Summary: Abbot reminds Brendon you're in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
The Call Out - Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.
In for five.
Hold for five.
Out for five.
That’s how Brendon gets his hands to stop shaking. A simple breathing exercise taught to him by his grief counsellor for the nights he’d wake up and remember that Toby wasn’t alive. It works right here, in the midst of all the chaos as he holds a saw in his hands, preparing to amputate his fiancée’s leg.
“Ketamine’s kicking in.” Whitaker says as Abbot ties off the red tourniquet below your knee. It’s nothing more than blood and viscera underneath the joint. He can see the bone protruding through ravaged muscle, a flash of white amongst the meat.
“Rae, Whitaker is going to tell you the bison story, ok?” Brendon says softly as he watches the blood flow to your right leg start to staunch. Your eyes roll towards Whitaker, fastening on him as he clasps your hand tightly in his. “I want you to close your eyes and listen to him, try to envision what he’s telling you.”
Whitaker launches into the story about a baby bison named Phyllis, one that gate-crashed his small wedding reception back on his Nana’s farm. You love that story, you love the hijinks and mischief that can come from something so small but determined.
“Are you sure, you want to be the one to do it?” Abbot asks him as he checks your stats on the monitor. They’re staying steady for now, but he knows the decline is coming, that the longer you stay here the more blood your lungs soak up.
“You just told me your last amputation was fifteen years ago during a tour in the Middle East.” Brendon reminds him, using one hand to adjust his plastic safety glasses. “It needs to be me.”
“Well, we both know she’s in good hands.” Abbot murmurs as he shifts into position alongside the EMTs. Things are going to move fast once he amputates the leg, they’ll get you straight out and onto the waiting stretcher so they can work on the internal bleeding.
“Alright, here we go.” Brendon murmurs as he his finger on the trigger of the saw.
It jumps to life in his hands, the familiar thrum oddly comforting as he begins the process of removing the limb. He moves with precision, muscle memory kicking in as his mind dissociates from everything but the task at hand. The stench of burned hair, heated iron and wet chalk permeates his nostrils but Brendon, he’s used to that, just like he’s used to the taste of Fritos on the back of his tongue when he makes it through to the marrow.
The limb detaches, a clean break away from the remaining flesh. The saw clicks off, and he pulls away from the confined space, allowing Abbot and the paramedics to rush into the space. He sets the bloody saw back into his kit as you’re pulled free from the car and loaded onto the stretcher. Your eyes rove, finding his and you flash him the dopiest fucking smile on this earth, as if he hasn’t just maimed you, as if he hasn’t just changed your life irreparably. His eyes sting and his throat burns, his stomach roiling as his gaze lands on the bloody stump.
“You know it was the right call.” Whitaker says from alongside him, blood matting his dirty blond waves. There’s lacerations on his face, from the glass exploding in the passenger seat window Brendon suspects. “She’s fit, healthy, she’ll come back from this.”
“I know.” He whispers.
The problem is, he’s not sure that he will.
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AN: So confession time... this was always the end game. It just took me a while to work my way there.
Summary: Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
Brendon’s thinking about the wedding venue when he gets the call out.
You’d spent the weekend touring intimate locations around the city, looking for somewhere that felt like just the right place. The old Brendon, the one he was before meeting you, would have been climbing the walls trying to escape this fate, but the man he is now had loved every damn second of it because it represents a future, one that he almost never allowed himself to have.
The two of you had settled on The Art Room, a venue in the Strip District that combines industrial charm with fine arts sophistication. It’s run by the PA Market, a restaurant a few blocks over that offers world class cuisine.
All I want is good food, a little music and you, you’d told him when he was pulling together the list of places to view.
Brendon, he just wants to make your dreams come true, so he plays to his strengths, utilising the details he’s picked up over the course of the relationship. How much you love the fall, your preference for warm low lighting in the evenings, the fact you’re drawn to bold, interesting art.
“Whitaker wants to do the buttonholes and my bouquet as a wedding gift.” You’d told him last night when you were leaning over the dining table in his condo wearing nothing but his Steelers t-shirt. He’s barely used it during his entire residence at the condo but now it’s become wedding planning HQ with seating plans, a timeline of deposits and a provisional running order for the big day in a couple of months’ time. “Apparently he used to do stuff like this when he was living in Broken Bow for all their country weddings.”
“I need to see proof of his work.” Brendon informs you as you pick up your phone bringing up the chat thread between you and Whitaker. You hand it to him, and he is very surprised by the level of intricacy that farmboi doctor has put into the floral arrangements on screen. “If he wants to do them and you’re happy with it, then I agree. But he’s not paying for it. His wife is about to give birth and he’s gonna need that residency salary for diapers.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” You tell him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, your cheek pressing against his as you survey his hard work. “We’re going to the flower market tomorrow because he wants to ‘find my vibe’ and mock up something to show you. I have your black Amex already tucked away in my purse, so I’ll make sure I pay for it before he has a chance.”
That’s where you are right now. You’d begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed before five this morning because Whitaker runs on Nebraska farm time and wants to get there as soon as it opens. You’d sent a picture of the two of you in the greenhouse surrounded by acres of flowers, you with sunglasses and a vat of coffee in your hand and Whitaker giving a thumbs up with the biggest smile.
“It’s disgusting how cheerful he is for this ungodly hour.” You’ve written underneath. He’d smiled before placing the phone in the top shelf of his locker and changing into his scrubs so he could check out today’s surgery board.
An hour later he’s hitching a ride in an ambulance with Jack Abbot, who by the grace of God was still on shift when dispatch called through about the multi-car pile-up.
“You ever done one of these before? An onsite amputation?” The army vet asks him as they sit alongside each other across from the gurney. They’re wearing matching insulated PTMC jackets heralding them as part of the medical team.
“Yeah.” Brendon pats the bag alongside him containing the specialised saw and the rest of his medical kit. “This will by my fourth. Two were a building collapse and my third another RTA.”
“Hm.” Abbot responds, rechecking the camo rucksack that’s nestled between this thighs as the ambulance starts to slow. “They survive?”
“Three out of three so far.” Brendon states, holding up his fingers as Abbot hauls himself to his feet. The ambulance stops, and already Brendon can hear the noise that comes with being in the midst of an active accident scene. Apprehension settles in his chest, the same way it always does. There’s a reason he prefers the surgical floor, the ordered structure of the operating room, the quiet that comes with it.
“Let’s make it four.” Abbot says as the ambulance door is torn open and the full impact of the scene hits him. “I’ll give you an assist and then we’ll figure out what’s what at the triage area. Sound good to you?”
Brendon nods his head before following Abbot out into the fray, his boots hitting the ground as he’s thrust into the madness. The whole thing looks like something out of a nightmare. Chaos reigns, with twisted metal, burned rubber and shattered glass jetsoned along the concrete. The stench of petrol fills the air, acrid on his tongue as firefighters struggle to put out a blaze from one of the cars. Through the window, he can make out the shape of a person, unmoving, burning.
This shit… it’s the kind of thing you see all of the time, and honestly, he doesn’t understand how the hell you do it.
“Your patient is in the first car.” A lieutenant with the PBF by the name of Casey tells them as he leads them through the insanity. “Witnesses say it lost control, started weaving across the road. It ended up ploughing into a construction truck carrying concrete cylinders for a draining ditch. One went through the hood, driving the steering column into the front seat, pinning the driver. They have internal bleeding that’s being soaked up by the lungs. Our paramedics are fighting to keep them stable but we’ve been advised that the right leg is a crush injury, that if we remove the steering column it’ll send a shot of potassium straight into their heart killing them.”
“Advised by who?” Brendon asks taking a set of nitropyrene gloves out of his medical kit and pulling them on. Beside him Abbot is doing the same, his dark eyebrows furrowed as he takes in this new information.
“The passenger.” Casey informs him as he guides them around the worst of the wreckage. “He’s one of you, an emergency room doctor from PTMC. We managed to cut him out, but he won’t leave the driver.
And that’s when he sees the car, the ruby red petals strewn across concrete from the exposed trunk of the hatchback, one that he is intimately familiar with. His footsteps quicken, his heart pounding in his chest as he breaks into a run, the bone saw banging against his hip. He ignores Jack’s shout as he bolts towards the driver’s side. The door has been ripped off and there’s paramedic monitoring vitals while another holds up an I.V drip, squeezing the plastic bag.
Everything starts to slow, there’s just this violent rush of blood in his ears as the paramedics shift and he sees you sitting there, the steering column jutting into your lower body as you take short, shaky breathes in your seat. Your hand is wrapped around Whitaker’s, gripping it so hard, your knuckles are white. The resident’s eyes are glossy, red rimmed as his gaze meets Brendon’s from the passenger side.
“Rae…” Brendon whispers, his voice ragged as he crouches down alongside the car, taking in the magnitude of what he’s about to do.
“You have to.” There’s a wet rasp to your words, your chest heaving as if it’s being constricted from the inside. “It’s the only way I’ll live.”
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Summary: Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Set Before:
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
Brendon doesn’t realise he has a drawer, not until he steps out of the shower one morning and you open it to toss one of his t-shirts at him, along with a pair of boxers he’d long forgotten about. He’s so surprised by this new information that he fumbles catching the garments, allowing them instead to flutter to the floor.
“Why do you have that face?” You ask him, throwing your hip against the offending piece of furniture because the mechanism is a little stiff.
“Just didn’t realise that I have stuff here.” He mumbles picking up his clothes. When he straightens up, you’re standing there with your hand on your hip and a displeased expression he has seen far too many times.
“What did you think happens to the clothes you leave lying around?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow. “That they magically washed themselves and found their way back into your gym bag to be smuggled home in secret?”
Honestly, he’s never really given any real thought to it. Everytime, he stays over after fucking at your place, he’s usually too focused on trying to get his ass out of the door on time because he spends far too long with his face buried between your thighs after the alarm goes off.
It’s only now, after the revelation oof the drawer that he’s starting to realise just how often he’s in your orbit. How many nights he actually spends in your company. How many nights you spend in his.
“Maybe…” His heart starts to race, pounding against his ribcage as he pretends to pat himself dry nonchalantly. “Maybe some of your stuff could find it’s way into one of my drawers. Clothes, a hairbrush… I don’t know, something that means you’re not stealing my shirts everytime you come over.”
Fuck… you look good in his shirts but… he’s willing to make sacrifices if there’s a drawer involved, because a drawer… that changes the game.
“It would be easier than lugging an overnight bag around everytime I think we’re going to fuck.” You admit, picking up your watch from on top of the dresser and fastening it onto your wrist. “Wouldn’t harm to leave a toothbrush in your bathroom, I keep losing mine somewhere in between our places.”
He ignores the feeling he gets at the thought of your toothbrush alongside his, the domesticity the two of you are starting to fall into. This kind of thing its new to him, and he gets the sense you’re going to bolt if he tries to assign any meaning to it.
“It’s just practical.” He reasons as he thinks of how much he likes the scent of you clinging to pillows. “You’re always complaining about my shampoo, maybe you should leave some of that too.”
Love Park the Shark? Don’t miss any of their stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
Summary: You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Set Before:
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
You wake up the sound of the blender. The loud, angry nose ricochetting through your skull as you lie face down on the couch in the black tank top you were wearing last night and rainbow-coloured panties. A blanket has been draped over you, the clothes you’d scattered around the living room last night are nowhere to be seen. On the coffee table is a bottle of water and two Advil that drunk you certainly didn’t put there.
You prop your head up, catching sight of Brendon in the kitchen, looking like he’s just stepped off the cover of GQ, blending something that looks viciously green. You collapse back down onto the couch, the events of yesterday swirling around your mind as you try to grasp them.
The whole thing with Rowena, texting Garcia and the shots, so many fucking shots. There was dancing too, which is probably why you’re entire body aches. You groan, scrubbing your hands over your features. You’re definitely dehydrated, your face feels like sandpaper underneath your palms.
“Ah you’re finally wake.” Brendon’s voice cuts through your brain like a scalpel as he hovers over you, a glass of the green stuff in his hand. “You should drink this.”
You stare at the glass as your stomach roils, shaking your head.
“Trust me.” He says, his arm still outstretched. “I was a functional alcoholic for years, this is the best hangover cure there is.”
You force yourself up into a sitting position, the blanket falling over your hips as you take the glass from him. He picks up the two Advil, handing them two you before you take a sip from the smoothie. It tastes like a garden threw up into a glass with a hint of berries but it washes down the two tablets quickly.
“So…” Brendon begins, parking his ass on the edge of the coffee table so that the two of you are sitting face to face. He rubs his palms one over the other, and you watch the motion, staring at those long dexterous fingers as your brain struggles to come back online. “Do you want to explain why I have players from the Pittsburgh Penguins texting me, saying how sorry they are to hear about our sex tape?”
“Maybe… they’re just really good guys.” You respond, your voice raw because now you’re remembering the karaoke, Garcia and you venting all that crazy anger you were feeling into the mic.
Brendon scoffs, his hands clasping together between his knees. “I know what you did to Rowena, Rae. Vikram told me.”
You’d known this would happen, that the two of you would have to have this conversation. You’d just hoped it would be in the late afternoon, after you’d managed to wash the glitter off your body.
“How mad are you?” You ask him, taking another sip of the devil’s smoothie. It’s cold on your tongue, refreshing as it soothes over the back of your throat. “On a scale of me dropping your hair gel into the toilet to the Steelers losing the playoffs?”
He glares at you, and you realise you didn’t tell him that little titbit.
“I washed it, it was fine.” You dismiss, sinking back into the couch. “I did go to see Rowena, I wanted her to know that you have someone fighting in your corner and that she can’t get away with trying to punish you or extort you. I admit I did let my temper get the best of me and I did pour a very expensive bottle of wine onto her dress but Bren, I’d do it again because there needs to be consequences for her actions. She needs to know she can’t keep getting away with this shit.”
“And you thought ruining a $5000 Dior dress was the way to do it?” He questions, his vibrant blue eyes fixing on yours, his lips pursed together into a tight line.
“I spoke to her in a language that she’d understand.” You pause for a second taking in that figure. “$5000 dollars really? Like it wasn’t even a great dress. It was an ok dress but not something I would-”
“Rae.” He holds up his palm to stop the inevitable tangent. “I’m not mad at you, I just wanted to know your thought pattern. You did the thing that I’ve wanted to do for seven years, that I was not strong enough to do. Everytime, I confront her…” He trails off, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he struggles for the words.
“She throws Toby back in your face.” You say knowingly.
“She says horrible things, things that make me want to crawl back into the bottom of a bottle… I’ve almost compromised my sobriety so many times because of her.” He shakes his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs of his memories as his eyes clicker up to meet yours.
“I’ve never been able to… I couldn’t do what you just did. I just took all that anger and I internalised it, I kept it right here in my chest.” He rubs his knuckles over the space where his heart resides as if relieving an ache. “Because on some level I believed her, I believed that it was my fault, that I wasn’t worth walking the earth when my son…”
His voice splinters and you set down the glass on the side table so you can console him. Your hands clasp his, your head bowed next so that your foreheads are barely touching as he forces himself to continue.
“But then you come along and all that guilt and that anger, it’s being pushed out and it’s just filled with something else, something that makes me feel good, that feels healing and that’s…you Rae. It’s all that love you bring to the table and you’re so fucking bossy with it that I’ve had no choice but to forgive myself, to grow. You won’t let me cling to the past, you force me to keep moving, to put the work in.”
He runs a hand over your hair, smoothing away the frizziness from last night’s antics as he looks into your eyes. “You make me a better person. That’s why I came over here this morning. I wanted to tell you that… I wanted to make sure that you knew that even though I was an absolute mess yesterday, that I needed space, that I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens I’m in this with you, for better or worse babe, I’m your ride or die.”
Love Park the Shark? Don’t miss any of their stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
Summary: You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
Set Before:
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
They can’t arrest Rowena.
That’s what Brendon tells you in the breakroom at the end of your shift. Detective Solidad says that they’ve got no evidence to tie the video back to her. That the blackmail demands were made from a pre-paid burner bought with cash, that crypto had been used to hire a hacker to get your list of contacts.
And the drone, it’s probably in a landfill somewhere after being crushed to smithereens.
“Everything is circumstantial.” Brendon tells you, pinching his brow as he leans back against the counter. The stress, it’s killing him. You can hear it in grate of his voice, see it in the hunch of his shoulders as his Adam’s apple bobs trying to stifle the ache that’s growing in his chest. “She’s going to get away with it.”
This woman, she’s been torturing the man you love for seven years. Plucking his heartstrings like a violin before wrapping them around his throat and tightening them until that he’s left with scars so deep, he can’t ever hope to heal from them.
“I need some space tonight.” He rasps, scrubbing his palm over his exhausted features. His eyes are red rimmed, almost bloodshot, his jaw set as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “I need to hit a meeting, I need to…”
He needs to work his shit out because his brain right now is a tangled mess of wires, twisted and gnarled so badly that he has no fucking clue where they begin or end.
“I understand.” You say despite the fact it feels like there’s a rib spreader in your chest, slowly cranking, shattering the bones so that the fragments pierce your heart.
He can’t seem to look at you as he walks towards the door. Devastation shrouds him as he grips the handle, his knuckles turning white. “You should take some time, figure out if this is really what you want.” He closes the door behind him, the weight of his words taking up all the space in the room. The implications are clear if you choose him, this is going to keep happening. Rowena will just find new and creative ways to fuck up his life, she’ll use you to do it.
It’s in the parking lot that you sit in your car and pull up her Instagram. She’s tagged herself at La Viva, an upscale restaurant that charges a fortune for tiny plates filled with foam and tiny slivers of vegetables.
Celebrating… the caption says with a champagne bottle emoji.
You have never wanted to hurt someone so fucking badly. You look at the other name she’s tagged, an ex-goalie for The Penguins named Vikram Shaw. Her date, you realise. You wonder how he’d feel knowing she records intimate exploits, that she leaks them when she doesn’t get what she wants.
You don’t remember the drive over there, just the vitriol you feel surging through your blood as you grasp the steering wheel so hard that it digs into the base of your palm. You ignore the maître d when you enter the restaurant, sailing right past him towards the table near the window where Rowena sits in a white pristine Dior body con dress. You pick up a bottle of red wine as you go, silencing the protest of an elderly man with a fierce glare as you walk right up to the bitch and dump the entire bottle onto that designer attire.
The Bordeaux sinks in instantly, staining the fabric beyond repair as she spits out a curse, her head jutting up to meet your eyes. A flash of recognition sweeps over her botoxed features as Vikram rises to his feet. You hold up a hand stopping him in his tracks.
“I’d ask for the check if I were you.” You advise with a voice that could freeze the fires of hell. “This one has a habit of making videos and sharing them on the internet. You know Brendon Park?”
“Yeah.” Vikram says, his demeanour shifting as he regards Rowena like she’s the most venomous of snakes. “He fixed my ankle. And my left shoulder, he’s the reason I can still hit a puck with my nephew.”
“She tried to extort him for twenty k last night and when she didn’t get what she wanted she released our sex tape this morning.” You tell him frankly because you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of standing here but this woman… she sure as hell has. “If you don’t want your dignity served back to you with a demand for cash then I’d stay clear if I were you.”
“Yes ma’am.” He’s already gathering up his blazer, folding it over his muscular forearm as he clicks his tongue in distaste at the woman sitting across from him. “I’ll make sure the rest of the guys know too.”
As he steps away from the table you do too, and that’s when she strikes, her hand lashing out, grabbing your wrist, yanking you back into her proximity.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She hisses, dragging you down to her level.
“Cutting off your supply.” Your eyes meet hers with a ferocity you hope she feels in her fucking bones. “By morning every single athlete in the city will know you’re fucking poison. There will be no more gifts, no more vacations, no more men paying for your fillers and spa days… “
“You can’t do this to me.” Her false nails dig into your skin, leaving half-moon indents that almost taste blood.
“I just fucking have.” You tear your arm out of her grasp, resisting the urge to rip those ridiculously long hair extensions off of her head as she pushes to her feet. “That lifestyle of yours, I’ve just buried it in the fucking ground.”
She raises her hand to strike you, gold jewellery glittering on her fingers. You tip your chin up, welcoming it up but that subtle movement it pauses her in her tracks. She knows what happens if she hits you in front of all these people.
Handcuffs and arraignments.
Charges pressed against her.
She lowers her arm instead, picking up a napkin to pat dry the red wine that’s ruined that delicate and expensive material.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with.” She calls after you as you walk away from the table.
“Go fuck yourself Rowena.” You shoot her the middle finger as the maître d stares at you with an open mouth. You stride past him, your heart pounding as you make your way back to your car. Your hands are shaking as you climb into the driver’s seat, the adrenaline ebbing out of your system.
“Text Yolana.” You tell the car after your phone connects to your Bluetooth. It brings up dictation and you take a deep breath before you start. “Girl, I just did the craziest fucking thing.”
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Summary: Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
Set Before:
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
The game is on when you finally appear from Brendon’s loft bedroom. He’s sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap as you tread down the stairs, wearing another one of his shirts cinched with his belt, your high heels in your hand. He’d ended up tearing that dress off you by the time you got to round three, literally splitting the seams in his haste to get you laid bare for him.
Your hair is a bird’s nest from your antics, mascara smeared under your eyes, the outline of your lipstick framing your mouth. The rest is on his cock, those pretty little lip marks decorating the length of his dick.
You’d fallen asleep on him after that, body draped over his like a weighted blanket. He’d stayed underneath you, his fingertips combing through your hair, listening to the sound of your breathing in the darkness. He doesn’t want to delve into how good it felt to be tangled up in you, how he’d drifted off himself until his stomach rumbled because he’d never actually made it to dinner. He doesn’t want to think about how good you look in his shirt right now, almost as if you might belong in it.
“Who’s playing?” You ask distractedly, taking a seat at the other end of the couch so you can slip on your shoes.
“The Bengals are having their asses kicked by the Steelers.” He holds out the bowl to offer you some popcorn. You take a handful, your gaze still fixed on the screen as he studies the profile of your face. The shoes have been forgotten, you’re now transfixed by the screen as you pop a couple of kernels in your mouth. He likes this, he realises, being in your company. Now that all that rage has been fucked out, and you’re not getting in his face it occurs to him he enjoys spending time with you. “You can stay and watch if you want, I can give you a ride back afterwards.”
“I shouldn’t.” You say but you don’t move, and you do take another handful of popcorn.
“Not asking you to marry me, Rae.” He reminds you, returning the bowl to his lap as you tuck your feet underneath you. “Just thought you might wanna cuss out the Bengals after they beat the Ravens last week.”
“I do.” You drawl, picking up the navy-blue blanket he’s left folded over the arm of the couch and arranging it over your bare legs. Brendon watches out of the corner of his eye, a sense of satisfaction running through him as you make yourself at home.
This feeling, it’s new, and Brendon can’t say he’s unhappy about it. His condo is his sanctuary, he doesn’t bring women home and he certainly does not let them stay, watch the game and offer them popcorn. But he’s breaking all of his own rules tonight, something that seems to be happening a lot when he’s around you.
“How long do you think our dates waited for us?” He asks you, picking up the other side of the blanket and spreading it out over his own bare legs. He’d pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a grey vest after your antics, and it’s just now he’s starting to notice the chill in the air.
“Not too long I hope.” You say, your cheek coming to rest on your fist as you stare at the screen. “You’re turning me into a real asshole these days. It must be rubbing off.”
He snorts because he’s brand of fuckery comes with years of self-flagellation, and an aura so venomous that people don’t usually venture into his vicinity. You, with all your sunshine and light, haven’t even scratched the surface of what it’s like to be an asshole like him.
“I don’t know what the fuck it is about you.” You continue, reaching into his lap to take another fistful of popcorn. “I wish death upon you at least five times a day and I still end up in your bed. I’m not sure that that says about me.”
“We’ve got chemistry, I’ll give you that. Half the time I want to murder you and the other half…” He trails off because although this may be the second time you’ve fucked, it’s not the first time he’s thought about it. He’s always been attuned to your presence in the E.D., your compassion with your patients, your ferocity and advocacy. He’d found it admirable… most of the time, when you weren’t getting in his way and when you do get in his way... well look where you both ended up tonight. “I wouldn’t be averse to continuing this arrangement, blowing off a little steam every once in a while.”
The truth is, he’d never been fucked as good as you. He’s never been with someone who’s matched his energy, who puts him in his place, who’s just as deprived and filthy as he is.
“And I wouldn’t be averse to watching a game or two on your big ass tv.” You retort, catching his eye. There’s a twinkle in it, a spark of all the deviant, wonderful things to come. The two of you share a smile before your attention returns to the screen and Brendon sinks back into the couch, thinking there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now.
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Summary: Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
Set Before:
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
One fix is never enough, Brendon knows that, it’s the reason he’s in AA.
One drink turns to two and before you know it, you’re waking up the next morning, cracking open a beer to chase away your hangover.
The problem is Brendon didn’t know you’d be a drug. That you’d be like coke buzzing through his synapses, making his entire body feel like lighting in a bottle.
He thought it was one and done…
And then you had to fucking rile him. You had to argue, and fight, get in his face back over a patient and now you’re here at his condo in fuck me heels and a little black dress shoving him onto the bed with a violence that makes the blood sear inside his veins.
You’re a loaded gun tonight. A bullet in every chamber and he’s the dumb son of the bitch, pulling the trigger every single time.
“Christ, I fucking hate you.” You tell him, those dexterous hands of yours gripping the placket of his shirt, tearing it open. Buttons ping off, hurtling in every direction as you straddle his hips, your thighs pinning him to the mattress. “You stalk around that hospital like your God’s given fucking gift.”
You tear the leather belt from his trousers and launching it across the room with a fury he feels in the depths of his soul. The buckle strikes the full-length mirror, sending a spider web crack running up the glass. Brendon doesn’t give a shit because his own frenzied hands are grasping that dress, dragging it down your shoulders so he can get his mouth on those perfect tits of yours.
“I hate you too.” He mutters, his teeth sinking into your flesh so hard that he knows you’ll be wearing his mark underneath your scrubs tomorrow. “Acting you like you know what’s fucking best-”
Your hand covers his mouth, palm muffling his words and it’s like pouring gasoline on a fucking fire. His cock leaks underneath you, trapped against that pretty little pussy of yours. He swears he can feel your heat through his trousers, molten hot and dripping just for him.
“You’re going to shut the fuck up while I get off.” Your eyes are full of fire, blazing like an inferno as you yank down his zipper. The waist band of his trousers loosens, your fingers hooking in his underwear dragging them down his thighs. His treacherous dick springs up, red, throbbing, desperate. A droplet of pre-cum beads on the end trailing from the slit all the way down that thick vein. Your dress slides up another couple of inches as you pull off your panties, tossing them onto the sheets. His fingers seek them out, twisting the lace thong around his fist as you line yourself up with him.
That first inch, it’s always the filthiest.
He cries out against your palm, his head tipping back into the pillow as you sink down his cock.
It’s like you’ve given a fucking scalpel into his chest and sent him straight to heaven. He chases that feeling like the addict he is, rolling his hips to meet you as you work his dick like he’s your own personal fuck toy, riding him with a gaze that bores into the depths of his soul. His hands slide underneath your dress, grasping that bare ass of yours as he pursuits your pleasure like a siren’s call, steering himself into the rocks, dashing this wreckage of a man against them.
He pounds harder, faster, that tingle in his spine turning into a full electrical storm as your fingers slip past his lips, forcing their way into his mouth. You press down on his tongue as you bite your lower lip, teeth sinking into that velvet red and that’s when he loses it. His climax erupts like an explosion, tearing through his entire nervous system with an intensity so powerful it makes his hips buck off the bed. Stars erupt across his vision as he moans around your fingers, cum spurting into that deviant pussy of yours in white hot ropes. You come with him, clenching around his dick like a vice as you cry out his name to the heavens, milking him for every last drop.
Your hair falls across your features as you pull your fingers from his mouth, wiping them across his muscular chest, leaving a smear of salvia. The fire in your eyes has died down to a light simmer, but still, it’s there underneath the surface, red hot embers ready to ignite all over again.
“Who did you dress up for?” He asks, uncoiling his fist and dangling the panties in front of your face. “Is he waiting for you, sitting in some bar checking his watch while you fuck me?”
Your hand overs his mouth, a light slap across his skin and that… it just makes him hard all over again, the pleasure, the pain, the knowledge that there’s another man who was supposed to have you tonight, who doesn’t get to know what your pussy tastes like, how it feels to fuck it raw.
“Oh, baby girl.” His smile is feral as he grips your wrist, tearing your hand away. He flips you onto your back so that your splayed out underneath him, those needy little nipples desperate for his tongue. “You think you’re the only one that has someone waiting on them? Why did you think I was all dressed up tonight?”
You open your mouth to speak, but it’s his turn to silence you. He jams your panties into your mouth, the black fabric a stunning contrast against your red lipstick.
“No sweet thing.” He tuts, his hand delving between your legs, fingers swirling through his cum pushing it back into you. “It’s your turn to shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.”
Love Park the Shark? Don’t miss any of their stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
Summary: Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
Set Before:
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
Work has never been a problem before, not until today.
Brendon finds himself staring at the entrance to PTMC, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he watches those automatic doors swish open and then closed again. The noise grates on his nerves, setting his teeth on edge as his fight or flight response kicks in. He wants to get back into the Porsche, to run, but then your hand slips into his and he remembers those words from last night, clear as day in his head.
“We’re going to face this together.” You’d told him after all those phone calls had been made. “This isn’t going to break you, Brendon. It isn’t going to break me either. The two of us, we’re stronger than that.”
And you are. He has to believe that despite the fact every footstep feels like quicksand, that he has to physically force himself through the doors and into what he is sure is going to be a nightmare of a day.
When you swipe your pass, hand tugging him into The Pitt, it’s almost reassuring how chaotic it is. There’s overflow from the nightshift, handovers being shouted across patients. This hellhole never changes, but the atmosphere, it’s different. It takes him a second to clock it, but he catches the grim purse of lips, the furtive glances that come your way.
That video, they’ve seen it. Rowena must have released it just like she said she would.
Part of him had hoped that she wouldn’t, that she’d have some final thread of humanity that stopped her. But she didn’t give a shit about their son when he was alive, why would she give a shit about the dignity of the woman he’s in love with. It was all a game to extort him, to hurt him in a way that was so deep and visceral, he’d have no hope of coming back from it.
“I don’t want to leave you down here to deal with this.” He tells you when you walk him to the elevator. His grip tightens on the backpack he’s slung over his shoulder, the one filled with photocopied documents, including a restraining order, that details Rowena’s history of harassment. He has a meeting with a detective later on today, the same one who’d helped him with the paperwork the first time. “I don’t want…”
He trails off because truly what he wants, it doesn’t matter. Rowena has picked up his world like it was a snow globe on a shelf and shaken it so violently that there’s no hope that things will ever be the same again.
“Brendon.” You say softly, your fingertips chasing along the lapels of his jacket before you pull him in close. The scent of your bodywash floods over him, thoughts of happy summer days spent sitting under orange trees out somewhere in California. He’d tried to persuade you to call in sick, take a vacation to Napa Valley with him instead. But you’d wanted to face this head on, to rip off the band aid so it didn’t taint your lives forever. “These people want to tear her fucking throat out. They’re pissed that this happened to us. No one is judging us, no one is blaming you for your son’s death. That is your guilt talking, and you can choose to let it control you or… we can move on with our lives, get through this day and wait until the police have enough evidence to arrest Rowena.”
Your fingertips climb his collar, your thumb running over the nick on his clean-shaven cheek. He’d been distracted this morning, the dread of this day settling in his head as he’d stared at himself in your bathroom mirror, willing it to be some fucked up dream. “Personally, I’m gonna have a great day down here, I am gonna help so many people and you are going to head upstairs and do the same right?”
“Right.” He sounds unsure, his voice wavering but then you give him that smile and something just loosens in his chest. You’re right, he can choose how he goes into this day. He can let it bulldoze him, lie down and die as it crushes him or he can own it. He can tip his chin up and say I survived some awful shit but I’m still here, still standing and nothing can take that away from me.
And that’s exactly what he decides to do.
“Alright beautiful.” He murmurs, taking your hands and guiding them around the back of his neck. Your fingers lace at the nape as he nudges his nose gently against yours, seeking out your pert little mouth. “Give me a kiss for luck, and let’s make this shift our bitch.”
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AN: The first few lines of this have been kocking around my brain since I had this ask a few days/weeks ago regarding his ear piercing. Of course, these two decided to make the whole piece suitably unhinged. This piece is set in future, a few months after those pics are leaked.
Summary: A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
Companion piece to:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
You like the earring.
You loathe to admit it but that chunk of diamond sitting in Brendon’s ear, it does a little something for you despite the fact it should make him the doucheist fuck in this restaurant. He’s paired it with a tailored black suit, rinsed out that terrible hair gel and now he looks like he’s just stepped off the best dressed list in GQ magazine. It’s both intoxicating and infuriating because it means you’ve lost your bet.
“Told you I could pull it off.” He smirks as he withdraws his chair and sits down across from you. His knee bumps against yours under the table, forcing your legs apart. The long white cloth hides the small act of intimacy as his elbows come to rest on the surface, those vibrant blue eyes fixed on you. “Now give me my prize.”
You sigh before reaching under the table. His eyebrows rise in surprise as you use the tablecloth to disguise the fact you’ve drawn up the hem of your little black dress, your fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear.
“Right here?” A growl emits from his throat, one that is very reminiscent of your time in the bedroom. You throw him that devil may care smile as the lace slips down to your ankles, pooling around your high heels. You reach down, swiping them from the floor, bundling it into your fist. “You’re not going to go in the bathroom and…”
“You didn’t dictate the rules of the prize giving.” You remind him, tossing the tangerine G-string onto the table between the two of you. It sits like a flare against the white linen, a red flag to the bull sitting across from you.
He snatches them up before the maître d' brings over the wine list, setting the oxblood leather bound menu down at the edge of the table. A surprised expression flits across Brendon’s face as he tucks them into his pocket, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as if he’s repressing a groan.
“Did you come in these already?” He asks once the maître d' has stepped away, one hand resting on the table showing off an Omega watch that costs more than a deposit on a house, the other still jammed into that pocket, caressing the fabric between his fingers.
“I did.” You say, propping your chin up on your hand. Underneath the table you slip your foot out of your high heel, allowing it to trail up along the inside of his seam until you meet his thigh. His eyes widen and so does his stance. He sits back in the chair, shifting so that his thighs fall open. The sole of your foot rubs over his cock, unsurprised to find him already hard beneath the fabric of his trousers. “I used my wand to get myself off in those panties, I was re-living the other night when I had you tied to the headboard while I rode your face. You were so desperate to come but you were such a good boy letting me take my pleasure.”
“Hm.” His hand slips from his pocket, his fingertips glossy with your cum. He raises them to his lips, smearing your taste across them before his tongue flicks out savouring it. “And this is my reward?”
You tut, your elbow ‘accidently’ knocking your fork onto the floor. “I think I gave you a good enough of reward that night, no this… this is something I’ve always fantasised about doing. Something for me.”
You slip from your seat, disappearing underneath the tablecloth and you hear his intake of breath as you settle yourself between his thighs, your deft fingers finding his zipper. His cock is already straining underneath the expensive fabric of his trousers, begging to be freed from the confines of its prison. You oblige, also liberating it from the black Calvin Kleins he’s sporting too. It springs out, red, leaking, throbbing. Desperate to be touched, to be licked.
“If this isn’t your thing, now is really the time to say.” Your whisper ghosts over the tip of his dick, making it twitch against your lips. His hand snakes under the table, fingers tangling in your hair, wrapping it around his fist. You stick your tongue out as he guides your mouth up and down the length of it, soaking his erection with your salvia.
His hand falls away as shoes appear, the maître d' returning for the wine selection. You hear the thud of the menu’s spine on the table as your lips encircle the head of his cock, your tongue doodling patterns over his slit. “My wife’s had to take a call.” He explains to the maître d'.
Wife… something you’ve not talked about, but he’s been hedging around ever since your parent’s most recent visit. You decide to teach him a lesson about that little remark by swallowing him whole. He drops the menu with a clatter onto table. “Sorry, my hands are stiff today from surgery.” He continues the conversation with the maître d' before snapping the menu closed. “We’ll take the Armand de Brignac Champagne, we’re celebrating tonight.”
You roll your eyes, your mouth humming around his cock as he arches his hips, driving it deeper. “Fuck…” The word is hissed into the ether as salt lingers on your tongue, more pre-cum pulsing onto your tastebuds.
Your hand wraps around his dick, your lips fixed around the crown, paying special attention to his slit as you jerk him off in hard, fast strokes that tear a rumble from deep within in his chest, one he tries to hide with a cough as the maître d' returns to fill the champagne glasses. You double down as you hear the pour. Licking, sucking, devouring him as those bubbles hit the glass. There’s a rustle of fabric, his suit jacket shifting, then a sharp clink.
“That’ll be all, thank you.” His voice is strangled, almost as if he’s having trouble getting the words out as those footsteps retreat. His hand delves back under the tablecloth, grasping the back of your head as he pumps into your mouth once, twice and then his cum hits your tongue, spilling down your throat in long, hot spurts that you swallow like the good girl you are.
“Oh my fucking God.” The words are spoken under his breath as he slumps back into his chair. You tuck his dick back into his trousers, his breath catching as you pat it once, a light spank to remind him who’s in charge. You pick up the fork that you ‘dropped’ before returning to your seat as if you never left.
“Found it.” You say, holding it up for him to see. He stares at you, unable to speak. His cheeks are flushed an apricot pink, his expression somewhere between shock and bliss, as if he can’t quite comprehend that he just got his cock sucked in the middle of one of the most expensive restaurants in town.
You pick up your champagne glass and his gaze locks on it as you sip from it. Tasting notes of peach, vanilla, berries burst on your tongue, a silky blend that goes down a little too well. Something clacks at the bottom of your glass, and you frown as you raise it to the chandelier above you so that you can see through the bubbles.
“Oh Brendon.” You smile, taking in the beautiful smoky diamond set inside a flat rose gold inlay. It’s a stunning vintage piece, practical because it won’t catch on your gloves while you work. “You know we’ll only be able to tell part of this story.”
“We’ll leave out the blowjob under the table.” He concedes theatrically as you use your fork to fish the ring out of the bottom of the glass. “Is that a yes?”
You dry off the ring with a napkin before slipping it onto your finger. It fits perfectly, just the way you knew it would because a man as detail orientated as Brandon, he doesn’t leave anything to chance.
“Of course, Bren.” You say, admiring his choice. “It’s definitely a yes.”
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Summary: Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Set After:
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
Set Before:
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
There’s blood on your face. A deep crimson smear that’s starting to flake across your forehead, almost touching your left temple. Brendon knows how it happened, he can see the action vividly in his mind. You using the back of your wrist to push back an errant wisp of hair that had escaped the bun that’s held together with today’s navy blue scrunchie. Gloves coated in copper, trying to save another’s life.
Pittfest, it’s been a fucking nightmare, one that didn’t end when the bodies stopped rolling in.
There have been debriefs, evaluations, clean ups.
Brendon’s head is still spinning from it all. His hands ache, especially the one he broke after Toby’s death. It’s a nauseating pain, one that that chews you up inside, that you feel deep within the pit of your stomach. The worst part is the Tylenol isn’t even touching it. It’s why his teeth are clenched together, why his molars are grinding as he looks down at one of the people that were on the front lines today, who was pulled in ten different directions with her hand in someone guts, while one of her med students drilled a hole in a clown.
Yeah, he heard about that and as hilarious as it sounds it also comes with a mountain of paperwork, detailing what you as Whitaker’s supervisor should have done to prevent it.
“Go away.” You whisper as you sit on the edge of the bed in the on-call room, the Himalayan salt lamp bathing you in its glow. Your lashes glisten in the light, the underneath of your eyes stained with wetness as you try to chase away your tears with the back of your hand.
“No.” He says, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Don’t do this Park.” You murmur, tipping your face up to meet his gaze. “Don’t act like you fucking care.”
Those words, that expression… it’s devastating. He’s never seen you so listless, so tired, so distraught. You expect it to scare him away, for him to flinch at the show of weakness but he doesn’t. Instead, he sinks to his knees in front of you, his clumsy fingers struggling to chase away the salt that seeps down your cheek as he clasps your face in his palm.
“Today as been one of the worst days of my life and I know it’s been one of the worst of yours too and I just…”
Words fail him, they always do when he tries to talk feelings with you. He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re safe with him, that there’s space to feel your grief, that he understands it better than you could ever know. His arms wrap around you, gathering you up into the safety of his form, tucking your head underneath his chin. You start to quiver, a vicious tremble that vibrates through your body as your hands curl into fists, gripping his scrubs so tightly they stetch across his back.
That’s when his brave girl breaks, the first sob wrenching at his heart so hard that you might as well of torn it out of his chest. His palm soothes over your hair trying to alleviate the agony that pools inside you but it’s no use. Grief like this, it needs to be felt, to be acknowledged before it can start to heal.
“I know sweetheart.” He whispers, his lips brushing over your temple as he holds you as close as he can. “Trust me I know.”
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When you see people saying Jack saying “you need to shut your fucking mouth " is so not like him cause to me that was one of the most Jack Abbot coded things I seen in awhile . ….
The first thing they hear as they enter the condo is whining.
Loud, angry, desperate.
The two men share a quick glance with each other.
Oh?
They quickly dropping off their bags in the living room and practically stalk towards the bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door is shamelessly open. The light inside the room spilling into the rest of the place in a daring fashion, calling to them like the end of a tunnel.
They stop at the threshold, utterly entranced by what they have just walked into.
You're spread on the bed, Jack's camo shirt he left a few weeks ago adorning your body as a pair of Robby's favorite boxers hang loose just midway down your thighs.
Squished between your legs, a cute little pink vibrator humming deliciously right against your clit.
Your brow is scrunched in deep concentration, sweat starting to drip down your face to meet the already free flowing tears of frustration that have streaked.
Another whine escapes your lips, broken and raw, and Robby's cock twitches instantly inside his pants.
Jack can't help taking a step forward, unceremoniously tripping on your discarded work clothes.
He curses loudly, thankfully not making a further fool of himself, but alerting you to their presence.
You gasp, fingers fumbling with the power button as you rush to cover yourself up, throwing the blanket over your legs haphazardly.
Robby steps forward then, damage control the only thing in his mind.
"It's okay, honey," he coos, soft and deep voice he knows will melt right through you. "What's wrong?"
You stare at him for a long second, tears free flowing without your consent but you simply can't help it.
"'s not working," you sob, wrecked and frustrated. "I can't—"
Robby shushes you gently, physically having to stop himself from pouncing, from rushing to your side and taking care of it for you.
No, they need to be strategic here.
"That's okay, honey," he continues, watching you become putty in real time. "Sometimes that happens," he turns to Jack. "That's why we're here, y'know?"
Jack nods fervently. "Yeah, kid," oh that definitely gets a reaction out of you. "Let us help you out, how's that sound?"
Your eyes go wide with need and apprehension, like you're afraid you're asking them for too much.
But they smile at you and it instantly disappears to the back of your mind as you bite down on your lip, nodding shyly.
Jack is the first to move, stripping out of his shirt, pants and boxers all in one go, reveling in your reaction, borderline salivating as your eyes track his every move.
He goes to sit on the edge of the bed and removes his prosthetic before twisting around towards you.
"Nice shirt," he teases and your cheeks instantly heat up. "Let's take it off, kid, get you comfortable."
You don't even get to nod as his hands slide underneath the covers and find the hem of the long sleeve, pulling it up and off your body to reveal your already perky nipples.
Jack latches his mouth on your nipple, tongue lapping greedily, teeth nibbling and tugging, forcing a choir of moans to leave your lips.
Behind him, Robby finally manages to will himself into action, discarding all his clothes as well and pulling the cover to the side.
Your thighs press together, seeking friction as Jack teases your breasts.
Robby can't help but smirk devilishly at the wet patch he finds on his boxers. You must've been at this a while. Such a shame that shitty vibrator he got you didn't work out. Who would've ever thought, right?
He tugs the fabric down your body completely, tossing it to the side for later and finally reveling at the sight of your bare skin.
His hands grab a hold of your thighs, prying them open as he settles down between them.
Ever since Jack got to eat you out, even if just for less than a second, he's been ravenous, starving.
Jack detaches himself from your nipple, saliva stringing the two of you together and the sight causes Robby to snap.
He dives in, pulling your legs further apart so that your pussy opens up for him beautifully.
His nose rubs against your clit, a surge of electricity has you to surging right into his mouth. His tongue laps up every drop that has leaked from your entrance, greedily exploring every fold, every crevice.
"He's good with his tongue, isn't he?" Jack smirks against your ear and you shiver, causing him to chuckle in response.
Your hands thread into Robby's short hair but you don't dare tug, not until Jack slides into bed behind you, pulling you up against his chest, his own legs bracketing you, holding you down for Robby.
"I got her, brother," he tells the chief as his grip falters.
You can't help but stare at Robby, magnetically locked onto the blissful expression on his face.
His teeth nip at your clit, pulling just slightly and your own grip on his hair tugs.
He groans against your folds in response and you let go instantly, afraid you hurt him.
"You're good, kid," Jack soothes, his hand coming up to entwine with yours, pulling on Robby's short locks shamelessly.
The man moans then, loudly and encouragingly, the vibrations delicious against your clit.
You whine in response, pulling yourself now to get the same reaction out of him, beaming with pride when he does it again.
"I think she likes that, Robby," Jack teases. "'s that why you were using that silly little toy?"
Your entire body shivers in shame as you clench around Robby's tongue.
He chuckles against your folds, motioning for Jack to pull your legs back open so he can settle down.
And then his fingers join the mix.
He runs his middle finger through your folds, detaching his mouth for a second as he gathers up slick before slowly thrusting it inside of you.
You moan in response, throwing your head back against Jack's shoulder.
"That's it, kid," he groans. "See why it's much better when we help you out instead?"
Your mouth hangs open, brain empty as Robby starts to pump his finger in and out of you.
"She's so tight," Robby mutters.
Another tear slips past your waterline as your eyes shut in unbelievable pleasure.
You clench around Robby and he groans again.
"Oh honey," he feigns sympathy, manipulation lacing every word. "'s too much for you? Want me to take it out?"
"No!" you shriek, causing them both to chuckle darkly. "Want...more," you shyly open your eyes to meet his. "Please."
Oh Robby could've come right then and there.
But he's not some teenager, and this is definitely not his first time with a pretty girl coming undone beneath him.
It is, however, such a sweet victory, and he revels in the monster that they've started creating.
"Of course, honey," he leans down and places a kiss to your clit, Jack matching his reassurance, their praise, by placing a kiss to your temple.
Without further warning, he inserts a second finger into you, his movements picking up.
"Oh my god, Robby," you whimper, hips slowly starting to rock against his movements.
Jack wastes no more time, his hand sliding down your abdomen to make contact with your clit. His fingers settle into a slow, torturous rhythm, matching Robby's as the two slowly start to drive you into a frenzy.
You try to move your hips faster, harder, but their hands stop you, pressing your body against the mattress.
You wail, frustrated once more as they keep you there, teetering on the edge of something, anything, and yet nothing at all.
"Robby," you cry. "Jackie, please—"
"What's that, honey?" Robby asks, condescending.
"Didn't catch that, kid."
You huff, shame mixing with the pleasure of their fingers against you.
"I want—"
Robby curls his fingers upward against that spongy spot inside of you that you've been trying to find for the past hour.
You scream, hips bucking as you try to seek out the friction again.
Jack chuckles against your ear, his other hand cupping your breast again as his fingers toy with your nipples.
"What do you want, kid?"
Try as you might to form words, you literally can't.
Another chuckle, degrading.
"Aw, poor kiddo, can't even think anymore Rob."
The other man matches his tone, slipping a third finger inside of you, making you hiss through the slippery pleasure coursing through your abdomen, building and building, slowly.
"That stupid toy can never give you what we can, honey," Robby keeps his fingers inside of you, curling them steadily, hitting that spot over and over and over again.
Tears flow freely now, blurring your vision.
"From now on, you want to cum, you come to us, you hear me?" Jack chastises. "Nod if you understand me, kid."
You do, like it's the only thing your body is capable of doing.
"Good girl," his lips land a kiss on your cheek before he trails them down your jaw and neck, sucking a purple mark onto the side. "Make her cum, brother."
Robby beams, curling his fingers with a precision bordering on clinical.
Your body reacts instantly, every nerve lighting up like fireworks. You can't think, can't move, can simply feel.
And then Robby's mouth returns to your clit, mixing with Jack's fingers and adding to the delicious pressure that the tightness in your belly finally snaps.
You still, thighs clenching around Robby's head as your entire body convulses, clenching around Robby's fingers greedily.
The two of them don't stop their movements, instead they just keep going, as if trying to prolong your orgasm as long as they can.
It's a minute later that it starts to get uncomfortable. Too much.
You push Robby's head away, whining against Jack again, but neither of them stop.
"Stop it, kid," Jack scolds. "You can give us one more."
Your eyes burst open, terrified ones meeting Robby's who only looks deeply satisfied with himself.
You shake your head, try to push them off you again.
They don't budge.
"C'mon," Jack palms over your clit, gentle slaps sharply eliciting another wave of electricity to creep up.
Robby switches his movements, now flapping his fingers inside of you, not even bothering to switch out his hands even as he knows his fingers are becoming pruny.
"Just one more."
The way he says it calms you down a little, enough for pleasure to override the uncomfortable overstimulation.
It's just one more.
You can do that for them. They're being so nice and helping you out after all. And now they want to help you cum again?
You relax your body, allowing for their hands to do what they need to do.
Robby detaches his mouth from your clit, allowing for Jack's fingers to pinch and pull, while his own teeth nibble at the skin on your inner thighs.
"'m close," you whimper.
The second the words leave your mouth, Robby curls his fingers, biting down on your thigh, while Jack lands a lewd slap over your clit.
The mixture of pain and pleasure is overwhelming.
Your brain short circuits, exploding like thunder and lightning all in one as your second orgasm rocks through your body.
They hold you down against their bodies as you ride out your high, greedy hands and mouths touching and kissing every inch of skin they can reach while you're still a little out of it.
"Guess we can throw this in the trash," Jack jokes as he picks up the shitty looking vibrator and tossing it over the side of the bed.
Robby chuckles, tongue lapping over the ridges of his teeth marks on your inner thigh.
"Would you believe me if I said it cost ten bucks?"
Jack laughs, shifting under you as his now painful erection rubs against your ass.
You hum, pressing back agains him.
"Welcome back, kid," Jack teases, pulling you up to sit on his lap now as Robby finally pulls his fingers out of you and shuffles to rest against the headboard next to Jack.
You watch through still hazy eyes as he holds out his fingers to Jack, who opens his mouth greedily, his own tongue cleaning up your juices from Robby's digits.
No messes in your apartment.
You break eye contact with the display beside you, cheeks practically aflame now.
That's when your eyes land down over Robby's crotch.
He's stiff, painfully so, his tip so purple your heart starts racing.
"What about you?" you ask, oh so softly, so concerned.
The two men glance at each other, matching grins before they return their sights to you...
a/n: genuine q for the freaks, do you prefer robby and jack pov narration or reader's more?
Summary: All the little things that makes Jack love you.
Warnings: Fluff. Older man and younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. Ambiguous race and appearance. Established relationship/marriage. Language? Maybe. Medical inaccuracies? Most likely. This isn’t proofread; please excuse any mistakes. Whatever else I failed to mention
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 2,365
Poll || Masterlist
The first time Jack realized he loved you was six months into your relationship.
It was his day off. You’d spent the night—a huge step for the two of you—and Jack’s mind chose that night to plague him with nightmares. Memories bled together: the day he lost his leg, the phantom pain that still flared without warning, the face of a patient he couldn’t save despite every effort. The emotions stung, biting into his very being, molding to him like a second skin.
He woke drenched in sweat, breathing erratically, eyes wide and bloodshot as he tried to gather his bearings.
You were jolted awake by the shift beside you—the tension in his body, the uneven rhythm of his breathing. Groggy at first, confused, then understanding settled in.
“Jack?” Your voice was soft, thick with sleep.
He tried to focus on you, tried to really see you—he couldn’t. His mind, his body, wouldn’t let him. His chest rose too fast, air catching halfway in. The room felt too small, too dark. His hands trembled where they gripped the sheets.
You didn’t rush him. Didn’t grab him suddenly. Just shifted closer, slow enough that he could track the movement.
“I’m here,” you murmured.
Your hand hovered for a moment before resting lightly against his forearm—not restraining, not forcing, just there. Warm. Steady.
“Nightmare?” you asked gently.
He gave the smallest nod, jaw tight. Words felt impossible, stuck somewhere behind the pressure in his chest.
“That’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re okay.”
Your thumb brushed slowly back and forth over his skin, a grounding rhythm. You matched your breathing deliberately, slow and even, letting him hear it.
“Follow me, Jack. In…and out.”
He didn’t mean to, but his breathing began to stutter into sync with yours. The tightness in his chest eased by degrees. The room came back piece by piece—the dim light from the window, the rumpled sheets, you sitting beside him with sleep-mussed hair and concerned eyes.
You didn’t ask what he saw. Didn’t push. Just stayed.
When his breathing finally steadied, you reached up, hesitating just long enough to give him time to pull away if he wanted. When he didn’t, you brushed damp hair from his forehead, your touch featherlight.
“You’re safe,” you said quietly. “You’re home.”
Something in his chest shifted at that—not dramatic, not sudden. Just a quiet settling.
Jack realized then that you hadn’t made it a big moment. You hadn’t panicked. You hadn’t treated him like he was fragile. You’d simply met him where he was and stayed until he found his way back.
He looked at you—really looked this time—and felt the last of the adrenaline drain from his body.
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head immediately. “Don’t apologize.”
Your hand slid into his, squeezing once, gentle but sure.
“I’m glad I was here.”
And that was it.
No grand declaration. No sweeping realization. Just the warmth of your hand in his, the quiet steadiness of you beside him, and the understanding that he wanted this—you—every time he woke in the dark.
That was the moment Jack realized he loved you.
* * *
The second time Jack realized he loved you was when you came to visit him at the hospital.
It was one of those rare occasions he was working a day shift and hadn’t brought a lunch. The morning had been busy enough that he barely noticed—until the dull ache of hunger settled in sometime past noon. He’d resigned himself to grabbing something quick from the vending machine when he had a moment.
You, however, had wasted no time once you found out.
Jack was standing near the nurses’ station, skimming through a chart, when he heard his name.
“Jack?”
He looked up—and there you were, slightly out of place among the organized chaos of the ER. You held a small tote bag in one hand, offering a tentative smile like you weren’t entirely sure you were allowed to be there.
For a second, he just stared.
“You didn’t,” he said, already knowing you had.
You lifted the bag a little. “You forgot lunch.”
It wasn’t dramatic. No grand gesture. Just you, standing there, hair a little wind-tousled, holding what smelled suspiciously like something homemade.
Jack felt something warm settle in his chest.
“You didn’t have to come all the way down here,” he said, though his voice had softened.
“I know.” You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “But I figured vending machine snacks weren’t a great option.”
A faint hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth—subtle, but there.
You handed him the bag, your fingers brushing his as he took it. “It’s nothing fancy. Just…something quick.”
He glanced inside: neatly packed containers, a sandwich, cut fruit, even a napkin folded carefully on top. Practical. Thoughtful. Quietly considerate.
“You cut the fruit,” he observed.
You shrugged, suddenly looking a little shy. “Figured it’d be easier to eat between patients.”
He huffed out the softest breath of a laugh.
“Thanks,” he said, and he meant more than just the food.
You lingered for a moment, shifting your weight. “You should actually eat it, though. Not just carry it around.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled at that, small and warm. “I should go. I don’t want to get in the way.”
Before he could think too hard about it, Jack reached out, his hand resting briefly at your elbow—grounding, gentle. “Hey.”
You looked up at him.
“...I’m glad you came.”
Your expression softened immediately. “Me too.”
It was quick, the way you leaned in—just enough for him to catch the faint scent of your shampoo—before pressing a light kiss to his cheek. Soft. Familiar. Domestic in a way that made the hospital noise fade for a second.
Then you pulled back. “Text me later?”
“Yeah.”
You gave him one last smile before turning and heading back toward the exit.
Jack watched you go a moment longer than necessary.
“Well,” a voice cut in beside him, “that was adorable.”
Jack didn’t even need to turn to know it was Dana.
He shifted his gaze to her, expression neutral, though the warmth hadn’t quite left his eyes. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“Oh, I do,” she said, completely unfazed. “But this is more interesting.”
Robby leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed, watching with a knowing smirk. “Homemade lunch?”
Jack said nothing, already pulling the container out of the bag.
Dana tilted her head. “She cut the fruit. That’s serious.”
“It’s practical,” Jack replied evenly.
“Mm-hmm,” Robby hummed. “You’ve got that look.”
Jack paused. “What look?”
“The one where you’re trying very hard not to smile.”
“I’m not smiling.”
Dana and Robby exchanged a glance.
“Right,” Dana said, clearly unconvinced.
Jack ignored them, taking a bite of the sandwich. It was simple, familiar—exactly the kind of thing he’d make for himself, only he hadn’t had to. You had.
He realized then that you’d gone out of your way, packed everything carefully, driven here just to make sure he ate. No fuss. No expectation.
Just care.
Quiet. Thoughtful. Steady.
Jack swallowed, the warmth in his chest settling deeper this time.
Robby nudged Dana lightly. “He’s gone.”
“He’s absolutely gone,” she agreed.
Jack didn’t argue.
Because as he stood there, holding the lunch you’d made, he realized—for the second time—that he loved you.
* * *
The third time Jack realized—wholeheartedly—that he loved you was after a long shift.
Jack was always tired. It came with the job, with the hours, with the emotional weight he carried home whether he meant to or not. Most nights, all he wanted was a few quiet hours—sleep, maybe the chance to sit beside you on the couch, existing in the same space without needing to say much.
But your schedules rarely lined up. There were nights he came home to a dark apartment, your side of the bed already empty. Mornings he woke to find you gone, the faint warmth you’d left behind already fading.
Still, you found ways to be there.
The first sticky note appeared on the coffee maker.
Don’t forget to eat something that isn’t hospital coffee.
He’d stared at it longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
The next one was stuck to the fridge handle.
Dinner’s in the fridge. Yes, I remembered you hate soggy lettuce.
And sure enough, the salad was packed separately.
Another waited on the bathroom mirror.
You looked exhausted this morning. Please sleep. The dishes can wait.
They weren’t elaborate. Some were a little crooked, written quickly in your handwriting. A few had small doodles—a lopsided heart, once a terrible attempt at drawing him with a stethoscope.
One night, after a particularly brutal shift, he came home past midnight. The apartment was quiet, the lights dimmed. You were already asleep, curled beneath the blankets.
He moved carefully, trying not to wake you, shrugging off his jacket. That’s when he saw the note stuck to the bedside lamp.
Hi. You made it home. I’m proud of you.
He exhaled slowly, something in his chest tightening.
Another note sat on his pillow.
I warmed up soup. It’s in the microwave. Please eat before you pass out.
He glanced toward the kitchen. Sure enough, the microwave light blinked softly, waiting.
Jack rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more tired than before—but in a different way. Softer.
He ate the soup quietly, then returned to the bedroom. You stirred slightly as he slipped into bed, instinctively shifting closer, even half-asleep. Your hand found his wrist, resting there like it belonged.
“You’re home,” you murmured, barely conscious.
“Yeah,” he replied quietly.
Your grip tightened for a second before loosening again as you drifted deeper into sleep.
Jack lay there, staring at the ceiling, your sticky notes still fresh in his mind. You’d thought about him in the middle of your day, in passing moments, in small, practical ways. You noticed when he was tired. You anticipated what he’d need. You made space for him even when he wasn’t there.
You saw him—all the parts he didn’t always say out loud.
His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles where your hand still rested near his.
“How did I get so lucky,” he murmured under his breath, not expecting an answer.
You made a soft sound in your sleep, shifting closer, your forehead pressing lightly against his shoulder.
Jack closed his eyes, the steady rhythm of your breathing grounding him. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something warmer—a quiet, overwhelming fondness that settled deep in his chest.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.
Just the soft glow of sticky notes, warm soup waiting, and you reaching for him even in your sleep.
That was the third time Jack realized—completely, undeniably—that he loved you.
* * *
Bonus:
Jack didn’t announce it when he decided to return the favor.
He didn’t even consciously think of it that way. It was just…something that felt necessary. Natural. The way you’d quietly woven care into his routine, he found himself doing the same for you.
It started small.
You’d mentioned, offhandedly, that mornings had been rough lately—too little sleep, too much rushing. The next time you woke, there was a mug already sitting on the nightstand, steam curling softly in the dim light.
You blinked at it, confused, then at Jack, who was pulling on his shirt.
“You made coffee?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.
“You looked like you could use the extra ten minutes,” he replied simply.
You pushed yourself up, wrapping your hands around the mug. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know.”
He said it the same way you always did—gentle, matter-of-fact.
You smiled into the rim.
Another time, you came home to find the laundry folded. Not perfectly—a few shirts slightly crooked—but sorted, stacked, and placed neatly at the foot of the bed. He’d even separated the clothes you liked to air dry.
When you found him in the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway. “You did laundry?”
Jack glanced up from chopping vegetables. “It was piling up.”
“You hate folding.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t mind.”
You walked over, looping your arms around his middle from behind. He stilled for a moment, then relaxed into the contact.
“Thank you,” you murmured.
His hand rested lightly over yours for a second before he returned to what he was doing.
Later, after a particularly long day for you, you trudged through the door, shoulders slumped. Jack looked up from the couch immediately, reading the exhaustion in your posture the same way you always read his.
“Tough day?” he asked.
You nodded, dropping your bag. “Yeah.”
He didn’t press for details. Just stood, disappearing briefly into the bathroom. When he came back, he handed you one of his softer hoodies.
“Here,” he said. “It’s warm.”
You slipped it on, the fabric smelling faintly like his detergent. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Hardly.”
But he guided you to the couch anyway, settling beside you. His hand rested at the back of your neck, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just grounding.
You leaned into him, tension easing by degrees.
“You’ve been doing a lot of this lately,” you said quietly.
“Doing what?”
“Taking care of me.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, considering. His fingers paused, then resumed their gentle motion.
“You do it for me,” he said simply.
You turned your head to look at him. “You don’t have to keep score.”
“I’m not.” His voice was calm, steady. “I just…notice things.”
Your expression softened.
He reached over to the coffee table, picking up a small yellow square. He handed it to you.
You frowned slightly before reading it.
Reminder: drink water. You forget when you’re stressed.
You laughed softly, surprised. “You left me a sticky note?”
He nodded once.
You leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “I love you, you know that?”
Jack’s hand tightened slightly at the back of your neck, grounding himself in the warmth of you.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He didn’t need grand gestures. Didn’t need big words.
Just warm coffee, folded laundry, soft hoodies, and a sticky note placed where you’d see it.
