkatrina, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @anthropsych, @shawnysimp, @1-800-bobcut , @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @thoroughfareblues @isasdreams @katestuff17 @obi-wansgirl @archxve, @readersassemble5, @ohmeohmy0, @vipervixxen @earthhtoness, @kkatnapp, @macbaetwo, @honeylilli, @marvel-mistress, @harryswizzle

[urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter]

you seem pretty sad for a girl in love au: brendon park x reader x emma nolan

text drabble: i wish you loved me less

authors note: I FORGOT TO WRITE ONE LMAOOO but thanks for reading and sorry for angst im just sad rn

[heavenlybarnesss]

Jack Abbot x Ms. Honey type teacher!reader 🥹 Dr. Abbot’s modern, minimalist bachelor pad is now home to lots of glitter, pipe cleaners, and colored construction paper. When Jack proposes to you, he does the same thing Ben Stiller’s character does in Meet the Parents, where he gets her kids to hold up signs with letters that spell out ‘Marry Me?’ On his days off from the hospital, he brings you lunch to your classroom. And when he gives you a quiet ‘Pick you up later honey,’ followed by a sweet kiss on the cheek, all the kids yell ‘Oooooh!’ and the class erupts in fits of giggles.

When he can, he likes to help you when you do fun days or excursions for the kids. He brings the muffins for ‘Muffins with Mommy’ day at school, he drops off those worksheets you forgot at home this morning - he even buys your classroom supplies if the school doesn’t have funding for what you want to do. They won’t give you the money to buy books for the class? Jack’s already placed an Amazon order. They won’t provide the funds for a field trip to that dinosaur museum? Jack’s paying for the day passes for your class and the chaperones. On career day he even comes to talk about what it’s like to be a doctor!!! And he somehow convinces Robby to come too. All the moms in the classroom are just fucking swooning over the both of them the whole time - some in front of their husbands 😭

As aforementioned, he also likes to take you to work and pick you up on his days off. You wave at him after school when you see him patiently leaning against his truck in the parking lot. He smiles watching you say goodbye and interact with the kids as they leave with their parents. One of the kids’ dads is taking his sweet ass time asking you questions about an upcoming field trip, including if you need any chaperones 🙄 Queue Jack strutting across the parking lot, puffing his chest out a little extra.

He walks right up to the two of you, greets you with a not at all quiet ‘Ready to go sweetheart?’ and wraps a warm and possessive hand around your waist. He takes your teaching bag for you and grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers as the two of you walk back to his truck. He opens the door for you and gives you a cheeky pinch on the ass for only the flirty dad to see - then waves smugly, just to make it extra clear you’re taken. You poke fun at him for it in the truck, only for him to respond with, ‘Don’t they know it’s Mrs. Abbot, not Ms. Abbot? Maybe it needs to be bigger on your classroom newsletter for the parents, baby.’

[yournamesnob]

Hi! I'm sorry, but I was wondering if you could do a Jackrabbit club x reader little drabble thing abt reader having her period? If not, I completely get it! I was just curious. I love the ones you have out so far, and I can't wait for more!

no problem at all lovey!! (if you've already requested this I've been working on it, it's all good)

Cramps | The Jackrabbit Club

Pairing: Brendon Park x f!reader, Jack Abbot x f!reader

Prev | Masterlist | Next

CW: fluff, sick reader, cramps, bad periods

It always starts in the morning, like your body just builds towards it all night, lulling you into a false sense of security before you're groggily stumbling into the bathroom and it just...drops.

Suddenly the nausea and general ache within your bones makes sense. You've been more tired than usual, more snappy, less eager to eat and exercise. This is definitely why.

It used to take at least two of those placebo pills to kick start your period, but when it does, it floods with a vengeance. Luckily, the pain doesn't start right away. No, it gives you about half an hour, thank fuck.

You put on a pad, one of the big ones and finally emerge into the living room to a deliciously shirtless Brendon (this time), scrub pants hanging low on his hips as if he got dressed with the sole intention of teasing you.

He smiles softly, definitely aware of your body in a way that makes you remember you've got people who know you just as deeply as you know yourself.

You let your emotions lead you then, slipping into his warm embrace comfortably and accepting the smoothie he's made, green as all hell from the spinach he added. Iron, duh.

You sip comfortably, enjoying the coolness settling in your stomach before you become a tea drinking fiend for the next three days.

He's so warm and inviting you don't even notice how much you've burrowed yourself into his side, pressing your abdomen to his thigh in an attempt to keep the cramps at bay.

He doesn't comment on it, only pulls you closer as he finishes packing his lunchbox.

"I already called Dana. Jack should be home with chocolates and those ginger chews you like in a bit."

You hum in response, the pain starting to bloom. He notices your discomfort and hands you a pill that you take with no hesitation. You used to feel bad about needing to take pain meds to deal with your cramps—no more.

He texts the time to Jack who will most likely be taking care of you all day.

Your stomach flutters with a different kind of warmth then. You've never been taken care of this easily before. They don't make it a big deal, don't fuss, don't shove it in your face so you'll give them anything in return.

It's just how things are.

"Thank you, Bren." You beam up at him, all wide eyed and content.

He doesn't question it, doesn't tell you not to thank him for it, that this is the bare minimum you deserve.

Instead, he returns your smile, a drastic contrast from the person you know he is with anyone and everyone he doesn't care this deeply for.

"Always, bunny."

You giggle, lifting onto your tiptoes to kiss him all pillowy and soft. He forgets what he's doing and gives you his full attention then, thick arms wrapping around your waist, strong body pressed firmly against yours, his mouth responding delicately.

"I'll see you tonight, okay?" he murmurs against your lips.

"Okay."

"I love you bunny."

"Love you too great white."

That makes him chuckle against your lips, one more peck before he reluctantly steps away from you, puts on his top, gathers his things and leaves.

You slink back into bed as the pain becomes unbearable, the medicine not yet taking effect. You're stuck in that awful in between space, asleep but also awake, when a body slides into bed behind you, pulling you into them.

You hum contently, tangling your arms with Jack's as he settles, the heat that lingers on his skin from the shower lulling you to sleep once more as his lips pepper kisses down your neck.

dividers by @/robinavitchslut all images taken from pinterest

[seitmai]

🥰🥹🥰🥹

[rr-after-dark]

we can all agree this is park the shark's body type right

like hes not skinny fit or show muscular hes built like a fridge

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for @famfan1034 I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x reader imagine.

Warnings: this fic is racially and body type inclusive despite the moodboard suggesting otherwise

You hadn't exactly planned on your truck breaking down at the side of the road, but it seemed like the odds were against your favor.

The party you were invited to had started an hour ago and you were running more than fashionably late, with your phone battery dead for an even longer time period.

You were sweating and exhausted, had no tools to repair your car and no means to contact anyone.

It was just your luck that your truck had broken down at the most deserted road in Texas.

You were too exhausted to be relieved about the car stopping next to you, but the surprise of finding your ex kindergarten boyfriend looking back at you hit you like a truck.

Jake’s grin was wide as he greeted you, getting out of his car to take a look at yours.

It had been years since you had last seen Jake.

While he had been your boyfriend in kindergarten you drifted apart in different schools, but at town gatherings you had always been cordial.

Now you were immensely grateful to see Jake, and you were surprised how much he had changed.

Jake had been a smug idiot with more head than body when you had last seen him four years ago, but he had filled out beautifully, his face getting sharper too.

You were sure you were blushing as you thanked him for his help.

“Can I give you a ride?”, he asked you gently, and you nodded immediately.

“Thank you. It's my mom's birthday party and I'm deadly late”, you explained as the two of you got into his car.

When Jake asked about your mom by name you were surprised once more, but told him that she was doing fine.

“That’s kind of you. You look good, by the way”, you added, and a chuckle left his lips.

“Just good?”, he asked, which prompted you to laugh a little.

“More than good”, you replied.

There was a moment in which neither of you talked, but you felt tension crackling in the air.

The silence was comfortable but full of so much tension that you cleared your throat.

“So what do you think of my car?”, you asked Jake, and he shot you a knowing smile.

“It’ll be fine once I get my tools from back home, don't worry”, he said, and you nodded gratefully.

“So you can fix it?”, you asked.

“I can fix a plane, how hard can it be?”, he replied, and you chuckled.

From then on conversation flowed naturally, with longing glances shared between the two of you.

You shared your stories from the last time you had seen each other and learned a lot about the other, which only enticed the both of you more.

Jake told you that he was visiting his parents and you told him about your plans and aspirations.

When you arrived at your mom's house Jake got out to open the car door for you and help you get out at the same time as your grandma opened the front door of the house.

You didn't quite want to let go of Jake's hand as you exited the truck, and your grandma started smiling widely.

“Jake, honey, why don't you come on in”, she suggested and Jake's eyes fell to yours to see your reaction.

“Grams, mom’ll…”, you started, but your grandma interrupted you.

“Your mom will be fine. Have some cake with us, honey”, she asked, and you chuckled in defeat.

You didn't want Jake to leave either, which was why you didn't put up a fight.

Gingerly, you took Jake's hand and pulled him along, getting him a slice of cake just as your grandma had promised.

Jake was welcomed into the family celebration much like he would be into the family in only a few months’ time.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @iangiemae @kmsryles343 @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @gigisimsonmars @dempy @bespinnn @tipsykeen @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @luckyladycreator2 @kendra-rose @desert-fern @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @airedale17 @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @classyunknownlover @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @fuck-me-865 @malindacath @khouse712 @sugarvibez

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[se7entyrell]

may i please please pretty please request a jack angst fic inspired by parachute <3

It's strange seeing Jack again, after all these years.

Sitting across from him in a coffee shop as if you're simply acquaintances - when you once meant the world to each other. "I was sorry to hear about your divorce," He murmurs softly, eyes searching out your gaze. You don't give him the satisfaction.

"He was a prick," is all you can manage, to sum up the entire decade you spent married to your ex.

"I know you wanted kids. Wish you could've had that."

That puts your heckles up, and you lift your coffee to your lips in an attempt to stop a biting remark from slipping out. It doesn't work. "Well, we can't always get what we want."

The pity in his expression is too much, and you find yourself wanting to dig the knife a little deeper. "You didn't, either."

It's the lowest of lows, and you hate yourself for using his dead wife as a trump card. But you also hate Jack a little for not reaching out at any point. For letting things between you go totally cold.

For lying to you before your own wedding. For telling you he was happy you were with Jason, only to reveal six months later that he's been in love with you since you were sixteen.

Six months too late.

[prettydaisygirl]

I don’t see enough PTMC Secretary!Reader fics, so I’d love some Brendon Park x Secretary!Reader fluff/meet-cute type fic

hi!! thank you so much for requesting <3 I actually love this one a lot so i'm excited haha, hope you enjoy!

dr. brendon park x secretary!reader who needs to know who he is ✿ 1.5k words

summary: no one will tell you anything about the handsome doctor you saw on the ER floor. turns out they don't have to.

cw: fem!reader, secretary!reader, implied sunshine!reader, reader is implied to be newer at the PTMC, everyone wants to protect reader

the pitt masterlist

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“Woah.” The word leaves your lips involuntarily, pressed from your lungs with something akin to awe. You move a little to the left, escaping from the bar on the window that was obstructing your view. 

The doctor you’re watching is stunning. You feel like he’s walked right out of one of your late night fantasies and into the real world. 

“Who is that?” You ask, your voice suspiciously thin like you’re out of breath. Lupe looks up at you, then follows your gaze. Her lips purse and she shakes her head. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

Your brows furrow, eyes meeting hers before glancing back to the ER floor, only to see that the doctor has vanished. 

“I was just asking a question.” You try innocently, taking a seat in your chair again. “I haven’t seen him before.” 

“It’s probably better if you didn’t.” Lupe assures you before she turns back to her monitor with no further explanation. 

You turn your head back one more time, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You sulk back into your chair, shoulders slumped in defeat, and move on. Well, as much as you can while his silhouette and sharp jawline stay etched in your mind like a wine stain in carpet. 

By your next shift, after a night of dreams haunted by a tall, broad, handsome stranger, you decide to go on a hunt for more information despite Lupe’s warning. 

You don’t get far before you run into another obstacle. Setting down your coffee at your desk, you slip through the door into the ER and approach the nurse’s stand. Dana looks up at you over her glasses, a chart in her hand that’s forgotten as you approach. 

“What’s goin’ on?” She asks, smacking her gum. You run your hands over the counter, nails tapping against the flat top as you try to piece together your question.

“There was a doctor down here yesterday that I’d never seen before.” You play innocent, though there’s something in Dana’s gaze that makes you think she can see right through you. You try not to fold immediately. “I just think it’s a good idea that I know everyone’s name…”

Dana is silent for a long moment before she places the chart down in front of her. She leans back in her chair, taking a long breath, before she sighs and leans toward you again.

“Listen, kid.” The tone of her voice immediately dampens your enthusiasm. She continues, her eyes having an almost motherly gaze when she looks at you over the nurse’s station counter. “I know who you’re askin’ about. I also know that Lupe already told you askin’ after him is a bad idea. And I’m going to reiterate that for you. He’s not nice, he’d eat you alive.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your shoulders curving in on yourself. You wish you could disappear into the floor. Had they talked about you? Did Lupe tell her you’d been watching him? Does everyone know? 

By the time you meet Dana’s gaze again, there’s a pitying smile on her lips. She stands, picking up her chart with one hand and patting one of yours with her other. “It’s better if you drop it.” 

But you couldn’t drop it. You found your eyes drifting on more than one occasion toward the emergency room floor, tracing for any familiar details that might suggest your the doctor had returned. He lingered in your dreams, imbedding himself in every fantasy. You didn’t even know his name but you’d imagined him doing things to you that would make anyone else blush if you said them out loud. 

You decide to try one last resort. You know you can’t ask any of the doctors, mostly because they’re too frantic and fast-paced for you to have any chance to. But nurses… nurses are fair game, especially ones who have been nice to you since you started working in the ER. 

You arrive early, another iced coffee clenched in your hand as you wait like a predator stalking prey. You watch some of the night shift leave, some of the day shift doctors arriving before dawn to take their place. Your victim arrives shortly, and you scramble to exit your car at the same time she does, jogging to reach her side as you shout her name to get her attention.

“Princess!”

She looks up with wide eyes, but then her lips turn up in a smile with only a hint of confusion beneath it. “Hi!”

“I have a question for you.” You say, keeping in step with her as the two of you approach the building. You adjust your bag on your shoulder as you continue, “There was a doctor down here the other day. I’ve never seen him before, and I was wondering-”

“Oh no.” Princess shakes her head, holding up a finger in your direction, “I was told explicitly not to tell you anything about a certain evil orthopedic surgeon that you seem to have your eye on.”

Orthopedics. Well, that’s more information than you’ve gotten out of anyone else. You conveniently ignore the other adjective she’d used to describe him. 

You try to push for more, “Not even his name?” 

“Not from me.” She shakes her head again, lifting her fingers to mime zipping her lips closed. You groan in defeat, but you still hold the door open for her as you walk in. 

You keep your eyes peeled for him, this handsome doctor who has somehow wedged his way between the folds of your brain. But as shifts pass by, days and days of them, you lose hope. Maybe he was just visiting, and that’s why no one wanted to tell you anything? Or had other women like you fallen into the same trap and gotten burned, and that’s why no one had entertained you, even for a moment? 

Your brain goes around and around, shifting between fantasies of the mysterious man and disappointment that you’d probably never see him again. 

And then, one early Saturday morning, fate decided to intervene. 

You’re off work surprisingly, not trapped between white walls or engulfed in the scent of antiseptic. You’re enjoying a nice walk, breathing in the fresh air, and splurge a little with a stop at your favorite coffee shop halfway across town. 

You’re waiting at the counter for your order to come out, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Your ears perk up when you hear one of the baristas call out your coffee order, placing in on the counter. You make a mad dash through the small crowd of people also waiting, your hand clasping around the cup. You give a quick ‘thanks!’ to the staff working behind the counter, beginning to lift the straw to your mouth for a drink. 

A throat clears behind you. “I believe that’s mine.” 

You turn, and to your horror… it’s him. The doctor from the ER, the one who has been present in every fantasy and every dream you’ve had since you first saw him. You’re gaping at him, mouth slightly parted like a fish, and a look of annoyance crosses his face. 

“That’s my coffee.” He says again, and some part of your brain must finally reset and work because next you’re practically shoving it into his hand. 

“Sorry!” You tell him, trying to put on an apologetic face while simultaneously urging your heart to slow down. He doesn’t nod, doesn’t give you a smile, doesn’t give you any kind of acknowledgment at all. Instead, he begins to turn away. 

You can’t let him escape again, you think. Not without at least knowing who he is. 

“Hey,” You take a step forward to get his attention again, but it doesn’t work. So instead, you just blurt out, “Do you work at the PTMC?”

This does make him pause. He turns back toward you, his eyes more narrowed but less annoyed this time when they meet yours. 

“I do.” He says. He gives you a once-over, his head tilting just the slightest bit to the side. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You tell him with a nod. Your mouth opens for you to speak again, though you aren’t able to get anything out before the barista is calling out your order. The exact same as his.

No wonder you’d gotten them confused.

His eyebrows raise, eyes glancing back at the counter where your coffee sits. “You have a good taste in coffee.” He gives you a nod, and you feel like you won a battle. He doesn’t say anything else before turning to leave, and the giddiness of the interaction has you on a high that almost makes you feel like you don’t need a coffee after all.

It’s not until later that you realize you still never learned his name. 

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© prettydaisygirl

[zivistardust]

Brendon Park who’s secretly a little pathetic about you. Some smut, mostly aftercare. Kinda a sub drop?

Brendon Park fucks.

Obviously you expected that. You saw it coming. I mean, come on. You knew the guy. One look at him you knew he was getting laid often and putting it down. Hard. He was a hunky, charismatic, rich doctor. Whose biceps filled out his scrubs and whose ass did the same. Walked around the hospital with a cool and cocky demeanor. You saw it coming.

So yeah. You were sure he got around. And that was proved when he got you in bed.

He must have liked a challenge, that’s what it had to be. He could do better- do easier than you. But he was set on you for some reason. And now you were here, knees in your chest, ankles over those big broad shoulders as that massive fucking dick spears into you over and over again. And it’s good. It’s so fucking good. You’ve come… twice? Thrice? Already. But he’s still going. Still thumbing your clit as he fucking plows you just right. He’ had your hands pinned over your head a few minutes ago, on your knees, face in the pillows before he decided he needed to see you, hear you. He ate you out with his hands around your wrist again, keeping you at his mercy as he overstimulated you with a skilled tongue. You’ve been going for… fuck. A while. You’ve lost all track of time.

“Who’s your daddy, baby?” He panted in your ear, more like a growl. You couldn’t think, truly, not when he had you like this. But you managed to answer. “You are!”

He grunted in approval.

“Good girl.”

You had told him it took you a long time to cum sometimes before this. He said he was in no rush. You told him you didn’t like some things. He listened with an easy nod. Warned him you were the kinda girl who got clingy. He seemed unconcerned. Completely unconcerned. Told him you’ve been known to cry. He looked hungry.

Brendon Park was unfazed by every warning, and went to fucking town on you anyway.

And finally, with your ankles next to his head, he came.

He pulled out gingerly, careful and kind with his movements, easing your legs down for you, carefully rubbing your hips to ease the ache. He kissed your cheek. “I’m gonna go get a towel.” He explained, pushing himself off the bed.

Right.

You sat there awkwardly, unsure what to do with yourself as you waited. You settled on pulling your knees up to your chest against his headboard.

He looked surprised at your change in position.

“You okay?” He worried. “C’mon, lay back down and stay comfy. Lemme clean you up” he insisted, gently tugging on your ankle to coax you down. You let him, shyly. Despite him having you in every position 5 minutes ago, this was so embarrassing.

The aftermath always was.

“Don’t get shy on me, baby.” He insisted, kissing your knee. “Nothing I haven’t seen” as he swiped the towel through your tender folds, muttering an apology, kissing your knee.

He smiled at you. Hair sweat damp and wavy, skin glowing, he smiled at you.

Gone was his trademark scowl, or the focused flushed face he’d had during sex. He was smiling. And yeah, he smiled during the date, but you thought that was all part of the act. The seduction to get you into bed.

Why was he smiling now?

Once he’d cleaned you up, he was back out of bed, walking to a dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers to pull on.

Then another pair, and a tee shirt.

“You should really go pee still, but here. If you want a toothbrush I have the little goody bag from my last cleaning in my top drawer under the sink, and there’s cerave by the sink if you want to wash your face”. He rattled off, extending the clothing to you.

You looked between him and your clothes on the floor unsurely.

“What?”

“I should get going.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t drive here, remember?” He reminded you. His face fell uncertainly. Concerned. Brows creased. He came back to the bed, setting the clothes beside you and running a worried hand down your cheek.

“You feeling okay? That was kinda intense, huh?”

You ignored him.

“I’ll just… get an Uber or whatever.”

“You’re welcome to do whatever you need to but. You really don’t have to do that.” He said explicitly.

“I don’t want you in an uber like this. If you’re really uncomfortable I can drive you home, but I would rather you stayed here.” Brendon insisted.

“You would?”

He looked at you dumbly.

“Yes. Of corse I would. I want you to stay the night. But only if you’re okay with that of corse.” He said flat out.

A little smirk came to his lips.

“What, you thought I was gonna kick you out of my bed or something?”

It was a lighthearted joke to him.

Your face was straight.

His fell.

“Oh my god you thought I was just gonna kick you out of my bed?”

He looked… hurt, almost.

“Well you got what you wanted so…”

You still hadn’t taken the clothes, still naked back up against the headboard now.

He looked crushed.

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am?”

You didn’t know how to respond.

“Look, I know I’ve been known to be kinda douchey at the hospital but. I’m not like that in my personal life. Not with the women I date. I thought- we went out earlier, right? We had a nice date, we came back here and kept the fun going.” He explains, like he’s trying to prove he’s not the guy you think he is.

He looked unsure if his series of events was the same as yours.

“I don’t know how to prove it, but I’m not that guy. Really. I like you. Really like you. Have for some time.” He explained.

“I thought-“

You began. Than stopped.

He looked desperate for you to continue.

“What did you think, honey?”

Honey?

“That I was, I don’t know. Like. A challange.”

He muttered the word to himself.

“Jesus fuck. No. No you’re not just some challenge. Why the hell did you even go out with me- come home with me if you thought that?”

You shrugged.

“You’re very persuasive.”

“I was going for charming.” He dryly laughed.

“That too.”

He smiled softly.

“You’re pretty damn charming yourself.” He flirted.

You smiled shyly, and he felt a little better.

A little.

“Let me say it like this. I want you to stay the night with me. I want to cuddle and kiss you and sleep here together tonight, and in the morning I want to make you breakfast and drive you home like a gentleman, and maybe beg you to go out with me again sometimes. Is that okay?”

Shyly, you nodded.

And Brendon smiled gently.

Sighing in relief.

“We need to talk about this again, sometime. Maybe in the morning. But not right now, sweet girl”.

Brendon sat up straighter.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Huh?”

“Arms, honey.”

Honey, again.

You obliged.

And he pulled the shirt over you.

[wordswithkittywitch]

In Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio called Tybalt "Prince of Cats" because there was a book, popular at the time, with a cat prince named Tybalt in it. He was making a pop culture reference. Therefore, I move, that in a modern Romeo and Juliet retelling, Tybalt should be named Garfield.

[se7entyrell]

Ooh could I request mood board for an 50s era test pilot/astronaut Bradley Bradshaw spending an evening with his black housewife before he heads to cape Canaveral for his mission?

"Honey, I'm home!"

Your three favourite words of the day. Even after two full years of marriage, you're still giddy each time Bradley returns to you. "In the kitchen!"

As much as you'd like to drop everything and throw yourself into his arms, you're in the middle of cooking lasagna and would rather not set the house on fire.

You spin on your heel as he enters, allowing him to pull you in for a tight hug, lips pressed to your temple. "Missed my girl somethin' awful today," He hums.

"Missed you too, Brad. Gonna miss you even more when you're away." You pout a little, and Bradley gives you a quick peck.

"I'll miss you too, sweetheart - but it'll go by quicker than you think. Then I'll be home, and it'll be Christmas."