i love dilfs

Despite the late hour, the waiting room had been packed and any glance your way felt like something intrusive and prodding. You had been fully ready to wait the whole night before you could be seen but after your vitals had been taken and triaged, the doctor had pushed you to the front of the line and into the next available room.

So here you sit, the paper beneath you crinkling every time you squirm and try to find a far more comfortable position before giving in entirely and leaning over to your side. You support yourself with your elbow and try to ignore the prodding pain in your backside.

"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abbot, what seems to be the problem?"

Your stomach drops; just your luck that the doctor assigned to help you fish out your newest toy is panty-dropping handsome. A silver fox through and through, he looks downright delectable with those large freckled arms that seem to be bursting through those black scrubs. If it had been any other day, you might've turned on the charm, flirt your way to a dinner date or more.

But it's 1:37 AM, you have a fuzzy, bunnytail plug stuck inside you and you're desperate to just get home without your asshole gaping.

"Um." You glance at the iPad in his hand, hoping that whoever saw you first recorded it in your chart so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself. But the handsome doctor is waiting patiently. "I have something… stuck inside me."

"Ah. I'll see what I can do. Roll over for me, sweetheart."

The night shift always brings on the weirdest cases that after all his years of working, nothing could phase him at this point. Seeing you, looking so uncomfortable and startled on the exam table, ranks so low on said weird cases that he misses the note Crus had left on your chart and went right in on the usual greeting.

"… what seems to be the problem—?"

Butt plug lodged in anus, patient reports mild pain and heavy discomfort.

Jack rereads the sentence a few times before he looks up at you. Pretty albeit shy, your cheeks flushed and your gaze seemingly land anywhere but him. When you listen and roll over onto your stomach, he swallows the instinctive 'good girl' that threatens to spill from his lips.

He tugs on a fresh pair of gloves, strengthening his spine and fortifying the usual mask of professionalism he wears. You're laid out on your stomach now, the blankets of the exam table tugged down to right below your ass. Before he could ask you to lift your hips, you do so on your own, knees spread apart.

Face down, ass up.

He swallows thickly as he gently nudges the seam of the hospital gown apart at your spine. What greets him has heat boiling in his gut: a fuzzy pink, bunny cottontail buttplug nestled right in between your asscheeks.

"Alright, I'm gonna touch you back here, see how deep it's in there before we try extraction," he murmurs. You whimper when he gives an experimental but gentle tug. "Is there any stinging sensation?"

"Nuh-uh," you mumble into the pillow.

Jack swallows again as the cottontail plug gives beneath his grip, his other hand pushing your left asscheek aside. "Let me know if I pull too hard, alright?"

You nod and he sees the way your moves against the pillow.

"Words, please."

Your thighs clench as you fight off the simmering heat that your frustratingly hot doctor starts with those two simple words. "Yes, I will." An honorific sits behind your teeth (daddy? sir? whichever, it seems to fit him regardless of what you use) but you swallow it down.

Meanwhile, Jack tries to ignore the tell-tale sheen between your thighs, keeps his gloved hands where they need to be. His mind races through horrific, bloody accidents of the week prior to keep his other head from wandering. "Good," he mutters.

Silence falls between you two as Jack gently adds medical-grade lubricant, apologizing at the cool temperature of it against your heated skin. After a few rotations of the plug, you clamp your teeth around the hospital gown to stifle any wayward moans.

"Mm—" You whimper anyways and Jack stills. "I'm okay—! Just, uh— is it almost out?"

Jack clears his throat; he's grateful you can't see him or the creeping blush up his neck. "Almost. I gotta take it slow to avoid any possible injuries."

The thought makes you lightheaded but you ground yourself back into reality before your mind can start jumping to worst case scenarios. "That makes sense."

He twists the plug and a flare of arousal blooms in your core, more pleasure than pain now. "So," he clears his throat again, an attempt at normalcy. "What do you do for work?" He mentally pats himself on the back at the inane question, hoping it'll be enough to distract you as he attempts at another tug.

You squeak anyways as your ring of muscles expand at the widest part of the plug. Jack adds more lubricant. "This," you manage to say.

Jack's dick gives a willfull throb but he forces it down with the degloving case from the night before. "O-Oh?"

"I… stream? I'm an adult streamer, oh fuck—!"

Your ass is gaping slightly as Jack inadvertently tugs the whole plug out with little warning, an involuntary reaction from your reveal. "Shit— sorry, sweetheart. Don't move—"

The silicone toy hits the metal tray beside you in a dull thud, the fluffy end of it peeking above the lip of the tray, while you feel his gloved digits gently probe around the ring. "Just making sure there aren't any abrasions, any cuts or irritation before we finish up here." He sees your head nod against the pillows so he continues on with his examination.

Your ass is firm beneath his touch. Pilates, maybe. Or strength training. His jaw clenches as he forces his mind to the present again, resumes the exam before carefully covering you up with the hospital gown again. "You're all good, sweetheart, you can turn onto your back now."

A part of him feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the way you squirm from the easy use of petnames. He's always been a natural flirt, that roguish charm that calms patients enough for him to diagnose, but it's a touch more fun when it works on someone as pretty as you.

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."

But the gentle cadence of your voice cuts through him and shame trickles in like molasses. When did he turn out to be such a perv? Maybe the night shift is getting to him. He clears his throat, assuming his professional stance, but your smile turns wicked and there's something mischievous in your gaze that he can't quite place.

"Really, I can't thank you enough," you say as you carefully roll over to settle in an upright position. "But, um… is it possible if I can keep the toy?"

He lets out a little laugh and nods. With his hands still gloved, he retrieves a plastic bag from one of the cabinets and places the toy in before handing it to you. "'course you can. Just make sure you prep yourself better next time."

Jack nearly winces at the crass statement but you reward him with a bemused giggle. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson. It's a good thing I'm testing it out first before a stream. It'd be so embarrassing if I got it stuck inside me while I was live," you share and he tries not to look too eager as you share more about your unorthodox occupation.

"Do you… do that often?" The question falls flat and he makes up for it with an embarrassed chuckle, discarding his gloves in the nearby waste basket. "Jesus, tell me if I'm overstepping here."

You laugh again and Jack's positive he isn't as funny as you make him to be but he'd gladly make a fool of himself if he got to hear that sound again. "You're fine. Trust me, I've heard worse."

"What if I want to be the best you've heard?"

Your brow rises up in mild surprise. "Was that a line, Dr. Abbot?"

"Maybe."

"It's not very good."

"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."

You cross your arms, tilt yout head to the side and it feels like he's being taken apart. "Do you make it a habit to flirt with your patients?"

"Just the pretty ones— oh, yikes. Yeah, that one was bad," he concedes with a light laugh. "I may be a flirt, but you're trouble. Now… think you can behave while I go grab your discharge papers?"

Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."

He chuckles and shakes his head, nudging the door open with his hip before he exits. The rest of the evening goes by routinely: you sign off on a few papers before changing back into your clothes. Dr. Abbot is nowhere to be seen until you're walking towards the exit, your gait a tad bit crooked, and he's leaning against the counter by the nurses' station.

"Thanks again, doctor."

The wink you give him nearly stops his heart, your easy demeanor returning now that you aren't battling the embarrassment of having a butt plug stuck inside you. When the door shuts behind you and the chaos of the emergency department resumes around him, Crus Henderson cackles behind his chart.

"What?" Jack frowns.

The smile Henderson gives him is downright sinister. "You're not slick, old man."

"It's fine." Shen materializes beside him with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his perpetually full iced coffee. "Technically, she isn't your patient anymore. And Crus and I won't tell."

"There's nothing to tell—!"

The two share knowing grins before walking off. "Sure, Abbot. Sure. Wait 'til you're off to look her up though."

Jack splutters. "I'm not going to look her up—"

In the quiet of his bedroom, Jack looks you up.

The sun's already filtering through his window blinds and it feels like some social transgression to be searching up porn during the day. But he's showered and clean with his prosthetic off, tucked under his covers and leaned against his headboard. The cursor's blinking up at him, taunting him. He doesn't even know where to begin but he's got your full name, wonders if it's enough to even catch a trace of you on social media.

He types your name in anyway on instagram and his breath leaves him in a rush when your profile sits at the top of the search results. Your profile pic is innocent enough, smiling brightly, but upon further inspection, your shoulders and collarbone is exposed right where the photo is cut off; an implication that you've got nothing on below the edge of your profile. Once he manages to tear his gaze away, his eyes snag onto the amount of followers you have. Four million. An impressed whistle escapes him as he starts to scroll.

Your photos are still pretty tame, nothing more risque than a bikini shot of you at the beach. To anyone that isn't regularly watching adult streamers, you look like any other influencer of the modern age. Wholesome photos of you are attached as well, displaying your interests and hobbies that has Jack falling deeper and deeper into your orbit.

It's nearly noon when he realized he may have spent the previous hours just looking up your social media sites. One thing that did stick out like a sore thumb (aside from your jaw-dropping photos) had been the lack of use of your real name. He understands the reasoning, knows its for safety especially with the kind of career you're in, but the affectionate nickname you use for yourself and what your subscribers use has a lick of jealousy flaring in his chest.

Dollface. Doll. Dolly.

He scrolls back up before the little monster in his chest grows and a nondescript url catches his eye, the hyperlink sitting pretty beneath your bio. Before he could secondguess himself, he taps it and his phone brings him out of instagram and into his browser app where your website loads on his screen.

While Jack isn't some tech-savvy genius, he's confident enough to say that your page must've been done by a professional. Summer pastels greet him, a variation of your profile pic on instagram (more skin, more sultry—) sitting on the top left of the screen with 'DOLL'S CORNER' splashed on the top of the page and a drop down menu that he decides to explore later.

It's arranged like some sort of blog, your most recent status marked as eight hours ago where you're complaining about some ache. He bites back a smirk before he scrolls down your older posts. There's many videos, ranging from 'get ready with me!'s and 'shopping hauls' with pretty thumbnails, but the one that steals his attention are the ones that are grayed out — almost pixelated with a pink heart-lock graphic in the center.

[ UPGRADE YOUR TIER LEVEL TO ACCESS THIS VIDEO! ♡ ]

His thumb hovers over the lock-graphic before he gives in.

The screen loads and he's taken to a new page, marked by different tiers and different price points.

BESTIES — free! access includes: - get ready with me - weekly vlogs - shopping hauls SWEETHEARTS — weekly subscription. ($) - everything besties has to offer! - short-form lewd content - locked photos from the vault - audios LOVERS — monthly subscription. ($$$) - everything sweethearts and besties has to offer! - midnight live-streams - personalized short-form videos - personalized audios

Jack blinks twice. He continues to scroll before he catches a three-day free trial for all the paid tiers. He bypasses it and taps a single month purchase for access to the LOVERS' vault (after creating a profile and naming it simply with his initials). His dick stirs in his pajamas as the screen loads before it confirms his payment.

All the grayed-out videos are unlocked but rather than an aesthetic thumbnail with pretty collages like your free content, they're blurred out images of you within the video — enough to imply exactly what's going on in each one.

He scrolls on to see another video of you trying on outfits, specifically lingerie. Figuring this is as close as it'll get to dipping his toes in the metaphorical pond of your NSFW content for now, he hits play.

The video starts off with your pretty face adjusting the camera before you settle back on a white rug, surrounded by opened boxes. You greet the camera and it feels like a blow to the gut to see you in your element. If he thought you were pretty in the emergency room, under the garish lighting of the bright fluorescents, you're a goddamn bombshell with perfect makeup and flattering lighting.

As you address the camera, he begins to wonder how exactly you could be an adult streamer when you have content like this until you bring out the haul for the video. White ivory boxes detailed with cream ribbons, baby pink boxes wrapped nicely with ebony lace and tulle. He catches a name on one of the boxes: La Perla.

Jack shifts in his seat, bats away the creeping guilt of watching a young woman try on lingerie, but the charge was confirmed on his card already; it's too late for regret.

(He fears there isn't any regret in the first place.)

Fortunately for his heart (or unfortunately for his twitching cock), you had edited the videos to cut through the actual process of changing into them and rather just show off the full sets.

You didn't seem to have a preference for color, each piece ranging from a monochromatic black to butter yellow lace. Either way, you look gorgeous in all of them and Jack isn't ashamed to admit he's about to blow in his boxers, untouched, at just the sight of you in lingerie.

When the video ends, he replays it but makes it a point to keep his hands out of his pants for now. Instead, he drops a like and a simple comment:

@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.

Confident in the anonymity of his profile, he puts his phone away to finally catch up on sleep.

Across the city, your phone buzzes with a new notification as you have breakfast on your island counter. Despite the waves of engagement you get on your content, you still keep the notifications on and the newest one brings forth a flutter in your stomach. Compliments are a nickel apiece when it comes to your career but the simplicity of this one and the lack of crudeness that follows steals your attention.

You take a bite of your food as you tap the notif, bringing on the new account profile. While most are kept blank, this man has a profile pic of his back facing a gorgeous sunset. Despite the fact his face is unseen, you recognize those salt and pepper curls.

In the following days, Jack begins to make it a habit to check on your daily statuses. You don't post daily on instagram but you post stories and he enjoys your little activities, likes how everyone seems to be so kind to you. It makes him wonder if your followers are aware of your evening activities, of your content tucked safely away behind a paywall.

Even in the comments section in both the SFW and NSFW side of your content, he realizes you've amassed a loyal following comprised of women that it nearly hides the lewd and desperate remarks from your male subscribers.

@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡

@pearlessance : your makeup is stunning, drop a routine next babes!!

@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡

@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY

In your last NSFW video, it's you in bed, a thin blanket draped loosely along your frame. There isn't an intro like your lingerie haul, just getting right into it as if the viewer catches you in the middle of the act: your hand sliding beneath the fabric, the camera shaking slightly as you rearrange your position to lay back against the mountain of pillows.

Jack's mimicking the position on his day off, his own back cushioned against his headboard as he watches in rapt attention. His readers are sliding off his nose but he adjusts them as he hits the volume increase button twice. He wants to hear you, addicted to the way you sound so sweet whimpering around your fingers.

Obsessed with the way your moans can sound so goddamn endearing.

He doesn't let the video play on, his hand still sitting obediently above the waist band of his sweatpants as he tries to catch his breath. He scrolls onward instead, stops at a tamer video of you shopping at a boutique.

@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.

The cursor blinks as he secondguesses the petname. No one's called you anything other than 'doll' or 'dolly' or some iteration of baby or babe. Bunny's innocuous enough, Jack decides, and taps 'comment'. It'll be an inside joke for himself, for the evening you may as well tipped his world upside down when you'd come into the pitt for a stuck bunny buttplug. You get thousands of comments a day, the likelihood of you recognizing him is abysmally low.

The little pep talk he gives himself soothe the minor anxiety spike as he continues to scroll on, amusing himself with the way your bright personality seems to shine through even with the nasty videos that has his cock twitching to life.

He distracts himself with the comments section instead of exiting the video.

@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot

@.deathreverse — let me rip that gorgeous top off you plsplspls

@.pearlessance — let me make your moans my ringtone and i'll never miss a call

The women commenting are far more entertaining to read through, the creativity of it all always taking him aback, despite the usual stab of jealousy. At this point, his parasocial streak of possessiveness is something he's learned to ignore, to let sit beneath a layer of faux indifference.

He's just a fan now among millions, he'll bask in the anonymity your popularity affords him.

You might be obsessed with your most latest subscriber. A Mr. Swatdoc with the silver curls.

Realistically, it may be the hot doctor that had seen you through the most mortifying ordeal of taking out a buttplug at two in the morning but the profile pic doesn't give you much and his profile is blank aside from his chosen screen name (swatdoc) and his age (48).

Regardless, your heart does a funny little twist whenever he appears in your notifications (only on your SFW posts, interestingly enough) whether it's a like or an extra tip but your stomach drops when his newest comment adds a new petname.

Bunny.

You sit up in bed when the notification comes through. Gorgeous as always, bunny. The fucking bunny, cotton-tail buttplug. The same one that Dr. Abbot had all but talked you through it as he gently removed it from your asshole. You glance up to see the damned toy sitting on your dresser right across from your bed, mocking you.

The bed dips beneath as you shift your weight, rolling around in bed as you reread that goddamn nickname over and over again. Bunny.

As your eyes bore into your screen, your phone buzzes.

[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]

[@.swatdoc commented: Can't get enough of you, bunny.]

A sudden wave of confidence (or perhaps impulsiveness) washes through you and you tap his comment. And in quick succession, you like his comment and tap on his profile. Then his inbox. And finally:

doll : doctor abbot???

Jack drops his phone like it burned him. He sits up, nearly kicks off his blankets in his chaos as his heart falls right out of his ass. He didn't even know there was a messaging system on your website but there it is, that red notification bubble on the top right. He taps it and there's the chatbox.

He contemplates on lying, on playing dumb but he respects you far too much to lie to you. A heavy sigh escapes him as he resettles back into his bed and his cock sheepishly sits limp against his inner thigh.

swatdoc : How did you know it was me?

doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡

Huh. The little heart emoticon blinks up at him, maybe even glows. His cock gives a hopeful twitch.

swatdoc : Let me get this right. You aren't weirded out by me finding your website?

doll : you pulled my buttplug out of my ass, doctor. i think we're even.

swatdoc : Sounds fair.

doll : i do want to ask, strictly as a survey yknow, just to make sure i'm reaching subscriber satisfaction expectations. but is my nsfw stuff not hot enough?

swatdoc : I don't know how to answer that.

doll : you aren't liking any of my nsfw videos…….. am i not your type?

He can imagine it, that wry little grin when you tease the camera, makes him want to fuck it out of you—

swatdoc : Just trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as I can be given the circumstances, sweetheart.

doll : i think you're super respectful, i see the tips you've been leaving….. thank you btw ♡

swatdoc : You're welcome, bunny. doll liked your message!

The activity light near your name goes off and he figures you might've logged off. His thumb drags up the screen to exit the page, sets his phone down and attempt at sleeping. But in the midst of his dark bedroom, there's a stirring in his gut that he can't seem to shake. An itch he needs scratching.

Time fluctuates, slips through his fingers as he finds himself on a popular porn website, the light of his phone illuminating his hazel eyes. He scrolls and scrolls past countless videos, the thumbnails made to entice anyone in his position, and yet frustration starts to grow larger than the lust that's been simmering beneath his heated skin.

None of the actresses look like you.

The thought floors him and he pauses when he finds a woman with a similar body type as you, wears her hair the same way you do. Her moans are a bit too pitchy but he punches the volume down and when his hand slides beneath his sweatpants, he doesn't feel guilt. And when he cums, it's your name spilling from his lips.

"You seeing anyone?"

Jack doesn't look up from the iPad as Robby settles in beside him, ready to take over for day shift as night shift starts to filter out. "What are you talking about?"

"Y'know. Dating? Getting out there? 'cuz Peaches has someone—"

"Not interested, brother, but I thank you for your service." Jack smiles but it's forced, halfway towards a grimace, and places the iPad down with a little too much force. He stomps off to the locker room. Robby and Dana watch his retreating back before they share a look.

"What's his problem?" Dana mutters, her glasses sitting low on the slope of her nose.

Robby chuckles and shakes his head. "No idea."

The truth is— Jack does have a problem. That problem is you.

He thought he'd been good, kept his hands to himself when he gets to his usual routine of stalking your website, and lets his fantasies run wild when he switches over to another porn site to find an actress that looks like you.

But then you had kept texting him, messaging him on your website that the line he's drawn between staying respectful and admiring you from afar against his baseless desire of wanting to fuck you 'til you cry is starting to blur. Of course you have no idea of this line, no clue of the existence of the boundaries Jack's made for himself.

You have no idea that Jack wants more than a physical interaction with you and he has no idea how to ask you out without coming off like a complete pervert.

doll: dr abbot?? swatdoc: You know you can call me Jack, sweetheart. doll: take me out first then i'll feel comfortable enough to call you whatever you want.

Jack nearly shortcircuits at your reply and he fights the urge to hide his phone, shove it in his pocket to deal with later. It'd just look too suspicious and with Shen's eyes on him, he knows he'd blab straight to Lena who'd definitely gossip with Dana. While Dana's known to keep a secret, anything involving him and a potential partner is a surefire way for her to tell Robby.

swatdoc: You mean it, bunny? doll: spending time with you? of course ♡

Jack chuckles and swipes his palm across his stubbly mouth, absolutely incredulous at your gumption.

swatdoc: I meant a date. Not just one night. This old man isn't built for casual. doll: okay old man. take me out to dinner then ♡ it'd give me a chance to redo the first impression you have of me swatdoc: I think it was a perfect first impression, bunny. doll: you saw my ass, of course you thought so!!! swatdoc: I was actually enamored by your charming personality. Your ass was a bonus. doll: … flirt. you're smooth dr abbot. doll: so when's our date? swatdoc: My next day off is in a couple days. How's saturday night looking for you? doll: i'm free !!! gonna come pick me up? swatdoc: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to. So, saturday at 7? doll: i trust you ♡ and yes, i'll see you then.

He gets a text from you the following day (you'd admitted filching his number from the profile he's made on your website) and after a brief facetime call to prove your identity, he receives your address with a playful tag of: don't be late, dr. abbot.

Saturday's only a couple days away and yet he's fidgeting. He's got a night shift to get his mind off things but even Lena can see he's distracted. While he managed to wave away his colleagues' concerns, he wonders if he's the only one this anxious or nervous for the date.

[ Doll updated her status! ] — 2 secs ago. — Butterflies. ♡

A wave of notifications flood your phone despite the simple status update but you couldn't care less— not when you've got every possible combination of a date outfit laid out on your bed and nothing looks good. You have time, of course, there's nothing stopping you from going out shopping but the extra options might just exacerbate your indecision.

A pitiful whine escapes you as the paralysis of all your options land you flat on your back atop your mattress, clothing wrinkles be damned.

Whether or not the both of you are ready, Saturday evening arrives quickly.

The only information Jack had given you about the date aside from taking you out for a nice, classic dinner was to 'look nice'. As charming and handsome as he is, you resent the fact that he's like every other man his age: allergic to details. Somehow you manage to put on something simple but flattering, a black cocktail dress with a hemline that skims above your knee and a sweetheart neckline that teases your cleavage along with a bold, red pair of stilettos. Pairing it with a matching clutch, you deem yourself ready after a final swipe of lip gloss across your pouty lips.

"Here we go…" you murmur to yourself. Just as you dab at your lower lip with the pad of your ring finger, your doorbell rings. Seven on the dot.

Your heels click against the floor as you open your door to be greeted with Jack in slacks and a navy blue button down… as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You gasp first, greetings momentarily forgotten in favor of taking the offered bouquet for a sweet sniff. Jack's compliments die on his tongue when he truly sees you, nose buried in the petals.

"How'd you know these were my favorite?" You ask as you step back, head tipping to wordlessly invite him in as you seek out a vase.

"I watched your vlogs," he shrugs with a shameless little smile. "I picked up a few details."

Maybe he shouldn't be as stunned as he is now — he's seen you in various states of dressed and undressed at this point — but you've truly left him speechless when you had opened the door, wearing that little black dress that hugs your body perfectly.

He's grateful that you notice the flowers first, cooing and gasping at the curated arrangement rather than noticing his thunderstruck stupor. It gives him a moment to clear his throat, admire the way you smile at the bouquet.

"You look divine," he murmurs as he follows you inside, watches you putter around your open space kitchen to place the flowers in water. And maybe it's his ego that's got him this taken by you; knowing that perhaps only he alone gets to see this side of you, bashful and charming. When you blush at his compliment, he feels like the king of the world.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you tease with a playful wink, taking his offered hand as he leads you out the door.

Jack's a gentleman when he helps you into his car, glancing aside momentarily when your dress rides up upon seating. He's a gentleman when you make it to the fine-dining restaurant ("Heard the new executive chef just received two Michelin stars!" you share excitedly), opening doors for you and keeping a respecful hand at the small of your back. He pulls your chair out for you, too. Perhaps the bar is in hell but you're undoubtedly impressed and giddy, basking in his undivided attention as you wear your heart on your sleeve for the rest of the evening.

"… and they all looked at it like it was something alien. It was a fax machine—!" Jack laughs, regaling you with the infamous July 4 analog nightmare from hell at the pitt. Dessert is lain between you two, half-eaten and momentarily forgotten as the two of you had been lost in conversation. He'd been worried that he might gross you out or bore you with his job as an ER physician but you had asked and prodded for more gory details, nose scrunching adorably when he explained what a degloving was.

"Okay, fax machines are basically obsolete," you counter with a giggle, lips parting as he feeds you a bite of cake. He waits patiently for you to chew before you continue on. "No one uses them anymore!"

Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment before you return the favor and feed him a bite from your own fork. "Sweetheart, these are vital skills!" Something warm flutters in his chest when you reach up to absentmindedly wipe away a bit of frosting from the corner of his lips, your painted nail skimming across his skin with the movement.

"How about this, I'll call you on the off chance I'll ever need to use a fax machine," you say dryly. A chuckle escapes Jack, low and grumbly that it has your thighs clenching together beneath the table.

"Sure. Or call me whenever, I'll always answer."

The ease of his flirting never fails to make you flustered and Jack capitalizes on it whenever he gets the chance. Like clockwork, you giggle and glance aside, a pretty blush on your cheeks as you look anywhere but his eyes. It's a wonderful side of you that he's steadily growing obsessed with. Yes, your online persona in your SFW space is charming and enchanting while you're essentially a succubus — sex incarnate — when the sun drops low.

But this is you, unabashedly you, and Jack can't get enough of it. He wants more than what you probably expect from him, a warm body to occupy his bed (judging from the stories you've shared about past experiences), and he's ready to go above and beyond to prove to you that he's willing to do whatever it takes so that he could call all of you his.

"Hey, how are we doing? Dessert's good?" The head-of-house manager of the restaurant cuts in seamlessly; he seems to have a good sense of when to enter a conversation.

You smile brightly and Jack nods. "It's delicious, thank you. Every dish has been fantastic," you gush.

"Wonderful, that's what I like to hear," the manager crows before he straightens out his tie. "You two are a beautiful couple. Are we celebrating an anniversary?"

Now it's Jack's turn to get bashful. "Uh, no, a first date, actually."

The manager looks taken aback but he bounces back with a low chuckle, two hands on his chest in subtle apology. "If it helps, the chemistry you two have is undeniable. Truly. But anyways, I came by to ask if you two would like to join us in the garden party out back or maybe a nice little kitchen tour?"

Your eyes shimmer with excitement and Jack gives a yes, offering his hand for you to take. The manager smiles and claps once. "Perfect, let me take you to where the magic happens."

After meeting the famed head chefs and even sampling a few of the desserts at the pastry station, you're positively glowing as the two of you step out to where a small get together of other guests mingle by picnic tables. A few guys that may be the line cooks are handing out beer and soda, giving off a more relaxed vibe than the one inside. It's pleasant and when you feel a chill, Jack's draping his jacket along your shoulders without a word.

"Thanks," you hum, eyes fluttering as you take in his warm and musky cologne that seeps in from the collar. He chuckles and places a hand on the bottom of your spine.

"Of course," he murmurs then tips his head to wear the drinks are being passed around. "Did you want any—?"

"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"

Jack shakes his head and the nerves from before the date nearly come back in full force. You aren't naive, you know what kind of expectations your job gives people whenever you go on dates. While Jack's been a gentleman the entire evening, you can't deny the fact that him being a subscriber to your NSFW content does skew the way he must see you.

The drive back to your place is quiet and calm, your hand folded delicately in his as he drives. He walks you to your door but much to your surprise, he doesn't step past the threshold.

"I had an amazing time," he says first, his lined eyes crinkling as he gives you a warm smile. "I'd really like to see you again."

You nod, leaning against your doorway as you realize his hand has found yours again. Your joined fingers sway slightly. "Me too. I… I really liked tonight."

He smiles wider as if you've erased any doubts he's had. "Good. I'll, um. I'll let you get some rest. I'll call you when I get my next day off, alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Great." And with a smooth and unhurried motion, he leans in for a kiss to your cheek, chaste and sweet. "By the way, I want you to know I'm all in. I'm not trying to waste your time or make you think I'm here for the physical aspect. I like you, sweetheart. Truly."

And with a final pinch of your chin, he steps away and bids you good night before walking off. Later that night, you realize you haven't stopped smiling until you climb into bed, alone but completely content.

When morning comes, Jack sends you a good morning text before he cleans up around the house, settle in before his shift later that evening. He doesn't check his phone 'til noon and when he does, he sees a text back from you and a notification from your website.

[Doll just posted a video!] — 3 hours ago.

His stomach drops. While he truly has no issue with you continuing your camgirl career, something twists inside him at the thought of you getting off the night before without him. Is it that feeling of missing out or is it the fact that he hadn't been there to fulfill that need of yours?

Regardless, his heart is pounding when he taps the notification. The video loads and a breath of relief leaves him in a rush.

[New video!] Get un-ready with me! — Skincare Routine.

He chuckles and leans against the kitchen counter, turns his phone sideways to see you fill his screen in the same dress from the night before. You must be in your bathroom, he notes, as you relay your steps carefully to your audience.

"I know everyone will be asking but I just came back from a wonderful dinner. Food was absolutely divine, I'm already considering going back soon. But…" A bashful smile curls onto your lips and Jack's beaming. "The company was even better. Anyways— moving onto the foam cleanser…"

Your routine ends after you apply your serums and creams, signing off on the camera. The comments section pop up immediately.

@.mariasont — your skin looks so good but you look GLOWINGGG

@.pearlessance — were you on a date?? that dress is fantastic!!

Jack chuckles when he sees that you've dropped a like on that commenter about a date but nothing more. Fan the rumors without confirming anything, looks like you're a tease in more ways than one.

Unable to help himself, he scrolls down his contacts and taps yours. The phone rings once, twice, then—

"Jack?"

"Hey, sweetheart. Is this a bad time?"

You sound a tad bit out of breath but you reassure him nonetheless. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"

"Well, I—" He interrupts himself with a shy laugh. "I don't know if it's too soon but I'd like to take you out again. My next day off is next week on Friday."

"Oh!" You sound positively pleased and Jack can picture you biting your lower lip to hide that smile he's obsessed with. "Yeah, I can make that happen. Are we doing dinner?"

"No, I was thinking of visiting the aquarium this time around."

"The aquarium…"

He bites back a grin, can picture the excitement simmering beneath the slight trepidation of your words. "That's right. Unless there's something else—"

"No, it's perfect!" You cut in with a little giggle. "Jack, did you watch all my vlogs?"

"Of course I did. And it truly can't be that much of a hardship to learn how much you love the place when you've got vlogs of you there nearly every month," he teases. "But if it's something you like to do on your own—"

"No, no, it's fine, Jack, I'd love to." He can hear the way your voice softens. "I can't wait."

"Alright, it's a date. I'll see you next Friday, sweetheart."

Friday doesn't come fast enough this time around. You've got an outfit bought and ready to go, a simple skirt with a blouse that you might've picked to match his eyes. Jack's on time yet again, two PM on the dot, and while he still keeps his hands to himself, he basks in the way your hand constantly seeks out the crook of his elbow.

You regale him with fish facts throughout each wing of the aquarium and he watches with besotted eyes when you basically glow at the sight of the jellyfish. Conversation ebbs and flows and he's pressing soft kisses into your hair like he can't quite help himself.

By the time you've both made it back to his car, he helps you in while placing the massive jellyfish plushy he bought you at the gift shop onto your lap. It's silly and absolutely wholesome.

It's made you undeniably horny for him.

You appreciate it though, you see how he's gone above and beyond to show you that he wants a relationship out of this. He doesn't expect you to be 'easier' because of your job as a camgirl nor does he think he's entitled to anything more than a kiss on the cheek because of what you show online.

And it's making you want him so bad that you feel like the pervert in this situation.

At your doorway, he's got a hand on your waist this time and your arms are draped loosely around his neck while still holding onto the jellyfish plush that's dangling behind his back.

"Today was lots of fun," you say first, nearly chest to chest with him. He nods, feeling the way you shiver when his thumb rubs circles against your hip bones. Above the fabric of your shirt.

"It was," he agrees as he basks in the sweet scent of your perfume. This close, you're practically intoxicating. "I enjoyed the little fish facts too, didn't know my date was a lovely encyclopedia—"

Your eyes roll playfully at the teasing jab, exaggerating your movements as you unwind your arms to step out of his embrace. "If you hate me, just say so—"

"Now hold on, I never said it was a bad thing," he chuckles and you let out a quiet squeal when his grip tightens, pulling you back into his arms. "Thought it was cute."

"Sure you do," you tease back and you realize he's pulled you even closer now. His voice is a rumble, low and gravelly as the distance between your lips is beginning to diminish.

"I do." He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "This okay?"

You nod, throat bobbing. "More than okay," you whisper.

His gaze drops from your eyes, back to your lips, before they close the distance. Your heart thunders in your chest as your arms tighten around his neck to pull him lower. He goes easily, smiling against your lips. He doesn't deepen it, though, just steals a handful of more feather-light kisses that elicits a string of giggles from you, your foot popping up and your back bending slightly backwards as he dips you and showers you in affection.

Eventually, he reluctantly pulls away but not without giving you one more kiss. "Have a good rest of your evening, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah?"

You nod, sighing dramatically as you lean against the back of your door as he steps out to the hallway. "I will. Can I see you again soon, Jack?"

His poor little heart thunders wildly at your adorable expression, half-pleading and half-fond. "Of course, princess. Maybe we can do something like this again, maybe a museum or that fair?"

You perk up with a nod. "That sounds like fun."

"Good. I'll see you soon, darling."

You sigh dreamily and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. You lean against the paneling and groan into your hands.

In the silence of your apartment, you wail— "Why won't he fuck me?!"

The time between your last date to the aquarium to your next one at the museum, you and Jack continue to text. Whether it's you giving him advice for a dish he's making or asking his opinion on which top would look well for a brunch you're attending with your girlfriends, the conversations never slow nor do they ever bore.

And in between those texts, Jack is happily gorging himself on your content while only getting off on actresses that hold resemblance to you. It's twisted and he knows it's wrong but he pictures your face in the shower sometimes, thinks of the way your teeth sink in your plush lower lip as his hand tugs at his cock.

You, however, hold no qualms as you drive the dildo deep in your cunt on late evenings, whimpering for the camera you've got set up. You always make it a habit to just plead, whine and beg more than you might naturally would with a partner, but when Jack's on your mind, you have nothing to exaggerate; you just get way more vocal as you think of his strong hands on your waist. The way he had commanded that kiss without being overbearing.

That kiss alone had wrung out three orgasms from you without the camera on.

Maybe it should've been enough to tide you over but as you start your usual midnight livestream the evening before your next date with Jack, a new title spills past your lips in the throes of your first climax. It shouldn't be a surprise at how easily the name comes to you, especially with how natural it seemed for Jack to take care of you—

"'m cumming, daddy—!"

The pings on your laptop nearby that you use for monitoring the chats go wild, the bell ringing that signified the amount of tips that just flooded your inbox from the title alone. You slump over as you catch your breath from where you've been riding your suction dildo, whining softly to yourself as the toy slides out of you. Your inner thighs are quivering as you lift your gaze to the laptop screen.

"Thanks for stopping by," you croon to the camera before shutting off the stream.

Across the city, Jack palms at his bulge, mouth slightly agape as he tries not to cum in his sweatpants like a teenager. "Fuck."

"I didn't really take you to be a museum kind of guy."

"I'm not. Not really… My friend's fiancée recommended it to us, thought we might like the new exhibit," Jack shrugs as he keeps you near with a hand around your waist. The new exhibit had garnered a sizable crowd and the last thing he wants is to lose you. Especially since you seem preoccupied with the information pamplet, both hands holding it open to read while relying heavily on Jack's firm hand. He likes it, the thought of you trusting him so readily.

You hum in acknowledgment before peering above the page. "The map says the new Caravaggio exhibit is that way… I think." Jack chuckles and peers over your shoulder, both of his hands firmly on your waist. You hold the pamphlet up higher for him.

"You aren't wrong," he muses as he reads over the map. You swallow nervously, you can feel the heat of his body seep against your backless top, the way his voice gets all low and gravelly when he's talking just to you. "It's past the abstract wing. Can you fold that up for me, sweetheart? I wouldn't want you to trip over your feet if you can't see where you're going."

You nod instinctively. "Yes—" You swallow back that title that sits at the back of your throat whenever Jack gets so… passively dominant. "Yeah, of course."

He chuckles and lets his arm fall along your lower back, a hand at the dip of your waist as he leads you towards the exhibit. The entire time as you two parade around the wing, Jack keeps you close. It sparks a light in your core, your inner thighs clenching with need when he unwittingly turns on your desire to be taken care of. But he seems so unbothered by it, humming to himself as his thumb slips beneath your blouse to rub your skin while he reads the information beside the painting.

The two of you are admiring Caravaggio's Narcissus when something comes to mind. "Why'd you call me 'bunny'? In my comments?"

He glances down at you, taken aback by the sudden question. "I… thought it'd be nice to have a nickname of my own for you. It reminded me of our first meeting."

A fond smile curls upon your lips. "Why haven't you called me that since we started dating?"

Something fond crosses over Jack's face, leaves as quickly as it came. His hand squeezes your side. "I didn't think it was appropriate. Thought it might make you uncomfortable if I called you that in public."

"I liked it. Like it. I still do," you trip over your words with a flustered smile. "It's like our own little inside thing. Um—no pun intended."

Jack chuckles and that wide smile he gives you has you pushing against your toes to press your lips to his. He hums fondly, nips at your lower lip. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind, bunny."

You kiss him again.

For the next couple of months, you start to see Jack regularly. Dinner dates (whether it's at the first restaurant he's taken you to or he cooks for you at his place) or movie nights, or even him just coming over to unwind after a long shift. Your posting schedule doesn't shift, only rearranges itself to make room for Jack.

A month in, you'd sat him down and tentatively but firmly told him that you wouldn't be stopping just because of your dates. Jack had accepted it without question, took it as if it was what he expected in the first place.

So you continue your usual schedule. Vlogs and short-form content for your SFW socials and full streams for your NSFW audience. Suggestive photos to tide your subscribers over 'til the next full video.

Jack, on the other hand, looks positively giddy with himself. Sure, he's cumming in his fist nearly every night but he's determined to make sure you know that he wants more with you. Fuck. He sounds like a broken record but he's obsessed; the last thing he wants is his dick to ruin this for his heart.

But his good mood is translated into his night shifts, cracking jokes even with angry patients. It has Shen watching over in confused concern, always taking a double-take when he has the chance. Parker and Crus decide that it's just Jack going through a new wave, a new fixation that's probably tiding him over.

Or a girl— but that's Robby's problem to mull over, not theirs.

They get their chance when Jack's scheduled for a double (something he makes up to you with another extravagant VIP dinner the day before), dropping a hint to their chief that their night-shift attending's been weird all week.

The ambulance bay doors slide open in a 'whoosh' for Dr. Robinavitch, passing by Javadi who's talking to Trinity about making mutuals with some big-shot on her Tiktok and Dennis catching up with Perlah about his weekend, to get to Jack in the locker room.

"So. Shen's said you've been weird."

Jack chuckles lightly, throws his stethescope around his neck, and shuts his locker. "I'm seeing someone."

Robby startles. "Oh. That's— brother, that's great."

"What, didn't think I'd admit it so quickly?" Jack grins and pats his shoulder as he steps around his friend.

"No, not really." Robby follows him out, tugging on both ends of his stethoscope. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"

"Nah, that's all you're getting out of me, Robinavitch."

The sun's setting as Jack turns the page on the novel he's been reading to you. You're sitting between his legs and your back against his warm chest, stretching out on the gingham blanket you've brought as the two of you find cover beneath the large tree.

Today's date had been completely spontaneous. When his schedule had been unwittingly cleared up, he had driven straight to you to take you out for a late lunch picnic at the small fair that's set up for the weekend. With the sandwiches finished off and you'd run off to buy cotton candy for the both of you to share, Jack had fished out a novel in his back seat to pass the time and enjoy the nice weather.

His hand is absentmindedly rubbing your exposed thigh, the skirt of your sundress riding up just enough for him to explore the smooth skin. His cheek is pressed against the top of your hair while you absentmindedly trace shapes atop his jean-clad thighs.

"Feelin' restless, bunny?"

"Hm?" Jack's question draws you out of your stupor, so content in his arms that it takes him a few attempts to get your attention. "No, just… really cozy."

"Yeah?" He presses a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, eliciting a soft squeal from you. Jack would've continued showering you in kisses but he grunts, reluctantly pulling away to rub at his aching prosthesis.

You frown. He's mentioned losing a limb before, knows that he wears a prosthetic leg, but you've never seen him this uncomfortable. "Jack, we could head home if it's hurting—"

"I'm fine—"

"Jack." He pauses and turns his attention to you, your brows furrowed and your lips in a line. "Come on, we can just take it easy at your place. You said you're more comfortable in your crutches, right?"

"Yeah." You can see when he finally gives in, his shoulders rounding out as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."

Once the both of you get to your feet, you hold out your hand. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive to give your leg a break."

"I don't think so."

"Jack."

"Bunny."

It takes a second but he concedes there too, pulling you in by the shoulders for a swift kiss to your lips. "You're lucky you're cute, sweetheart."

Jack's place is almost as familiar as yours now. He watches you saunter around his place, dropping his keys into the dish bowl on the table by the door, place your things on the loveseat before rummaging through his fridge for a beer.

When you reach him where he's seated on his couch, prosthesis set aside to hand him a beer, he gently tugs you onto his lap before popping the tab open for your can first. "Thanks," you hum, taking a sip while he opens his. His arm is strong around your waist and the easy strength he holds for you, the possessive touch he's got whenever you're near... it sparks a flicker of heat inside you and as you turn, straddling his lap to kiss along his jaw. His scruff is rough against your glossy lips but it only has you mewling.

"Bunny…" he groans as his large hand splays along the expanse of your back, supporting your weight while you tip back just enough for him to place his beer behind you on the coffee table. His eyes flutter shut, basking in your sweet kisses, as temptation guides his hand lower to cup your perky ass. It's your moan, drawn out and desperate, that pulls him out of the heat that's settling thick in his head. Reluctantly, his hands rise back up and an indignant whine spills from your throat—

"Jack, why won't you fuck me?"

He nearly chokes on his spit at your question and when he looks up, you look adorably put out, lower lip jutting out. Your gaze is glassy, lips kiss-swollen. His thumb comes up, presses against your mouth to drag down your lip slowly. "Bunny, why do you think I won't fuck you?"

"You— you've only ever kissed me. You've only liked my non-sexual content. You—"

"Baby," he shushes you gently, releases your lip to cradle your jaw. "It's not that I'm uninterested in you. Trust me— I am. I just didn't want you to think this was all some ploy to just get you in bed with me."

Another whine rises up within you. "But it's been months, Jack."

"Sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you know I was serious. It wasn't just for you, but for me, too. Had to make it known to you that I'm here for the long haul," he murmurs and when you nod in understanding, his lips find yours for a kiss that's got you clenching your thighs. Your back arches back when he leans further in, lips parting to let his tongue probe against yours.

"Gonna… mm— fuck me now?" You pant against his mouth, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks when his lips drag down your neck to mark your collarbone with marks.

His chuckle is raspy against your skin. "I'm gonna make love to you, bunny. Come on—"

"Why not here?" You whimper, giving your hips a slow roll against his. You can feel his bulge, stiff through his jeans, against your panties.

"I'm not having you on my couch, darling. Not for our first time. We can defile the rest of my house later."

You giggle as you reluctantly get to your feet, knees nearly knocking together while Jack goes for his crutches. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he chuckles, following you into his bedroom. His mouth goes dry, easy dominance deflating momentarily when he watches you crawl onto the center of his bed, your sundress hemline rucked up to reveal the pretty white lace panties you've got on beneath. His eyes follow the fabric, disappearing in between your ass cheeks, before they flit back up when you turn and lean against his headboard.

You're in your doll mindset now, your hands dancing across your body to give him a show. But while your videos are choreographed, almost clinical to a certain degree to entertain an audience, Jack sees the way your hand trembles just before you drag the neckline of your dress down, tempting him to just rip the fabric off you.

But he's a patient man, understands that this is just as much for you as it is for him. He can see the way your arousal heightens with each teasing touch. "Take it off for me, bunny, just for me."

He must've said the right thing because a broken moan spills from your lips, nodding as you cross your arms and drag the hem of your dress up to reveal a matching bralette to your panties. The bed dips beneath his weight when he joins you, settling down onto the mattress just as you toss a leg over to straddle his waist again.

"Ah, shit," he hisses when he glances down, sees the way the fabric of your panties are nearly translucent with your slick. His hand creeps down to rub your swollen clit through the damp fabric, tilting his head back up to watch your reaction. He doesn't shut his eyes when your open mouth drags along his cheek, a poor approximation of a kiss as you shut your eyes to savor the way his fingers deftly tug the panties aside to dip within your folds. A pathetic moan escapes you. "This all for me, bunny?"

"Mhm, yes—"

"She's drippin' just for me, fuck," he chuckles as his middle finger teases your entrance, enamored by the way your hips rock clumsily against your palm. "Mm, look at that."

It's filthy, the way Jack leans back against the headboard with his head ducked down to watch your cunt practically suck in his fingers, his other hand keeping your panties tugged aside for his viewing. "Please, I wanna feel you," you beg, voice hitching high in a way he's never heard before.

"You sound so sweet for me, bunny," he murmurs as he redraws his fingers from you, tasting you with a voracity that makes you even wetter. "You've been so good for me, pretty girl, don't worry… I'll give you what you want."

And while Jack sounds so benevolent, your lips finding his in a grateful kiss before you're scrambling off to lay on your back under his guidance while he undresses next, it's all a facade to conceal the way he's barely able to hold it together now that he's got you: heart, soul, and now body.

He settles on top of you, lips finding your shoulder for a brief moment of sweet affection despite the filth that's fallen from his lips from earlier, and makes a home between your thighs. You might've teased him for picking missionary as your first time, giggle at how insistent he is on keeping things old fashioned despite your unorthodox relationship, but then the tip of his cock prods against your entrance, mouth dropping slightly as your head falls back against the pillows— he's huge.

"Ngh— Jack…" you whimper as the stretch leans more towards pain than pleasure at first, eyes shut as you feel Jack's lips skim across the side of your neck. "S'too big…"

His chest rumbling, he chuckles in your ear, nips at your jugular. "Don't worry, bunny. I can make it fit."

Lust and adoration intertwine in your core as he pushes deeper, your walls adjusting for his girth while your nails dig into his freckled shoulders. After what feels like an eternity, Jack's fully sheathed in you, pressing kisses along your brow and temple.

"So fuckin' tight—" he grunts, attempting a shallow thrust that has you two moaning in unison. "You ready for me, bunny? Gonna start movin'."

You feel absolutely full, can feel Jack in your gut, but you nod, legs hooking around his waist. "Ready," you manage to say, releasing one shoulder to cradle his jaw for a searing kiss. He pulls out and thrusts in without hesitation, his lips parting for his tongue to taste yours. The two of you make out like teenagers, sloppy and uncoordinated, while his cock drives into you slowly, your body shifting higher up the bed until his hand comes up to cradle the top of your head before it hits the headboard.

He swallows your moans with a grunt of his own, tasting your desperation with each rock of his hips. But when his lungs start to burn for oxygen, he reluctantly pulls back only to be rewarded with your vocal cries for more. He's heard your noises before, almost four million people have, but he's never witnessed you like this, so gorgeously needy on his cock, your moans more like broken whimpers and hiccups interlaced with his name. So unbelievably vulnerable, laid out just for him.

It has him driving his cock even deeper into you, eager to hear the way your mouth sounds around his name whenever he hits that specific spot.

"No, no, no— don't get shy on me now, bunny," he coos, dropping a hand to cup your cheek to guide your eyes on him. "You sound so sweet for me, let me hear you…"

His words elicit another gasp of his name as one particular thrust has you seeing stars, the coil in your core tightening as his hand comes down to rub your clit in time with each rock of his hips. He can feel his own climax but he keeps it at bay, laser focused on your own pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jack—!" You wail as the coil snaps, his cock buried to the hilt before he fucks you slow and deep to carry you through your climax. With you taken care of, he chases after his pleasure next, hips snapping against yours in a brutal pace that has your toes curling in sweet ecstasy.

His forehead drops to rest on yours, breaths mingling while his own moans pitch into a needier grunt, veering into whimpers while he talks you through it. "Feels so fuckin' good, bunny… s'like your pretty cunt was made just for me… oh fuck— she's just sucking me in," he pants.

The string of dirty talk kickstarts something inside you and you feel that familiar tightness in your core, hiccuping moans bubbling past your kiss-swollen lips as he drives his cock deeper. "Jack— 'm… hah— gonna cum—!"

"Yeah?" He huffs, a cocky half-grin in his lips as he drags his scruffy jaw along your cheek. "Gonna give me another, bunny? Come on… gimme one more," he coos while his pace starts to falter, losing its steady rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own edge.

When you cum for the second time, he's quick to follow right after, your convulsing walls eliciting his own release right into your waiting cunt. A part of him panics — he didn't wear a condom nor did you say anything about being on any kind of contraceptive — but he feels your heels dig into his lower spine to keep him from moving. The concern still sits at the back of his mind but he lets himself get lost in the sensation of finishing inside you, his thrusts slowing to a halt before carefully laying on you.

"Holy shit," you breathe out, a blissful smile on your lips with your eyes fluttering shut. When Jack pulls out, you offer a slight wince but curl onto his chest as he rolls over onto his back. Your head nestles onto his pec, his arm winding around your bare shoulders. When you turn your head to kiss his freckled collarbone, he chuckles and squeezes you gently.

Jack hums wordlessly. Basking in the moment, he lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him. There really isn't any need to talk for now and the both of you would've been content to let the moment settle in…

Had it not been for your growling stomach.

His laughter cuts through your embarrased whine, rolling over to hide your face into his chest completely. "Don't laugh—" you pout but he just jostles you gently, gets you to look up at him where he can kiss your nose.

"Stay here, I'll clean you up first," he promises and rolls out of bed. Grabbing his crutches, he heads over to his attached bathroom for a warm, dampened towelette. He cleans you between the thighs, gentle and careful as he drops a kiss to your knee. "About earlier—"

"I'm clean," you interject. "I don't have any partners and I'm on the pill."

He nods, relieved as he tosses the towelette into his laundry basket. "I'm clean, too. I haven't… not since my late wife."

Your smile is heartachingly tender. He's spoken about his late wife before, wears the ring on a chain close to his heart, and how he and his therapist have decided that he's in the right place to move on.

"We can both get tested if you want," you offer. "I don't want anyone else but you."

It's an invitation to a conversation he's been waiting on for a month now and he dives right in. The bed dips as he sits at the edge, a warm and calloused hand on your thigh. "I only want you, bunny. That's not ever gonna change." He cups your jaw, warm and possessive in a way that'll never fail to light a fire in your heart. "Can I be yours, sweetheart?"

You nod with a giggle bursting past your lips. "Yes—! Of course, yes," you swoon with your arms around his neck, his hand releasing your jaw in favor to hug you 'round the waist.

"Yeah?" His pretty crows' feet deepen when he smiles at you, chuckling when you nod again with an eager bob of your head as you gently scratch at his scruffy jaw. "Gonna go steady with me, bunny?"

A laugh escapes you, nose scrunching up at his dated language. "Always and forever, old man."

Although the months you've spent with Jack before the both of you made it official had you feeling like cloud nine, the next following weeks could only be properly labeled as the honeymoon phase now that you're officially his girlfriend. With Jack's night shift schedule and your unorthodox posting timelines, the two of you manage to make it work.

Speaking of work, you had been adamant that because he's your boyfriend, you had no plans on stopping the camgirl site and told him so the morning after. Jack had blinked and nodded as if it'd been something he had already expected. His only caveat was that you'd at least make your new relationship status public knowledge to your subscribers whether it's as simple as a status post on your website. You went above and beyond by posting a selfie with Jack's arm around your neck, his bicep smushing your cheeks while you grinned dopily at the camera.

While your followers had fawned over your new man, occasionally posting faceless boyfriend pics of Jack, you made sure to keep his identity secret as your highest priority whenever he'd make some sort of cameo in your SFW videos.

"Babe, you gotta stop jumping in the frame, I'll have to edit you out—!" You laugh in your most current video, holding out the camera high and up just enough to capture your hand crooked around Jack's arm as the two of you walk the aisles of the farmer's market.

He chuckles and dutifully stops ducking his head. "Just move the camera when I kiss your cheek, bunny. And even if my face shows, I thought you could just slap on an emoji or something on my face when your assistant edits them."

The camera captures the way you look up, a playfully deadpan expression on your features. "You wanna put more work on Francine?"

"You're right, I'll behave."

The clip ends there and the views skyrocket, nearly matching your most infamous videos on your NSFW side. It's gotten so popular that Victoria's talking about it during work hours, in awe of the fact that she's mutuals with you despite the fact that she's gone viral on Tiktok herself.

For once the pitt has a handle on chairs and triage, allowing Victoria to show Dennis her newest editing style, inspired by Doll's Corner. He perks up, recognizes the voice through the walls of the apartment he shares with Trinity.

"Oh, I think Santos is also subscribed to her," he grins.

Victoria frowns. "Subscribed…? Her website's free, Dennis."

Trinity walks past before circling back. "What's free?"

"Oh, um— Doll's corner." Victoria holds out her phone, displaying your instagram profile. "She has her own website but Dennis mentioned that you're subscribed to her…?"

"She avoids her SFW content, probably because it'd feed the parasocialism since Doll seems to be exactly her type," he grins, always eager to have something over his lovable but prickly roommate.

"She's not my type, she's just hot—"

"Hold on, what do you mean SFW content? Isn't all her stuff SFW…?" Victoria cuts in, eyes wide as she scrolls up and down the webpage. Trinity snatches the phone and taps the top right menu button of the page, scrolls towards the 'PRICING' tab before offering the phone back.

Dennis interrupts. "She doesn't really advertise her adult content, it's more of a… if-you-know-you-know situation. You're cool with that, right?"

Victoria swallows, goes through the 'free' content of your camgirl side while her mind races with the blurred and suggestive content, before nodding with a wide-eyed grin. "'Course I'm cool with it. Just— I didn't expect it. Yeah, I'm cool. Dennis, are you subscribed—?"

"No, no—" Dennis startles with a flustered laugh. "It's not really my thing, but I know Dr. Ellis had found her account too. She's popular."

The youngest MS4 merely nods and wanders off, looking very scandalized. Dennis and Trinity watch her go before shrugging, unaware that the true reason why Victoria's so shocked is that she had suspected Doll's newest boyfriend might be Dr. Jack Abbot.

Your SFW content views continue to skyrocket (especially the shortform video where you had Jack flex his bicep for the camera before placing a piece of dessert on top, eating right off his freckled arm before he's pulling you out of frame for a kiss).

There's already been a few questions asking if your boyfriend (lovingly dubbed as Mr. Doll by your subscribers) would ever participate in your content. You haven't gotten around to answering them, leaving them untouched as you post your usual photos and videos for your loyal subscribers.

The truth is, you aren't even sure how to bring up the topic to Jack nor would you know how to figure out the logistics of including your boyfriend without jeopardizing his identity. But the problem is solved a week later where you're in your bedroom, filming a toy haul with a new PR package from a sex toy company.

You're in the throes of your orgasm, nothing on but a bunny tail plug nestled in your ass while you ride a massive silicone pink dildo with some device that literally creampies you. You've got your back to the camera, the cute plug front and center, when your knees drop and you bottom out on the toy with a final moan.

You'd been so lost in your 'review' that you didn't realize Jack had come by early, leaning against the doorway with a dark little grin that you've come to associate with 'playtime'.

"Havin' fun, bunny?" he asks, the camera picking up on his voice sounding like velvet over gravel.

Your giggle is breathy and sweet. The camera captures the way your neck arches, looking over your shoulder to meet Jack's eyes who stays firmly out of the shot. "Mhm, I am."

"Did that thing… finish in you?" When you give him another resounding giggle and nod, he shakes his head with a fond chuckle. "I'll give you five minutes to catch your breath before it's my turn, sweetheart."

When you'd given the video to Francine, your assistant, to edit, she had sent over the last clip where Jack had come in and asked if you wanted it out. Deciding that it seems safe enough to keep since he's not even within the frame and that people have heard his voice before, you told Francine to keep it in.

Later that night, you receive an tsunami of positive comments, most of them fawning over the way Mr. Doll seems to adore you even while making content for the rest of your depraved audience.

@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???

@.deathreverse: i bet he talks you through it omfg

@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine

@.enam3l: give us one audio file of him cumming PLEASE

You're wrapped up in Jack's arms later that evening, your back settled against his chest as you read over the comments with him. He's got his strong arms around your middle, lazy kisses pressed to your bare shoulder as the cold edge of his readers bump along your jaw.

"You're stealing my fans, Jack."

"No, they like the way I make you flustered, bunny. There's a difference."

"Maybe," you hum as you swap apps to your instagram, scrolling mindlessly before you pause. "Jack?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Would you… want to be in my cam videos? Just as your voice," you clarify with a shy smile. The curve of his smile is pressed against your neck.

"I'd be honored," he croons. "Maybe you could play with yourself for the camera, let me talk you through your orgasms."

Your cheeks burn, thighs clenching as you rub them together. "Mhm."

"Use your words, bunny."

"I'd like that a lot, sir."

That had been a new revelation. You've called Jack 'daddy' jokingly outside of the bedroom before, just something to steal his attention whenever you're particularly needy (whether it's for something sexual or not). And while he liked it, judging by the fond and flustered grin on his lips, he had sat you down and told you what title actually does it for him.

Sir.

It never did anything for you, thought it might've been too simple or even too formal to ever be used in bed, but it fits Jack perfectly. An older man with his experience and status along with a natural inclination to dominance doesn't need something as desperate as 'daddy' to insert control in the bedroom.

"Good girl," he rasps and takes your chin to turn your head, planting a heated kiss onto your lips. "How about we pick a day for it, hm? Put it on your calendar."

When you nod again, he chuckles and nips at your lower lip. "Can we do it now?"

Despite your eagerness, you and Jack had decided on a Sunday evening the following week, opting for a pre-recorded video rather than a live show.

Like always, you've got your tripod set up at the foot of your bed with you front and center. You have mood lighting set up, nothing too garish and bright and classically 'porno' but rather something warm to get you comfortable. The only difference is Jack seated behind the camera, manspreading like it's his fucking job in those grey sweats you've moaned about a week ago.

"You ready, baby?" Jack's voice is caramel sweet but you know it'll dip lower when he hits the record button. When you give a nod, he reaches up to press the button.

The red light blinks at you but Jack clears his throat. "Eyes on me, bunny."

Your gaze is magnetized to your boyfriend's, feeling deliciously exposed with the way his eyes drink you in. Tonight, you've got on a lingerie set he had bought just for you: a babydoll pink bralette with a matching thong and garters. In the hollow of your neck is a delicate, cursive 'j' on a chain.

"You look gorgeous, sit up for me, sweetheart. Let the camera see your new outfit," he drawls lazily and your eyes drop down to his large hand, gripping his bulge through the sweats.

The camera captures the way you look behind it, your gaze unfocused and your cheeks flustered, but you never disobey sir's words as you sit up on your knees. Your hands dance along the lacy straps, brushing across the sheer panels that hold up your tits. Jack's attention is fixed on you, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he strokes himself through his sweatpants.

"That's it, bunny. Play with those pretty titties for the camera," Jack murmurs.

He continues to take the lead and it's almost alarming at how good he is, how easy it is for you to completely forget you're still filming. He eventually has you propped up against your mountain of pillows, knees bent and thighs spread out.

"Add another finger for me, bunny."

You've already got two in, your middle and your ring finger, while your other hand is groping at your exposed tit. "Sir, I can't—"

"Sure you can, pretty girl. You've taken my cock, haven't you?" Jack chuckles meanly, his hand tugging at his cock now. Your eyes are locked on his length and he capitalizes on it, rubbing his thumb across his tip.

"Yes, but—"

"Come on, bunny, one more. You can do it."

The camera captures the way you whimper, gasping around nothing when you add your index finger into your sopping cunt. Even the lighting catches the shine of your slick against your inner thighs; Jack's got you edging yourself and you're ready to beg.

The stretch burns in the best way, not in the same breadth as Jack's cock, but enough that it has you plunging your fingers so fast that it sounds lewd against the camera.

"Can I cum, sir, please—" You choke out, hand beginning to cramp from the speed and angle you have that Jack notices it immediately. If you've been a bit less preoccupied with your own impending orgasm, you would've noticed that your boyfriend had been staving off his own climax, gripping the base of his length until he's finally given you permission.

Behind the camera, he continues to talk you through it but his voice isn't as measured, it's strained and a tad bit pitchy — his tell-tale sign that he's about to cum soon.

"Cum for me, bunny, let me see you make a mess on yourself," he coaxes and once you take the final fall, he's quick to follow, white ropes of his release painting his thighs and the floor beneath. "So fuckin' hot, Jesus Christ—"

Your cramping hand drops from between your legs as you slump against the pillows completely, legs splayed out for the camera to watch the way your clit throbs from the overstimulation. Jack tucks himself back in and takes the camera, detaches it from the tripod mount to approach your bedside.

"Let's see the mess you made, gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice wrecked as he props a knee up to hover above your overstimulated frame. You giggle up at the camera, taking his free hand (the same one that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago) and gently lick the traces of his release clean off his fingers. He curses under his breath before he affectionately pinches your chin. It elicits a soft laugh from you and the look you give him beyond the camera does something to his chest, a word that tastes something sticky sweet (and maybe starts with the letter 'L'), that he suddenly wishes this part is just for him.

But he moves lower, the camera panning down to where your panties are tugged loosely aside where your puffy, slick cunt is on display. It's lewd and nasty, the way his free hand strokes through your folds before he's bringing up his fingers for a taste. The satisfactory moan he lets out sends a thrill up your spine.

His hand travels to the swell of your thigh, to your hip where he tugs your panties off. The camera jostles as he shoves the soiled, lacy fabric into the back pocket of his pants, before he pulls away.

"I think your fans earned enough of you. Say goodbye, bunny, it's my turn for a taste."

The last thing the camera sees is a wave of your hand before it's set aside roughly, filming your ceiling and capturing the way your giggle melts into a breathy moan before the video and audio cuts.

—

"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"

The sun sits high as Jack lounges on the roof on a chair that he's brought up a few months back. Robby had brought his own chair a week later, pleased to see his best friend behind the railing this time. The two are relaxing, stealing a few moments of solitude before handoffs are completed.

"Not yet," Jack grunts as he takes a sip of the pressed juice you've packed for him. You've been given a massive PR package of some health brand and he'd been willing to take half of the crate off your hands. "Soon."

Robby gives him a sidelong glance. "Are you ashamed of her or somethin'?"

"No. No, definitely not. I just want to keep her to myself a bit longer before you and Peaches poach her off me." Jack chuckles. "Relax, brother. I'll bring her around soon."

"Alright, I'm holding you to that," Robby chortles before he gets to his feet, back cracking while he stretches. "Go home, Abbot."

Before, Jack would've kneedled, maybe dragged his feet a bit longer to keep from returning to an empty house. He's always craved company, even moreso at the passing of his late wife. But this time, he grabs his backpack and rucks it over his shoulder, offering a casual wave of his hand.

"Ain't gotta tell me twice. I got a pretty girl waiting for me at home."

—

Later that evening, Victoria Javadi's sitting outside on the benches with the rest of day shift, drinking a beer she hopes would taste better after every sip. After turning twenty one, she still didn't see the appeal of drinking beer but after her sneaking suspicion that her night shift attending might be dating the influencer she's admired for so long, she realizes she might need it.

Her thumb punches the 'low' volume button on the side of her phone as she pulls up your tiktok account. Your account has only grown since you've started including your mystery man; the tiktok trends that center around playful pranks or cute videos snipped from longer vlogs with your partner are the ones that hit a million views first.

She takes a deep breath and taps your most recent one, a clip that looks like it had been cut from your last get-ready-with-me vlog, judging by the outfit you have on. You greet the camera as usual, holding out two different purses before leaning this way and that to get all angles of your outfit. Your attention is stolen, however, when the voice of 'Mr. Doll' cuts in from behind the camera.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You pout, your gaze looking beyond the camera. "I don't know which bag to bring."

"What do you need a bag for?"

"My lip gloss…" you reply sheepishly and a throaty chuckle from Mr. Doll follows, soft and fond.

"The second one, bunny. Come on, let's go."

The video loops and Victoria lets it play before her thumb rewinds the video back herself, listening to that voice before her gasp gets caught in her throat.

Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.

—

In another apartment across the city, Trinity takes advantage of the empty home and hunkers down in bed. It's a guilty pleasure, she knows, but with the stress of residency along with Garcia's emotional unavailability, she figures a bit of her wage going to one of the most hottest camgirls couldn't be the worst vice in the world.

She scrolls through the paid content of yours with a soft sigh, sinking deeper into her mattress before opting for one of the newer POV content. It's a new series you've started, something that kicked up in popularity from a couple weeks ago when your partner had taken the camera to film you himself after he talked you through your orgasm.

Trinity hasn't had the chance to check it out herself, a bit hesitant considering the POV shots may ick her out if she actually sees a penis when she's been thinking of inserting herself as the viewer on top of you. But curiosity kicks in as she plays the most recent one, heat simmering low in her core as it starts out with you undressing as always, straddling your partner this time as he films you from below.

"I can feel you—" you gasp, your hands braced on the stomach beneath you as it pushes your tits together. Your hips roll, sinfully smooth while the strap of your sheer tanktop drops off one shoulder. It keeps falling, revealing a single breast, but you pay it no mind, too busy dry-humping the body beneath you.

"You're soaked for me, bunny… am I gonna feel you through my boxers?" The man grunts and something tugs at the back of Trinity's mind, a sick sense of deja vu or familiarity. She ignores it, eyes straining to try and focus only on you.

You giggle. "Maybe… can't help it, daddy gets me so wet—" You pause, eyes wide at your little slip.

"'Daddy'?" The familiar male voice repeats and the camera catches the man's hands travel up, sliding between the valley of your breasts to curl around your throat possessively. A ditzy grin spreads across your lips, eyes nearly rolling back as you lean your neck forwards into his palm.. "Is that my name now, bunny? Want me to be your daddy?"

The video plays on but Trinity couldn't focus, not when horror sets in alongside disgust and mortification when her brain finally places where she's heard that voice before. Once it clicks, she gags and pauses the video, tosses her phone across the room as full-body shudders wrack her whole frame.

When Dennis comes home late, it's to find Trinity on the couch, spacing out with a security blanket swaddling her prone frame. Panic sets in and he rushes forward, his fist rubbing her chest out of habit tp see if there's any response to pain—

"Ow, fuckin' quit it—!" Trinity snaps, smacking his hand away as she glares up at him.

He lets out a sigh of relief before crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you? Was it Garcia—"

"No." A haunted look passes over his roommate's eyes. "Worse. I think I found Dr. Abbot's girlfriend."

—

With your six-month-iversary fast approaching, you and Jack are running out of excuses to keep putting off the inevitable 'meeting of the friends' ceremony. Your own friends are eager to meet the older man that's been starring in most of your content and Robby's starting to threaten break-ins and impromptu dinners if he doesn't get to meet the woman that's made his best friend so happy.

It isn't that you're scared Jack's friends and colleagues won't like you or that he's ashamed of you— it's just the fact that the two of you are becoming grossly codependent, refusing to let the other one out of each other's sight for too long. Inviting friends into your circle would only lessen the amount of time you two have for each other and the two of you would much rather prefer extending your honeymoon period first.

Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of yours and Jack's hands when you wake in the morning to an abnormal amount of bleeding. Your period's supposed to start soon but with the sudden heavy flow and the sharp pain in your abdominal, fear licks up your spine.

Something isn't right.

You carefully bring yourself out of Jack's bed, whimpering at the massive stain you've left, before hobbling over to your phone. What awful timing— your actual doctor boyfriend isn't in to check you out himself but rather he's stuck at the ER working a double.

With the amount of time you've spent with Jack, he's ingrained it into you to always listen to your body, to get help rather than attempting to self-diagnose or to undermine your pain level, so you call 9-1-1 with a shaky voice.

When the operator confirms that an ambulance is on the way, you remember to add one final thing: "Can you take me to PTMC, please?"

—

"Female, mid to late 20s, heavy vaginal bleeding and sharp abdominal pain. Reports of nausea and vomiting with a fever of 102 degrees," the EMT barks out, pushing your gurney through the ambulance bay as the cacophany of the emergency department greets you. When the ambulance had arrived at Jack's place, you'd been barely able to stand upright, chills racking your frame.

Your mind is fuzzy, the fluorescent lights above you spinning like soup while you're pushed into an available room. A couple of nurses trail after a doctor, a penlight flashing in your eyes as said doctor introduces herself.

"Hi, I'm Dr. King, are you taking any kind of birth control or—"

"My IUD," you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you try to fight through the pain that seems to steadily increase with each passing moment. "Is it—I heard it can be displaced?"

Fast paced conversation erupts around you, swapping differentials and possible diagnoses before scissors are cutting through your pajamas to reveal your bloody panties. A hand presses against your upper abdomen, a gentle palpating movement that tears out a cry of pain from you.

"Order a CT," a doctor barks. "Can't do much until we see what's going on in there."

Dr. King nods and promises to take care of you after you've been pushed some painkillers to tide you over until it's your turn. As you get wheeled off, she notices a delicate cursive 'j' tattooed right above your hip bone.

—

After some time, you're dressed in a hospital gown, waiting for your CT results as the painkillers they've given you keep the pain at bay for the meantime. Your phone sits in your lap, screen on to your text thread with Jack. You know he's somewhere in the department, most likely saving lives, but your texts are unread and it's gnawing at the pit of your stomach.

"Hi," a voice calls out and it's a sweet looking young man, around your age as he rubs in the hand sanitizer. "I'm Dr. Whitaker. We have your CT results and it looks like a displaced IUD. Did anything happen recently or…?"

Your cheeks burn bright red. "Um. Rough sex, I guess?"

Dr. Whitaker's face colors red as well. "Oh—! Um, well, yeah. That'll do it. The CT scans revealed some slight perforation in your uterine lining so we'll go ahead and get that out for you, it'd be a minor procedure so you'll be up and walking in just a few hours."

"Great, thank you," you sigh in quiet relief but as you ponder something, Whitaker sticks around, like he knows you've got a request. "Um, is there a Dr. Abbot in?"

He nods. "Yeah, he's one of my attendings. Has he treated you before?"

"No, actually—"

"Bunny—?!" The curtains slide open and Jack rushes in, concern choking up his syllables when he sees you looking slightly gaunt and exhausted in a hospital gown. Dennis' eyes widen as he steps aside; he's never seen his attending look so disheveled and unkempt. "What happened?"

"Jack, I'm fine, it was my IUD," you explain, looking up while he checks over your vitals. "It… got displaced. I wonder whose fault is that." Your dry tone has Jack looking sheepish and Whitaker looking everywhere but the both of you. It's already taken all of his professionalism to keep from reacting when he recognized you as Trinity's past obsession. She still wouldn't say why she unsubscribed until he realizes the secret boyfriend is Dr. Abbot.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into your hair as he kisses your forehead. "I'll make sure they'll bump you forward so you can get out of here faster."

You nod and your lower lip juts out, slipping into that sweet mindset that Jack can't get enough of; cotton candy delicate and adorably delectable. "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise, bunny." His voice takes on that gravelly tone that you've become obsessed with and when you tip your head up, he closes the distance and kisses you briefly.

At that moment, the curtain slides open again. "Whoa— sorry for interrupting, folks." You pull away, fiery cheeks on display, to see another taller doctor enter. "Dr. Whitaker, can you go help Dr. Santos in Central 13? I'm Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. You must be the infamous 'Bunny'."

Jack groans and playfully hides his face into the top of your hair as the name registers as your boyfriend's best friend. You smile prettily and offer your hand to shake when Dr. Robby approaches, giving your name instead. The man seems nice but only Jack has the privilege of calling you 'bunny'. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Robby."

"Just Robby," he insists before he flips through your chart. "Looks like you're up next for the laparascopy. Do I wanna know what happened?"

Your blush deepens. "No, not really. This is an awful first impression."

Robby chuckles, scratches the back of his head. "It's not so bad, all things considered. But now that I finally have both of you here, what do you say to dinner with my partner and I? She's been eager to meet you."

You give Jack a sidelong glance. "Who else did you tell about me?"

"Nearly everyone," Robby cuts in while Jack gives a shrug.

"I didn't give details. I just liked talking about you, sweetheart. That so bad?"

A pleased smile curves upon your lips. "Not at all. I love how obsessed you are with me," you tease. Your boyfriend's eyes roll before patting his friend's chest.

"Alright, come on. Let's get her rolled into the OR so I can take my girl home."

—

As promised, recovery goes by swiftly and a new IUD is put in place. Discharge is expedited when you're dating one of the attendings and soon, Jack's coming into your room with a fresh set of clothes from his locker.

"I liked those panties," you huff as you step into Jack's black sweatpants, leaning against the bed as he kneels down to roll the legs up for you.

When he stands to full height, he helps you into the faded 'ARMY' sweater. "I'll buy you more, bunny." He tugs you in by the waist to steal a few more kisses. "Just glad you're okay. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw your name on the board."

"Sorry," you pout as Jack sweeps a thumb across your cheekbone. "I tried texting but I—"

"No, baby, you're fine." He hushes you with another soft kiss. "It's good you came in when you did. Come on, I'll take you home."

His arm is thrown around your shoulder as he guides you out through the ambulance bay. The both of you are lost in your own little world, exchanging soft laughter and playful kisses, that you don't see the haunted look in Santos' eyes as she scurries out of the way or Javadi watching in the way someone can't look away from a car crash.

When the ambulance doors shut, Dana leans over the counter to address Robby.

"That the girlfriend?"

"Sure is."

An amused grin curls onto the nurse's lips. "I think I remember her. I see where the nickname 'bunny' comes from."

"What's it mean?"

"I'm not saying a damn thing, Robinavitch."

8:21. 

You checked your phone for the millionth time. 

You were supposed to meet him at the restaurant at 7pm, and he was almost an hour and a half late. 

Well, you hoped he was late. You hadn’t yet accepted the probable fact that you’d been stood up. I mean, you were no stranger to chaotic schedules, unplanned overtime, and last minute catastrophes that had to be dealt with. Residency often rendered your social life moot; you could barely keep up with your commitments at the hospital, let alone a vibrant dating life. Maybe he had an equally demanding job; maybe there was a plausible excuse for why he left you stranded in this Italian restaurant without the decency of a “sorry, not interested anymore” text. 

You looked at your phone again–8:26. Okay, you’d give him 4 more minutes before you decide to pack it up. You try to subtly survey the restaurant for any sign of him, but are met only with the pitying looks of the waitstaff, who would, in all likelihood, be the only ones benefitting from this humiliation ritual. The hostess checked in with you at the bar regularly, the bartender had given you a glass of merlot on the house, and a very kind server brought you a charcuterie board to nibble on–had even brought you extra olives when you commented on how they were your favorite. They were all getting fat tips–or at least as fat as you could afford. 

8:31. Despite your best efforts you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your throat got that tight, achy feeling that precedes a sob. You felt so foolish. 

You looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away and tried to even out your breathing. 

You didn’t even want to go on this date. You’d all but sworn off of dating, the ROI not worth the emotional whiplash you were subjected to more often than not. It was becoming harder and harder as you got older to open up to people, expose your vulnerabilities and greatest fears, only to have them spit back in your face when things didn’t go their way. 

So you stopped with the apps, stopped the meaningless dates that were nothing more than a hookup vehicle for most. But your friends had convinced you that you needed to get back out there, that things would be better in Pittsburgh–the proverbial ocean filled with different, better fish than your hometown. And perhaps they were tired of hearing you wax poetic about the hazel-eyed night shift attending that you had no chance with. 

But you did want to find that person. As much as you were an independent, capable woman–doctor, even–the truth was you were lonely. Your days consisted of going to work, where you spent 12+ hours caring for Pittsburgh’s sickest, and coming home to microwave whatever sad frozen meal you had in your freezer. Sometimes you had the energy to join some of the night shift for post-shift breakfast, but that was about it. 

You wanted someone to share your life with, to ask about your day or if you’ve eaten. Someone who knew that your favorite flower was lily of the valley, but since they were too expensive you would settle for a bouquet of peonies; that you loved horror movies even though they scared the daylights out of you; that knew you loved olives but hated pickles. Someone who knew you, inside and out. 

There was a chasm in your chest that ached, that yearned for someone to take care of you–not financially, though you wouldn’t be opposed to that–but emotionally. To tell you that you were good, worthy, that you weren’t too much or too clingy. That wanted you as much as you wanted them. That felt the tension leave their shoulders when they looked at you, because you just being there made things better. 

Was that too much to ask for? 

It’d been so long since someone had even flirted with you, and even longer since you’d hooked up with anybody. Your dry spell was bordering on sahara levels of arid. Hell, at this point, you think you’d cum for the next guy who called you pretty. 

You shake yourself out of your pity party, dabbing your eyes with a napkin and gathering up the courage to ask for the bill, when you hear someone calling your name. Great. You’re halfway to a breakdown over some stupid guy who stood you up, and now you would have to sit through pleasantries with someone when you desperately wanted to go home and cry into a bottle of wine.   

You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.   

The person you least expect to see is the aforementioned hazel-eyed attending. He’s standing by the hostess stand, off to the side, dressed in dark blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was unfair, really, how good the man could look in the most basic outfit. His shirt was pulled taut across his chest, muscles straining against the fabric and outlining the planes of his pecs. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his strong, freckled arms on display, and sinful thoughts ran through your head at how those arms would feel around you.  

You smiled and waved at him, reluctantly making your way over. It’s not like you can avoid him at this point, though these are less than ideal circumstances to meet him outside of work. 

“Small world,” he joked as you approached, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“I guess so,” you said sullenly, not up to your usual banter.  

“Big plans for the night?” he asked, eyes skating over your form, taking in the pretty red dress you’d donned for the evening, the light coat of makeup you applied, the hairstyle you wrangled your locks into. In any other scenario, you’d be preening under his watchful eye, giddy that he was eyeing you up and down.  

Now, though, you wilted under the attention. The humiliation from the night and the tingly feeling pooling in your gut at his gaze swirled together in some rancid amalgamation of emotions. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry or both, but ideally not in front of him.  

Your silence, apparently, concerned him. He looked at you seriously now, his eyes getting that clinical, assessing look in them as he took you in, “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his features.  

It was the one question you did not want to be asked. Because, for some reason, you could keep it all inside, bury the feelings as deep as they’d go, as long as someone didn’t ask if you were okay. The barest expression of concern had your lip trembling, throat tight as you managed to squeak out a meek, “I’m fine!” 

You could feel a tear tracing down your cheek, and you wiped it away furiously. Your eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder, unable to bear the pitying look that was undoubtedly on his face.  

“You don’t look fine,” he said softly, hand coming up to rest lightly on your upper arm.  

You shook your head, powerless to staunch the flow of tears now running down your face. “Sorry, I just, uh, I had a date tonight and he didn’t show, so,” you made a helpless gesture, your shoulders shrugging in feigned nonchalance. You felt ridiculous, crying over being stood up in front of your attending who was just trying to make small talk with you. 

You let out a garbled laugh, “Shit, sorry,” you hiccup, “this isn’t your problem, I don’t wanna interrupt your night any more than I already have. Have a good night,” you said, moving to push past him and scurry out the door.  

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, his body blocking your exit. 

“You’re not interrupting. I was just about to place a to-go order,” he said, a hesitant look crossing his face before he continued, “But, uh… would you like to have dinner with me instead?”

You're taken aback. It’s the last thing you expected him to ask you. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t thought about him in this context. On the contrary, Jack Abbot had been the subject of many a ‘boyfriend’ dream over the past year you’d worked with him. He was kind and generous and funny, his humor as dark as yours. He was steady in the face of chaos, a lighthouse in the foggiest of days–a man you could depend on when shit hit the fan. It’s part of the reason you switched to nights. You always felt calmer in his presence, more assured of your capabilities because he believed in you. 

And he was undeniably gorgeous–his fine wrinkles and graying curls set your body ablaze each time you looked at him, your panties soaking through in record time. You loved especially when he went a day or two longer without shaving, his scruffy cheeks looking like a delectable place to sit. 

Your mind was plagued by obscene fantasies of him, the sinful images assaulting you at the most inopportune times. You knew he’d treat you right, wouldn’t prioritize his pleasure over yours. He was older, experienced, not a kid fumbling around in the dark, searching for your most sensitive spots and coming up empty. You imagined the way his stubble would feel on your skin, his jaw scraping down your neck as he pressed kisses there, moving lower and lower until he was nestled between your thighs, mouth hot against your aching pussy. The way he would stretch you out and fill you up, have you desperate and begging for more. 

You’re snapped out of your lustful daydream when he says your name, an inquiring tone meant to prompt a response. Oh right, he asked you a question. 

You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to have dinner with him, but because you didn’t want to do so under these conditions; you didn’t want to be a charity case. 

“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to have a pity dinner with me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little rejection.” 

“It wouldn’t be a pity dinner,” he shook his head immediately, “come on, you got all dressed up, let me at least buy you dinner for your trouble.” 

He cleared his throat, “Unless you really don’t want to, obviously, and I’ll let it go,” he said, “but I’d hate to see you go home cryin’.” And he looked so sincere, his pretty eyes so soft and squishy, all but pleading for you to accept his offer.  

You chewed on your lip, considering it. It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend your night. As of now your plans for the rest of the night were getting sadder by the moment. Things could only go up from here, you supposed. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure,” you nodded. 

“I’m positive,” he said, hand coming up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you back up to the hostess stand. “Table for two, please.”

The two of you were sat at a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, the section secluded and not too loud. It was a classic Italian restaurant–warm, dim lighting illuminated the space from antique sconces on the wall, the walls were a beautiful exposed red brick, and the tables were candlelit and laid with red and white checkered cloths. The leather of the booth was soft but worn, the cracks spidering out and indenting into the back of your thighs a sign of how well loved this place was. 

The booth forced you close together, your thighs not quite touching each other, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His scent is intoxicating, all warm amber and oud, mixed with a hint of citrus and his natural musk. It took all your power not to burrow your nose into his neck and inhale deeply. 

You were lucky to have the same waitress that checked on you at the bar, though you did have to assure her that this was not the man who stood you up. You were honestly a little concerned at the death glare she gave him at first–a true girls girl. 

“So, Dr. Abbot, how was your day off?” you asked, fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress. Despite your easy rapport at work, it felt awkward to be sitting here with your attending, especially when you were desperately trying to keep your feelings for him at bay. 

“Oh it was fine, picked up a shift with the SWAT unit and didn’t get shot at, so, you know, all things considered,” he said, then waved his hand dismissively, “and please, call me Jack. We're not at work,” a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Okay, Jack,” you laughed, the tension easing a bit as you threw formalities out the window.  

“I would ask you how your day off was, but I think I have a pretty good idea,” he said with a teasing lilt.

“Yeah, not my best moment. This is partially why I stopped dating, I hate getting my hopes up,” you said, a little more vulnerable than you intended but you supposed you were past that now. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think whatever man decided to let you slip through their fingers is a fuckin’ idiot.” 

You sputtered a bit at that, your cheeks heating up. It was a kind platitude, and you wished that it made you feel better, but it did little to alleviate the pit in your stomach that made you feel small; that screamed that you weren’t good enough.

“But enough about that asshole. Do you want to order an appetizer?” he asked, scanning the menu. 

“Oh no, I’m okay, thank you.” 

“You sure? My treat, remember, don’t worry about prices.” he looked up, concerned. 

“I’m fine, really,” you bit your cheek, reluctant to spit it out, “our waitress may or may not have given me a pity charcuterie board at the bar.” 

His face was still for a moment before you saw the edge of his mouth betray him, quirking up in a suppressed smile. 

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned, your own resolve already breaking as you took in how pathetic the situation actually was. “It’s not funny!” you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the menu. 

“No, no, definitely not,” he intoned, a look of mock-seriousness on his face before he broke out into a laugh, “I’m sorry! But it is objectively a little funny,” he hedged, hands held out defensively to block another menu attack.  

“It is not! It means that the poor waitress had to go talk to her boss and ask if they could comp an appetizer for the miserable sad sack at the bar!” 

“She probably didn’t call you a miserable sad sack. Maybe sad puppy dog girl, but not miserable sad sack,” he teased. 

You gasped exaggeratedly, “I am not a sad puppy dog girl!” 

“Oh yes you are. It’s the eyes. And the general obedient demeanor," he smirked. 

Oh. Your tummy twisted at that, but you quickly filed it under things that I simply do not have enough time to unpack right now. 

“You’re mean,” you pouted, lip jutting out and arms crossed. You weren’t really upset, but it felt fun to play it up a little bit.  

“Aww,” he pouted back at you, his tone just a tad condescending, “let me make it up to you. What do you say to some good wine and garlic knots?” 

You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, “what the hell, let's do it. It’s not like I’m going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,” you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss. 

“You never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,” he joked, not looking up from the wine menu. 

You were a little stunned at that. Was he… flirting? No. Definitely not. This was a strictly platonic date. Right? I mean, the puppy comment you could explain away, but this… this was different, wasn’t it? Who just jokes like that about the most romantic canine kiss in history? A joke, you settled on. Because you’d already gotten your hopes up enough for one night. 

Dinner was nice. Really nice. 

Conversation flowed freely, starting out in neutral territory with updates about patients, work gossip, whatever the fuck was going on with Robby. But you soon moved out of the work realm and into personal matters. You told him about your childhood–where you grew up, your favorite childhood pets, how much trouble you got into as a teen. 

And you learned a lot about Jack. That he came from a military family that moved around a lot, but spent a large chunk of time in North Carolina. He had two sisters, both older than him. One stayed in North Carolina and the other lived in West Virginia. Both married to military men, and both notorious for giving Jack shit about everything. But they were his rocks when he lost his leg, and then again when he lost his wife, and he was endlessly grateful for them. 

You both loved 90s alternative rock, which surprised you because you took Jack to be more of a classic rock fan, to which he merely glared at you and said that he wasn’t that old. You both had childhood crushes on Winona Ryder; his borne from her role in Heathers, and yours from Girl, Interrupted. He surprised you with the fact that he was a good cook, a fact that seemed unfathomable to you based on his general vibe. 

Now, though, you’d moved to med school stories, and Jack was regaling you with stories about him and Robby back in the day.  

“We must have been… god, I must have been a third year med student, and Robby was… an R2? and he had really pissed me off that night. I don’t even remember what he did, I just remember being so annoyed at him,” he laughed, shaking his head at the memory, “It was a quiet night, so he snuck off to the on-call room to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me to do all the scut. So, I recruited the help of the charge nurse, Carol, and our attending, Mark, and we applied a cast to his right leg while he was knocked out.” 

He’s cackling now, almost unable to finish his story between wheezing gasps of air, “we paged him, like, 10 times until he answered, and next thing we know he’s bursting out of the on-call room and onto his ass before he even realized what happened!” 

You’re laughing hard now, too, trying to picture a younger version of Robby gracelessly tripping over an unnecessary leg cast in his hurry to answer his page. It sounded so unlike the self-assured, stoic version you knew him to be.  

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “how mad was he?”  

“Oh he was pissed. Not because of the cast, but because 5 minutes after we paged him, a 15-car pile up came in and he got benched until he could get the cast off. He had to wait for it to dry before he could saw it off, and the whole time he just sat there glaring at me.” 

“Did he get you back?” you asked, hungry for more crumbs of their life before you, before the Pitt as it was now.    

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “the fucker taped nails to his shirt, took an x-ray, and switched out the real film for the fake before I noticed. I was freaking out to Mark, yelling about how this patient needed surgery before they perfed. Meanwhile Mark was in on it, and made me feel crazy when he pulled out the perfectly normal x-ray for my patient. He said, ‘I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but this looks like a perfectly normal x-ray,’” he said, in an impersonation you could only assume was Mark.

“That’s fucking crazy,” you giggled, “can you imagine someone doing something like that in the Pitt? I think Robby’d actually have an aneurysm.” 

“Yeah, the old man’s lost a bit of his whimsy over the years,” he shook his head. 

“Old man, huh? Those are fighting words from a man merely 3 years younger than him,” you teased, “and much grayer,” you added with a wink.  

“Watch it, missy,” he warned, then, quieter, “not too old to teach you some manners.”

Feeling emboldened by the wine, you leaned a little closer, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Tracing the rim of your wine glass, you looked up at him. You swear his eyes drifted to your lips, but before you could do anything about it, he cleared his throat, steering the conversation back into safer waters.  

“So, why did you get into emergency medicine?” 

You thought about it for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be. “I wanted to meet people where they were at, help them in a real, immediate way. The traumas are great and exciting, and there’s nothing like making a pickup that saves someone’s life. But I like the less exciting stuff, too. The mundane care that doesn’t save a life, but makes someone feel better. Helps them get over a cold, or helps soothe a burn; suturing up a lac, or removing foreign objects from patients and not making them feel worse about their predicament. That stuff is just as important as the traumas.

Especially with how fucked healthcare is in this country, people come to us when they’re at their most vulnerable, and usually don’t want to be there. I just hope that I can make things less scary for patients when they come in, make sure they feel like they’re cared about and not being judged for coming to us.” 

It’d been a long time since you’d answered that question honestly. Usually, you had your stock answer that you pulled out, which was a more eloquent version of “I want to save lives!” And that was still true, but there was so much more to working in the emergency department than just saving lives. It was paperwork and insurance and bed shortages and nursing shortages and all the other fucked up shit in the world that inevitably contributed to the cases you saw come through the doors at the Pitt. 

“What about you? Was emergency medicine always it for you, or did you ever consider going into something else?” you asked. 

He shook his head, “Not seriously, no. Considered switching to critical care after my leg. I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the hustle and bustle of the emergency room after that. But it was the only place I wanted to be, so I figured it out, did what I needed to do to get back to where I was before the accident.” 

“Well, for what it's worth, I’m glad you stuck with EM. I couldn’t imagine working at the Pitt without you. I don’t think I’d be half the doctor I am without you,” you said, looking up at him. 

You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten, his arm slung over the back of the booth and your thighs pressed against each other. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’d be amazing with or without me,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “You know, I’ve taught a lot of residents in my years, and you… you’re really cut out for this. Not everyone is.” 

The praise made you preen, the proximity of his hand to your face doing nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart. For a brief moment, you think he might lean in, might press those pillowy pink lips to yours, kiss you until you can’t think stra–

“Hi, sorry to interrupt but we’ll be closing in 15 minutes. Here’s your check when you’re ready,” the waitress said, setting the check down and scurrying away. 

You checked the time on your phone: 11:15. Did you really spend almost 3 hours talking to Jack? It certainly didn’t feel like it. 

“I guess we should get out of here before they kick us out,” Jack said, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.

You’re giggling at another one of Jack’s jokes as you leave the restaurant, the bill graciously paid by him despite your best efforts to split it. Your limbs were loose from the wine, goosebumps springing up on your arms from the early summer air turned chilly. 

“Thank you for dinner. You salvaged an otherwise shitty night,” you laughed. 

“It was no problem, really. I had a nice time,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed.

You mirrored him, shoulder scraping against the gritty brick, and looked up at him. 

“Hold on, I think you have a little sauce on your face,” he said, and before you could grab a tissue from your purse, he reached out. His thumb gathered the sauce at the corner of your lips, going further to brush the pad of it across your bottom lip. The movement dragged your lower lip down slightly, your mouth parting involuntarily with it. You’re not sure why, but your tongue darted out, licked the pad of his thumb and the residual sauce.

Jack’s breath hitched, the sharp intake of air the only thing you could hear despite the sounds of car alarms and drunk party girls on a Friday night in downtown Pittsburgh. 

You looked up at him, tongue still pressed flat against his thumb, and searched his eyes for a sign that the heat building between you is mutual. 

Fuck it, you decided. 

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. And god, did they feel nice. They were soft, but firm, and he tasted faintly of the wine you’d shared earlier mixed with the slight acidity of the tomato sauce from his dinner. Your hand tangled in the curls at the base of his neck, and they’re so soft, but also a little stiff. You wondered, briefly, if he uses mousse, or hairspray, or if he’s got a whole curly girl routine down before realizing that oh my god he wasn’t kissing you back. Oh no, oh fuck. 

How did you misread this situation so horrifically? You thought you were getting all the right signals, thought that he liked being with you, that he was flirting with you. But maybe it really was just a courtesy, a pity dinner. 

Your cheeks are hot when you pull away from him, shame sitting thick and heavy in your stomach, numbness prickling up your arms in staticky goosebumps. And Jack is just standing there, the dumbfounded look on his face doing nothing to assuage your embarrassment.  

You backed up, trying to create some distance, to lower the temperature between you that apparently only you felt. 

Looking down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact, you babbled out, “I-I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and I don’t know why I-” your voice cracked and it felt like your lungs weren’t properly inflating with oxygen, “I don’t know how I misread things, but I guess I did so again, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go home and pretend this never happened,” you said, turning around and starting down the street, despite the fact that you most certainly needed to Uber home, not walk. 

You’re trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that night when you hear him calling your name, “Wait!” 

He caught up with you, only a few strides away from where you were standing, and grasped your arm gently. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, a little breathless, “I just… you surprised me.”

“Surprised you?” you laughed, “I damn near sucked your thumb, Jack,” you said, genuinely confused how a man like Jack Abbot could be surprised that a woman would try to kiss him; that the next logical step from erotic thumbsucking would be a kiss. “And you flirted with me all night! You made a Lady and the Tramp joke! How else am I supposed to take that?”  

He rubbed at his jaw anxiously, a slight blush coating his cheeks, “I mean, yeah, I was surprised. I’ve liked you for a while now but then I heard you talking to Santos about how you didn’t want to go out with that cardiology attending and just assumed I didn’t have a shot,” he admitted sheepishly. “And maybe I got a little brazen with my flirting because I thought you didn’t see me like that anyway, figured it couldn’t hurt.” 

It’s your turn to be surprised now. You hadn’t realized he heard that conversation, or that he’d taken the wrong idea from it; the opposite idea, actually.   

You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers finding his curls again, “Well, if you recall, snoopy, I said that part of the problem was that I just didn’t want to fuck that cardiology attending,” you said, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes, “that isn’t the case with you.” 

He looked shocked, but recovered quickly, his confident air returning to him. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, lips quirking up into a smile as he backed you up against the rough brick wall. His hand rested on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip, stroking you through your dress. 

“In that case, please allow me to make up for my rude behavior,” he said, dipping down to kiss you properly this time. 

You’d pictured this moment countless times before, but nothing compared to the real thing. Jack Abbot is a no nonsense man–a wartorn vet who understands more than most the importance of not wasting time. You expected your first kiss with him to be hungry, maybe a little sloppy, but when his lips meet yours, he’s achingly tender. It wasn’t uncertain–there was no question underlying his kiss–it was deep and languorous, like he was content to take his time up against this brick wall and savor the slide of your lips against his because he knew he had you right where he wanted you, finally. 

He commanded you, his hand cupping your jaw to angle your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened up for him. The slide of his tongue against yours was delicious, the slick muscle curling around yours before moving back to your lips, sucking at your bottom lip and biting down gently. Your mind felt fuzzy at the way he handled you, guiding and taking you how he saw fit.

Some of his restraint dissipated, your mouths moving feverishly against each other. You couldn’t get enough of him; you pulled him into you and hooked your leg around his waist to draw him as close to you as possible. Pathetic, embarrassing whines and whimpers escaped you involuntarily, your body unable to mask how this man was making a mess of you.

His hand fell to the thigh wrapped around him, calloused fingers sliding up under your dress and gripping the bare flesh. He pulled you close, his pelvis rolling against yours sinfully. You could feel the hard outline of his cock against your cunt, your hips thrusting forward to meet the friction. A frustrated moan fell from your lips at the clothes separating you, at the inability to feel his skin against yours. 

You pulled away only when air was necessary–and because you were very close to being cited for public indecency if things went any further. 

“Sorry, I probably taste like garlic,” you said dumbly, fingers tracing over your spit slick lips, numb and swollen from Jack’s attention. 

He laughed, forehead resting against yours, “you taste incredible,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, and then under your ear. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but my place is a couple blocks from here, if you’d like to come home with me.”  

You nodded, a giddy smile breaking out across your face, “I would very much like to go home with you,” you said, already grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street. 

The entryway is dark as you stumbled into Jack’s townhouse, the walk talking longer than it should have due to your need to drag him into searing kiss after searing kiss every dozen or so steps. 

Jack navigated the two of you through the dark, your bodies unceremoniously plopping down on his couch. You fell onto his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushions and thighs stretching over the wide berth of his hips. Your kisses had devolved from slow and deep to fast and hungry, teeth nipping and clashing against one another, your breathing ragged from the exertion.   

He was rock-hard and throbbing under you, the outline of his cock pressing deliciously against your pussy. The only articles of clothing separating you were the thin, lacy excuse for panties you were wearing and his jeans. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ground your hips down on him, the combination of rough denim and the drag of his cock on your aching cunt forcing loud moans and whimpers from your lips. 

Jack was just as loud, his hips canting up to meet your rolling hips. His hand travelled to the back of your dress, fingers playing with the zipper, “this okay, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. You nodded, too caught up in his lips to give a verbal answer. 

He chuckled as he pulled the zipper down, easing the sleeves down next and pulling away to get a look at you. He let out a sharp breath, the air stolen from his lungs as he took you in, hands gripping your waist tight and rolling his hips hard against you.  

Your pretty tits were held up in an unlined white bra, your hardened nipples peaking through the barely there lace. He threw his head back against the couch, pupils blown wide as they fixated on your chest. ““My pretty, pretty girl. Was this all for him?” he asked, thumbs running in circles around your areolas. You nodded shyly, a bit embarrassed that you’d put on your good lingerie for some random guy. But it wasn’t all for nought, if Jack’s reaction was any indication. 

“What a fuckin’ idiot,” he mumbled before enveloping your nipple between his lips, sucking the bud through the lace. He captured the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and pinching it, then soothing it over in soft circles. The sensation was dizzying. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, and he knew exactly the right pressure to ride the line between pleasure and pain.

But the lace was getting in the way; you couldn’t feel the scratch of his stubble like you’d dreamed of for so long. You unclasped your bra, tugging on his curls and pulling his face back just enough to let the garment fall down between you. 

A guttural sound left him as he dove back in, lips suctioning onto your nipple and sucking hard, cheeks hollowed out and tongue swirling around the bud. Your hand tightened in his curls, arching your back and pushing your chest against his mouth. He alternated between the two, sucking, licking, and biting at one and kneading, flicking, and pinching the other. You could finally feel the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hips doubled their effort, grinding hard against his cock. 

He released your nipple with a wet pop, “you know how hard it’s been keepin’ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time you’ve been hidin’ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,” he shook his head in disbelief, “don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything other than stuffin’ my face between these tits when I see you at work.”  

His lips returned to your chest while his unoccupied hand moved under your dress, his rough palm gripping the fat of your ass and guiding you over his length faster. Every grind of your hips had your clit bumping up against the head of his cock, the pressure exquisite. Your slick was dripping down your thighs and seeping into his jeans, the schlick schlick schlick steady background noise among your moans and groans.  

You didn’t realize how fast your orgasm was building until you were nearly on the precipice of it, letting out a strangled moan and, “I’m gonna–” before the wave crested. Your thighs trembled, a dull ache forming from keeping them stretched around Jack’s bulk, but it only added to the pleasure that zipped through you. That staticky feeling radiated through you, your pussy contracting and fluttering around nothing. 

You’re panting into the crook of his neck as you ride out the aftershocks, your hips still grinding against his clothed cock, your lips letting out tiny gasps and whines. 

“Did you… did you just cum, sweetheart?” Jack asked, a stunned look on his face. 

You could feel how hot your cheeks were, shame curling through you because yes, you did cum from a little nipple play and grinding on his cock. 

“I-i’m sorry, it’s just been a long time and no one’s touched me in so long and you feel so good, I didn’t think that would happen so quickly,” you said, panicked, “I’m sorry if I ruined things.” 

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears you weren’t even aware had fallen, “you didn’t ruin anything, okay? I was just surprised, is all. I’m sorry if anyone’s made you feel that way, but you don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me. Never,” The sincerity of his words triggered a new bout of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck again, his scent a calming balm to your nerves. 

“Plus, do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know I had such a pretty girl cummin’ on lap in under five minutes? That’s the stuff of dreams, baby,” he teased, pulling you out from your hiding spot and pressing kisses to your cheeks.

You laughed, still sniffling a bit, “gosh, I’m sorry I’ve been such a crybaby tonight.” 

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, then, teasing, “but I can think of much better reasons for you to be cryin’, and none of them have anything to do with you being sad or embarrassed,” he said, kissing you properly now, tongue licking deep into your mouth. 

You moaned into his mouth, then squealed as he hoisted you up, carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down at the edge of the bed, then properly removed your dress from where it was awkwardly gathered at your waist.

He didn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees and parting your legs, pushing them up toward your chest. “Hold 'em there for me, baby, wanna take a good look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp fabric between your legs. You did as he told you, hooking your hands under your knees and spreading yourself open for him. You felt exposed, but the awestruck look in his eye as he examined your pussy sent shockwaves through your body. 

“This all because of me?” he asked, thumbing at your center over the fabric, pressing lightly against your clit with each stroke. Your panties were soaked through, the tiny scrap of fabric doing nothing to obscure your puffy folds that were sticky with a mix of your slick and cum. “What a mess you made, honey. Guess I’m gonna have to clean you up,” he said, pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit.

You moaned, hips lifting off the bed and chasing his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue on your cool flesh was blistering. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there and stopping any movement of your hips. You whined at the restriction, your hands fisting in the soft sheets instead.

“Waited so long for this honey, shit, fuckin’ dreamed about how you’d taste,” he moaned into your pussy, mouth lapping and sucking at your folds, gathering all the spend and slick and swallowing it down like nectar. His face was nestled deep into your cunt, tongue exploring every crease and crevice your cunt had to offer, licking, sucking, biting–and taking note of what made you scream. 

And once he discovered it, he didn’t just eat you, he devoured you. He was a man possessed, with no regard for his own need for air. His tongue assaulted your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles around it, short kitten licks, and long, languorous licks that had him shaking his head between your thighs. Every now and again he wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled it, the light leaving your body every time. Your hips rocked against his mouth despite his hold on you, wrecked moans falling from your lips.  

“Fuck, jack, please–r-right there!” 

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you, tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he said, pulling back just far enough to spit onto your cunt before running two fingers up your slit, pushing them in without preamble. The stretch was delicious, his thick fingers curling deep into your wet heat and finding that sweet spot in no time. He exploited it mercilessly, massaging it with the pads of his fingers. His lips returned to your clit, sucking harshly now, giving you no reprieve from his ministrations. 

“Feels so good Jack! Never felt this good before!” you cried. 

The slurping and squelching was lewd, your moans and breathless cries of his name intermingled to create an obscene symphony that you’re sure the entire population of Pittsburgh could hear. 

“You gonna cum on my face, honey? Gonna give me another one?” he asked, fingers massaging your g-spot. “Wanna–fuck–wanna feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers when she cums.” 

“Y-yes, please Jack, ‘m gonna cum, feels sosososo good” you cried out, your second orgasm crashing over you. Stars burst behind your eyes, back arching uncomfortably off the bed and walls clenching so hard around his fingers you’re not sure how he hasn’t lost circulation. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him there as you rode out your orgasm, hips rutting against his mouth and fingers. He didn’t mind, licking and sucking you through it, his fingers keeping pressure on your g-spot until you were pushing him away.

He peppered your body with kisses as you came down, starting at your thighs and making his way up over your tummy, ribs, and breasts. He came to rest above you, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled him in for a lazy kiss. His face was soaked with your spend and you could taste the tang on his tongue when he kissed you. 

“You’re stupidly good at that,” you whispered, body still boneless and floaty. 

“Yeah? Want me to show you want else I’m stupidly good at?” he asked while finally shucking his shirt off. 

“Yeah?” you said absentmindedly, eyes glazed over at the majesty that was Jack Abbot’s chest. You immediately began pressing kisses across the newly exposed skin–to his neck, collarbone, pecs, and tummy. You’re even able to scrape your teeth across a nipple before he holds you back at arms length, laughing.   

“Yeah, honey,” he laughed between your frantic kisses, “but you gotta let me breathe for a sec, gotta take care of my leg.” 

“Let me,” you said, slipping down to the floor and sitting back on your heels. You ran your palms up his thighs, hands coming to rest on his belt before going any further.

“You don’t have to do that, honey.” 

“I know,” you said softly, “but I want to. If you’re okay with that.” 

He cradled your face in his hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand to assure him that you wanted to do this. 

“I care about you Jack, and this is part of you. I just wanna help you, wanna make you feel good,” you said earnestly, giving him your puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. Okay, honey, go ahead,” he nodded, sitting back on his elbows to watch you. You grasped his belt again, unfastening the buckle and pulling the belt through the loops, discarding it somewhere behind you. You moved to the button of his jeans, deftly popping it open and hooking your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down with Jack’s help. 

Your breath hitched at the sight of his dark gray boxers, a wet spot front and center that made your mouth water. You learned forward and kissed the damp fabric, moaning at the slight taste of precum that danced across your lips. 

“Careful, sweetheart…” he warned, but there wasn’t much heat behind his words. 

You just grinned up at him before getting back to the task at hand. Your fingers travelled down to the sleek metal attached to him, getting a feel for the mechanism before unlocking and twisting it off. The liner came next, tossed to the side before you pressed your fingertips into his skin, massaging the skin to get some blood flow back into the residual limb. You pressed sweet kisses to his flesh, from the front of his knee to the scarred flesh of his leg, tongue dipping out to trace the prominent scar just above his amputation site. 

Jack breathed heavily above you, tiny groans escaping him unbidden. A look flickered across his face, and you think, briefly, that this may be the first time you’ve seen him truly vulnerable. It wasn’t a secret that he’d lost the lower portion of his leg in the war, but he didn’t flaunt it either. You wondered if there was an insecurity that lay deep within him, despite his overt confidence; if other women had reacted differently, cruelly even to the sight of his prosthesis. It made your heart ache to think about it, to think of someone doing anything but worshipping his beautiful body the way he deserved.  

“So pretty, Jack,” you whispered, kisses inching higher up his thigh now, “wanna taste you now.” 

When you’re met with the sight of Jack’s cock, you’re well and truly speechless. You knew he was big from your time on the couch, but seeing it was different. He was thick and veiny, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking precum furiously. It rested against his belly, curving slightly to the left. And did you mention that he was thick? Mouth agape, you wondered how you were going to fit him in your mouth. Or pussy. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, hands perched against his thighs, just staring at his cock, until Jack tilts your head back, fingers tightening in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck. 

“Thought you wanted a taste, honey. You just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?” he asked, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Maybe,” you mumbled, tongue darting out to wet your lips. 

Before you can do anything of your own accord, his hand is guiding your head forward, the head of his cock pushing gently against the seam of your lips. You take over from there, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his tip, the precum gathered there salty and sticky against your lips. Your tongue dipped out to caress the spot just below his head, running the flat of your tongue along it before moving back to his head, spitting a glob of spit onto him and wrapping a hand around his base. You started with long, slow strokes, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, your hand meeting your lips where they suckled at his tip. 

You moaned at the steady stream of precum invading your mouth, “taste so good Jack,” you said before taking more of him into your mouth. You're only about halfway down and your lips are already stretched tight around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth in filthy waterfalls. You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue massaging the underside of his cock. 

“Fuck, baby, who knew you had such a filthy fuckin’ mouth on you,” he groaned, hips rutting up slightly. 

His tip occasionally hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and tears to prick behind your eyes, but you don’t care; the feeling of him weighing heavy on your tongue is reward enough. 

You feel a light pressure applied to the back of your head, “deeper, baby, know you can take it,” he groaned. You obliged, breathing deep through your nose and sinking down further onto his cock until you felt him hit the back of your throat and your nose was nestled in the trimmed grey curls at his base. Your hand grappled for his where it was perched on your head, using it to push harder against your head, trying to convey to him that you wanted him to take over; to fuck your face. 

He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily as he realized what you wanted. He gathered your hair in his hands, hips shallowly trusting into the wet heat of your mouth. His mouth was slack, grunts and groans loud as he fucked your face. His pace builds, his cock roughly pistoning in and out of your mouth. Tears are falling freely now, your mouth stretched to capacity and throat being used and abused by his fat cock. 

“See? These tears are much prettier, baby,” he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. “So fuckin’ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.” 

You moaned around him at that, the praise and shame swirling in your tummy. Your hand came up to cup his balls, massaging and squeezing them gently between your fingers. 

You’re suddenly pulled up off his cock and into his lap, spit stringing from your shiny, swollen lips. You whined at the loss of him, your mouth feeling uncomfortably empty now. 

“Fuck–you feel too good, honey,” he grunted, setting you back against his pillows, “can’t cum in that pretty little mouth tonight, need to be inside you.” 

He grabbed a condom out of his drawer before moving back to you, sitting back on his knees and rolling the condom on. You let out an annoyed whine. You’ve never hated the more rational side of your brain more than you do right now. You craved to feel him bare inside you–to feel him cum deep inside you, the hot white ropes painting your walls. And while you trusted him implicitly, you knew safety was of the utmost importance, so condom it was. 

“Don’t worry, baby, soon as we get tested, you won’t be able to stop me from fuckin’ this pussy raw,” he groaned, settling between your spread thighs. His body was a soothing weight above you, the warmth he emanated relieving any anxiety you had. 

He gripped the base of his cock and ran it through your sopping folds a few times, the tip catching slightly on your entrance on each pass. “Please, Jack, need to feel you,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close. 

He cursed before giving in, notching the head of his cock against your entrance and entering you slowly, letting you feel and adjust to every inch on its own. Your head fell back into his plush pillows as he sank fully into you, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your walls were tight around him, clenching viciously at the intrusion–you’d never been stretched so wide, or filled so thoroughly. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs and replaced by his cock. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your short nails biting at his skin. 

You were still for a moment, both your chests heaving as you adjusted to the feeling of one another. Then, once Jack composed himself, he started to move–slow, shallow thrusts at first, your pussy still clenching tight around him, sucking him in greedily with each thrust. 

“Relax for me, honey, that’s it, doin’ so good for me,” he grunted, eyes closed, “pussy feels so good.” 

You willed your body to relax, for your muscles to go lax around him. You shifted your legs up higher, the heels of your feet digging into the soft flesh of his ass. 

“There you go, so good for me,” he moaned, “knew you’d be so good for me.” 

He pulled out again, easier this time, until only the tip remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward. His thrusts were slow but hard, his hips slamming against you each time he bottomed out. The drag of his cock against your walls felt so good, his thick, throbbing length rubbing up against every sensitive spot. You felt every thick vein and ridge, as if they were imprinting into your walls, making a home there. You moaned at the thought of eternity, of Jack making your pussy his again and again and again. 

He was watching you with a wondrous look on his face, his eyes flitting between your blissed out face and bouncing tits. “So fuckin’ sexy, baby, you don’t even understand how fuckin’ gorgeous you are,” he groaned, hips picking up speed, fucking you faster and harder. 

The adrenaline and emotions from the night came crashing down around you. The feeling of his cock dragging through your walls mixed with the sweet words he was whispering into your ear had you feeling exposed and vulnerable, made you feel seen. Your hands were frantic, running over every bit of skin you could get your hands on, needing to feel his skin against yours. You pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, the friction it provided to your nipples dizzying.  

You didn’t notice the tears until Jack was kissing away the salty tracks, his tongue sneaking out to lick up the length of your cheek. “You’re my little crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked, a sweet hint of condescension in his tone, “just can’t help babbling over my cock, huh, baby?” 

You could only whimper at that. The words should feel shameful, degrading, even, but the fondness on his face, the constant reassurance he’d been giving you all night only made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because you weren’t a crybaby, you were his crybaby. 

The coil in your stomach tightened, your orgasm fast approaching. He was fucking you hard and fast now, his balls slapping against your ass with a wet smack. “Jaack, I’m gonna–fffuck–I need–” you gasped at a particularly hard thrust, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

But Jack knew what you needed before you did, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against it, and you were done for. Your toes curled, heels pressing harder into his ass as you came, white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Your walls spasmed wildly, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You were absolutely drenched, your pussy gushing around his cock, leaking down your ass and onto the bed. 

Jack wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as your walls seized his cock in a vise grip. “F-fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, his hips going into overdrive now, chasing his climax and fucking you hard and deep.

"Cum for me, Jack, wanna make you feel good," you cried.

He ground his hips into one last time, cumming with a loud moan, cock buried deep inside you and hips pressed flush against yours. 

He collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest. He pressed lazy kisses to your sternum, collarbone, the soft flesh of your breasts–whatever he could get his lips on from this angle. Your fingers carded through his curls, the motion soothing as you tried to catch your breath. 

Eventually, though, you had to part. 

You whined as he pulled out, your cunt empty and cold now that he’d taken his warmth away. He grabbed his arm crutches, disposing of the condom and retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and began cleaning you up, gently wiping at your swollen pussy and sticky thighs, making sure you were comfortable before tossing the rag in the hamper.  

He slid back into bed when he was finished, laying on his side and pulling you close against his chest. Your head was cushioned by this arm as you curled into him, your sweat slick bodies cool to the touch now that the heat had dissipated. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, fingers brushing up and down your ribs, the touch featherlight.  

“Mmm probably as long as I have,” you said, snuggling closer to him.

“Really? When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?”

You didn’t have to think about it at all. “My birthday, on the roof. I gave you a cupcake and you got frosting all over you,” you giggled at the memory, “and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss it all off of your stupidly handsome face.” 

He laughed with you, the creases around his eyes deepening as he did. He was so pretty, you thought for the thousandth time that night. 

 “I remember that,” he smiled, “I remember being so proud that I made you laugh that night.” 

“What about you?” you asked. 

He thought about it for a minute. “I think the need to kiss you has been simmering in me since I met you, but the first time I had the conscious thought was when you patched me up after that patient clocked me in the head,” he said, his hand now on your cheek, stroking the bone there, “you were standin’ between my legs, stitchin’ up my forehead, and all I could think about was pulling you close and kissing you until I couldn’t breathe.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

He sighed, “I’m your superior and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't feel the same way.” You knew he didn’t want to delve into the ‘superior’ thing right now, didn’t want to have the long, complicated conversation that was sure to come in the following days. 

“And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself once I started,” he said, lightening the mood a bit. 

You giggled at that, rolling your eyes affectionately. But something nagged in your head about what he said. 

“Wait…” you said, piecing together a timeline, “that was nearly a year ago! You’re telling me we could have been doing this for a year!?” you exclaimed, slapping him on the chest lightly. 

He shook his head at you, a sheepish look on his face. You were both idiots. 

“Well, I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for, then, don’t we?” he said cheekily, capturing your lips again and pushing you onto your back, determined to make you a very happy woman.

a/n: thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it <33

aaahhhhh this is so good!!!!! i loved how much i could relate to it and could really feel myself being represented here

You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, “what the hell, let's do it. It’s not like I’m going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,” you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss.  “You never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,” he joked, not looking up from the wine menu.

“you know how hard it’s been keepin’ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time you’ve been hidin’ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,”

“See? These tears are much prettier, baby,” he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. “So fuckin’ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.” 

Fred shrugged, lightly considering the thought with a slight bob of his head. “Would be pretty badass,” Fred agreed.

Ron scoffed at his older brothers. “Lavender swears she didn’t see a reflection in the lavatory mirrors the other day,” Ron pressed.

“You know, humans can actually learn echolocation,” George chided.

Ron frowned, “Oh, piss off.”

“No no, it’s true,” Fred said with an affirming nod. “We can only do it through snaps.” The twins simultaneously shut their mischievous eyes, tilted their chins up, and held out their hands to snap in unison.

“Shut up,” Ron grumbled, folding his arms atop one another. He eyed the curious glances their peers were charitably donating. “Quit it— people are looking at us,” Ron snapped. He kicked the closest brother (which was George) as an attempt to silence them.

Fred and George give him a little peek, as their snaps fell out of sync. They snickered and eventually stopped, amused and satisfied with the damage they’ve done to Ron’s social standing.

Ron’s shoulders were hunched and tense; his voice was an exasperate whisper, which only drew in Fred and George for his words to be heard. “Her father went to Durmstrang— the school that Malfoy wanted to attend,” Ron indulged dramatically.

Fred wrapped an arm around Ron, pulling him closer. “You sure it wasn’t Pigfarts?” Fred joked in a feathery tone.

“Headmaster Rumbleroar rules with an iron fist,” George added humorously.

“More like a furry one,” Fred corrected. He squeezed Ron’s arm affectionately. “He’s a lion,” he clarified.

Ron weaseled out of Fred’s degrading hold with a hefty huff. “Merlin, you guys are insufferable,” he stated, nostrils flared and eyes aflame.

“Mate, she gets picked on enough— we don’t need to add to it,” Fred rebutted.

The younger (but taller) boy adjusted his messenger bag sardonically, prepared to abandon the oafish twins. “She’s one scary girl,” Ron decided before striding away, passionate about his beliefs.

“What’s she ever done to you?” Fred called out. He received no answer; he simply watched Ron disappear into the crowd of students.

The Potions classroom was smelling… fishy; it was pungent, vile, and evidence of hardworking students. The ridiculous concoction Professor Snape assigned would take two to three class periods to fully brew. Two to three classes; that’s outrageous! The instructions alone are four pages long, the list of ingredients merely half!

All of this for a 50 point assignment! Fred scowled. His nose scrunched with vexation, as he reluctantly flipped through the directional pamphlet.

With a pestle and mortar, grind up acorn barnacle shells into a fine dust…

Add 27 grams of sheepshead wrasse scales…

Boil zooplankton until thick paste…

Fred scoffed and rolled up his sleeves. “Absolute rubbish,” he mumbled before picking up the mortar. He examined the bowl for another potion’s leftover residue, and when he determined it was clean, he grabbed the small burlap satchette of chicken bone powder (Snape had premade it for the class out of the “kindness” of his slimy black heart) and loosened the tie.

Austin (Fred’s lab partner) adjusted the heat on the Bunsen burner with a scarred hand. “It’ll boil in a few minutes,” the lad announced, peering into the small cauldron. He picked up his copy of the instructions. “I’m gonna collect some of the other ingredients,” he added.

“Alright,” Fred nodded, as Austin approached the supply table across the classroom. There was a decently sized line wrapping around it, as their peers were carefully apportioning themselves the right ingredients.

Fred observed the small cloudy bubbles forming at the mouth of the cauldron. What did the directions say? Wait until the water was boiling to pour stuff in?

He glanced at the papers. Eh… it’s probably fine; he dumped the bone powder in and grabbed a wooden ladle to briefly stir. The greyish dust dispersed and started to equally spread throughout the warming liquid.

He folded his big arms over his chest. Now, he’d have to wait however long it takes Austin to get through that line; he had no other ingredients to lazily mix in.

His eyes, full of impatience and impertinence, studied the broth foam and quietly pop, as bubbles were pushed to the surfaces like bouncing balls.

This is dreadful.

Fred slowly lifted up his chin. He scowled at Snape’s greasy helmet of hair. Curse you, he mentally casted. Curse you!

He irritably sighed, but then his attention found you, one table to the right away from his, humbly plucking off the yellow petals of a marsh marigold. He watched you sprinkle the velvety corolla into the steaming pot, as your lab partner (some irrelevant bloke) gossiped with his friend.

The green stem and white spidery roots remained. You held them up at eye level; you broke off a few dead stocks and tossed them into the bin. You proceeded to place them in a small glass vial of blue fluid to steep. You checked up on your boiling cauldron and then decided to add the chicken bone powder.

You did it all so… gracefully.

This is the girl that sleeps in a coffin? Yeah, right… Fred peered at his empty wooden chopping board. She doesn’t look scary, Fred thought. Well, a little intense or deathly bored sometimes but not intimidating. Who would be scared by someone three apples tall?

“Her only friend is Looney Luna…”

Fred didn’t look up; that was the trick to collecting drama and miscellaneous intel— be nosy without acting like it… pretend the conversation wasn’t even happening… Fred grabbed the instructions and pretended to read them.

“… probably escaped a circus together,” a different voice sniggered. It sounded like that Seymour kid; he used to be Percy’s friend… I think, Fred vaguely recalled.

Your lab partner, unoccupied and who Fred knew as Brody (frosted tips, brown roots, brown eyes, very plain looking), responded, but his pitchy words were incoherent at this distance. Fred licked his lips and pretended to nod at himself comprehensively. Ah, yes, wolfsbane, known for its plant qualities…

“She should go back where she came from,” Seymour whispered.

Fred frowned indignantly. Percy would never be friends with someone like that.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, he noticed the two teenagers ogle at you derisively.

“Shut up,” Brody grumbled. “She’s literally right there.”

They hit each other in the arm, huffing and snickering, daring themselves to make it more obvious.

“She probably didn’t hear us,” Seymour reasoned pathetically.

“I heard you,” he said loudly.

Blub blub blub blub blub.

The chicken bone broth was boiling. Fred turned down the temperature, as Austin returned with a wooden tray full of capsules and ceramic dishes.

Brody kicked Seymour’s leg and glared at the boy’s wild black coils. He glared at Fred, eyeing him dismissively. He tightened his tie uncomfortably. “Sorry,” he lamely retorted.

Austin’s neutral demeanor was quickly displaced by Fred’s sudden shift in attitude. The tall redhead seemed… tense… his jaw was taut and his brows firmly narrowed.

“But we weren’t talking to you,” Seymour spat out dryly.

“What’s happening?” The strawberry blond shyly beseeched Fred.

Brody smacked his friend’s lower back. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

“I don’t care,” Fred shrugged, consequently ignoring Austin. His feet shifted beneath him, subtly parting til they were shoulder-width apart. “Why are you even saying stuff like that?”

Seymour rolled his eyes, “It’s none of your bloody business; piss off.”

“I think it is,” Fred refuted through gritted teeth. “If you didn’t want me getting involved, then you should’ve kept your stupid mouths shut.”

Naturally, you were curious as to what the raucous was about.

Brody was idly standing across from you, his friend Seymour was closing in on Fred. Wide-eyed Austin ineptly pretended he wasn’t third-wheeling an argument and started to grind up barnacle shells.

You found it severely unimpressive and resumed potion brewing.

He pointed at them accusingly. His lips practically snarled. “I know how to have basic respect; you guys struggle to be decent human beings,” Fred criticized.

Brody was baffled. “Me too?” He stupidly questioned.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Seymour mocked, gradually approaching Fred and Austin’s lab station. “Poor ol’ Weasley’s in love with the freak,” Seymour snidely observed.

“As if you’d be able to identify ‘love.’ Didn’t your mum leave you as a baby?”

Professor Snape’s attention had been dully notified. His pupils would’ve thinned into slits like a canine on the prowl if it were possible.

“Boys!” He proclaimed annoyedly. “Resolve this issue before points are docked!”

Seymour was bemused. His hands shook with fury. “Don’t talk about her like that!” Seymour shouted, balling up his fists.

“Oh,” Fred purred wickedly. “You can be protective over someone you dunno but I can’t?”

WHOOSH! THWACK!

Snape’s feet stuck the ground like lightninig. “GENTLEMAN!” The professor screeched.

Fred hissed, “You little piece of shit!” He tenderly massaged his jaw, and his face hardened with indignation. He curled up his fingers and launched a punch at Seymour’s face.

CRACK!

His nose was gushing blood.

Seymour leaped toward Fred, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the ground.

The two boys grunted, long arms flailing and feet hopelessly kicking.

All academic pursuits had been halted— for decently good reason.

“DETENTION! BOTH OF YOU!” Snape proclaimed, drawing his thin black wand from his robe.

Their classmates ogled in disbelief (in your case, it was subtle intrigue).

Glittering ropes of blue magic warped around the two bodies and then tore them apart.

“Enough with this nonsense!” Snape declared, as Fred was hauled into the air.

Seymour was withering on the ground. “I’m gonna kill you!” He shouted.

“I’d LOVE to see you try!”

The heat in Snape’s face could’ve lit his greasy bowl of hair. His nostrils were flared and eyes aflame with disgust. He waved his wand again and Fred fell onto his knees.

“That’s one hundred points from Gryffindor!” He condemned, grabbing napkins from a nearby lab table. He yanked Seymour up from the floor and shoved the napkins into his hands. “McGonagall’s Office. NOW!”

“He threw the first punch,” Fred glowered, pointing at the perpetrator.

“One more word, Mr. Weasley, and that’s another fifty points!” Snape’s deadly black eyes fell upon the class. “Behave yourselves!” The man seethed. Snape snatched Fred and Seymour by the elbows and briskly escorted them out; his cape billowed behind him like a storm cloud.

“I’ve never seen a dead man look so alive,” George mumbled noncommitedly.

“Mum’s gonna kill you,” Ron warned.

“I can already hear the Howler,” Ginny astonished.

Fred tried to roll his good eye (one of them was swollen), as he shakily brought the ice pack to his temple. The Weasley twin was placed at one end of the infirmary, face heavily bruised and shoulders sore. Seymour was at the other end with Madame Pomfrey treating his broken nose.

George shook his head, “Consequences of playing hero.” He tried not to chuckle at his brother’s weakened state.

“‘Hero’?” Ginny echoed. “Why d’you say that?”

“He’s here, because he was defending some girl,” George dismissively clarified.

Ginny frowned, slightly taken aback. “That’s not what I heard,” the young girl stated.

“Doesn’t matter what you heard!” Fred groused curtly at his siblings; they were huddled around his bed the way vultures circled a corpse. He solemnly touched his cut lip, which stung from the slightest pressure. “I did what I thought was right—,”

Ron snorted at the remark. “Mum’s not gonna agree—,” he interjected.

“Who was he defending?” Ginny implored, cutting both her brothers off. “I think it’s rather romantic,” Ginny said half-jokingly.

Fred blushed, almost missing the humour. “It was not!” He protested.

“The Addams girl,” George solved.

Ron’s jaw dropped in dismay. “You DIDN’T!” Ron gasped.

“Ooooh, he did.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Ginny inquired.

“Nothing!” Fred responded (“Everything!” Ron replied).

Ron’s face scrunched with horror. “Did Seymour give you a concussion too?”

“Ginny,” Fred huffed. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that girl.”

“Is she the one always wearing black?”

“Yes,” said George.

“She is a little weird,” their sister softly thought aloud.

“She is not!”

“She’s a beauty… but a funny girl,” George offered.

“I still don’t understand why you’re so defensive about this,” Ron griped, providing his two cents.

“I did it to prove that somebody was on her side! You, Seymour and everybody in this school isolate her and act like she’s some deranged zoo animal. It’s absolutely ridiculous; she’s done nothing.”

…

…

…

…

“I think you did a very noble deed, Fred,” Ginny said, gently touching his shoulder (he winced and she quickly moved her hand to the metal bedframe). “Sorry,” she murmured bashfully.

“I agree,” George concurred with a nod. “A ‘if not you, then who’ type of... call to action, let’s say.”

Fred smiled a little. His lips were dry and slightly crusted with blood, but he was content.

Until he slowly peeked up at Ron. Fred swapped the ice pack into his free hand (his fingers were growing numb).

Ron was reluctant. “I guess…” Ron trailed off shyly. “I guess I forgot she was still human.”

George shrugged, “Gryffindors are pretty stubborn.”

“But if you plead your case,” Ginny began.

“If you play your cards right,” corrected George.

“Mum might go slightly easier on you,” Ginny deduced.

Fred’s eyes hesitantly drifted over Ginny’s shoulder; someone was standing in the doorway to the infirmary, silently watching from afar and cloaked in onyx.

Fred’s heart began to palpitate, and he managed to sink in the stone-hard mattress. His siblings noticed the change in behavior, and without missing a beat, they turned to see what the fuss was all about.

Ginny and George cocked their heads to the side, pleasantly surprised by your presence (thought Ginny did feel a chill tickle her spine). You had made no indication whether or not you’d actually approach them. You were like a phantom, awaiting the moment to mysteriously disappear.

Ron was about to foam at the mouth— in his head, your humanization was partially admitted as verbal manifestation; he did not NOT see you as Beelzebub reincarnate (say her name three times and she shall appear!). But… exposure therapy was a first step in growth, so Ron tried to stay as quiet as possible (despite shaking in his boots).

You advanced towards the Weasleys with footsteps as quiet as a mouse’s. Your posture, your urgency and expression were so aggravatingly neutral and annoyingly unreadable to the redheaded family (Ron really wanted to scream and see if you’d react). You stopped at the end of the bed (short of half a meter) and stared directly at the injured boy.

Fred’s siblings expectantly turned back to him. He sniffled and nervously spoke first. “Hello,” he bunglingly greeted.

“I’m not gonna thank you for participating in a fight, because I don’t condone delinquency,” you bluntly said. Your hands laid at your sides. They didn’t seem to fidget or naturally sway. Fred’s mind went blank, but before he could form coherent thoughts, you added, “I prefer more structured violence, like sword fights. But I will admit… I am impressed by your chivalry. I personally don’t care what people say about me; I’m used to it, but no one’s ever made an effort to firmly stand by their morals… at least in front of me.”

All of their jaws dropped, including Fred’s— and it felt like a thousand needles were stabbed into the bone. Fred Weasley was speechless, mainly because he was suddenly and extremely void of breath. He’d never actually heard you speak before; surprise didn’t just take him aback, he had completely surrendered to it.

“I acknowledge what you did today.” In the blink of an eye, you were instantly standing on the right side of Fred’s bed, empty of his circling brothers and sister. “But if you have to do it again, make sure it’s in a colosseum and to the death.”

You stuck out your hand.

Despite being known for having a stomach of steel, Fred almost threw up and fainted. He ogled at your hand, unsure what to make of it—

She wants a handshake.

Fred reached out, palms damp and cold. You didn’t have a noticeable or visceral reaction; yours were more frigid than his.

You promptly retracted after a few seconds. “I also overheard most of your conversation with your siblings,” you announced.

George cringed, and Ginny jabbed Ron’s arm, as he flushed red with embarrassment.

You carefully considered their responses. “Don’t worry. My opinion of you all hasn’t dramatically changed.” Your attempt at reassurance didn’t hit the mark; the siblings were disturbed.

You gave each Weasley an attentive look of acknowledgement. Your voice remained unwavering and confidently firm. “Heal soon,” you demanded from Fred crisply, before finally departing.

When you were far enough, Ron whispered, “Bloody hell.”

“A beauty but a funny girl,” Ginny commented, reiterating George’s prior observation.

A pulse in Fred’s chest continued to tense up and release precisely with each soft step you took.

Yeah… Fred thought.

The world doesn’t revolve around Hogwarts; that was something Fred Weasley struggled to perceive. The twee village of Hogsmeade shared the same 24 hours as the rest of the population and operated independently as its own society.

They had their own unreliable postage system, a crumbling old schoolhouse, and crooked cobblestone paths. Their community was equipped with gated neighborhoods and abandoned projects at the outskirts of town.

Mid fall and very late summer in the Scottish highlands made the roads damp and muddy with soggy moss growing in the cracks. The streets are lined with buttery daffodils, pale mountain-avens and sweet bluebells (the mark of a public gardener trying to revive the town’s soul).

Fred tried to keep his spirits high, as he walked on the cracked sidewalk, squished between Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, who were vibrantly talking over his presence.

Quidditch season started its first game earlier that evening. The suspenseful match resolved with Gryffindor’s victory over Ravenclaw, so prideful Captain Angelina Johnson rounded up all her teammates after they hit the showers and swept them off to a celebratory dinner at The Mooncalf: Bistro & Brasserie.

It felt... wrong for Fred to be here. Yes, he did in fact play, but that was because Angelina absolutely refused to put in Andrew or Jack as his substitute (they were utterly incompetent).

She had seen the swelling in his eye lessen, but completely ignored the fact his shoulders were totally incapable of properly swinging a bat! Fred looked like an absolute idiot, relying heavily on George to take the hits and make all the shots...

Well, there's no reason to relive it.

The restaurant took on the facade of a countryside inn. The roof was tiled with terracotta slabs with three thin gable dormers protruding in the front. The exterior walls were primarily the color of sand with the exception of growing vines and dead branches. The Mooncalf offered wrought iron table and chair sets for outdoor seating

It was a lovely place all in all. George had remarked to Fred about potentially starting up a small joke shop in Hogsmeade, but Fred rejected the idea— Diagon Alley was where success awaited them.

To the right was Alvar’s Bazaar, a dank and depressing vintage outlet for local vendors that sold bleached animal bones, haunted furniture and illegally smuggled foreign artifacts. Fred left with mysterious scratches on his back, and he had no interest in revisiting anytime soon.

To the left was Niffler’s Keep, a hippy thrift store that carried crystals, fake turquoise jewelry and vegan leather handbags. Fred had visited it once with his twin; it reeked of cheap incense and lemongrass. The Weasleys escaped as quickly as they could, before they could further investigate the merchandise.

The Mooncalf was fairly busy this Saturday evening. The spicy aroma flooding the restaurant was heavenly; the small team quickly filed into the entryway (a few slipped into the waiting area where two pairs of lovers were already seated).

There was little lighting in there; the ambiance heavily relied on the white candles sitting upon the mahogany tables and low hanging lanterns. There was a bar off to the right and maroon colored booths and circular wood tables that carried tiny flower vases, condiments and salt and pepper shakers in ceramic duck bottles.

Angelina confidentially approached the tall reception stand, and Fred’s heart almost stopped.

You were the hostess in a grey pinstriped black button up and long dark pants. He hadn’t noticed your nails were painted dark burgundy until now, as a tawny owl swooped in (there was an open window above the door).

The copper bird was clutching a pale rolled up piece of parchment; its scaly claw held out the paper to you, and you considerately took and unfurled it.

Wednesday 6pm

Barton M. - party of 4

You picked up a tortoise shell fountain pen and flipped through the thick calendar book. The sharp silver tip hovered over empty time slots until it landed on the requested date. Fred watched you jot it down, grab a green stamp and press it against the letter.

Reserved.

You rolled the letter back up and handed it to the tawny owl, who hooted and cooed before turning and flying out the restaurant.

You looked up at Angelina expectantly, setting the pen aside. You asked politely with matte eyes, “Do you have a reservation?”

The beautiful captain shook her head. “No,” she answered. “What’s the wait time?”

“About twenty minutes,” you retorted. “Is that acceptable?”

Angelina nodded with content. “We have ten people,” she said.

“I’ll add you to the queue.”

Feeling satisfied and after having secured the team a spot, Angelina gestured for the large group to take a seat on the cushioned benches or lonely ottomans in the waiting area.

Fred, on the contrary, felt unnervingly restive and irked by your unanticipated presence, as if someone had pinched the tubes of his aorta closed for a second.

What the hell is she doing here?

Fred, George, Harry and Ron crammed themselves into the window alcove shoulder to shoulder (Ginny snagged an ottoman— lucky).

The Mooncalf of all places?

The transparent pane had the large white lettering and iconic logo. The outline of the long necked and bug-eyed creature stared down at Fred’s messy hair.

“Man, I’m starving,” Ron quipped, legs crossed and arms crudely pushed into his lap (he was trying to become as small as possible).

Harry rolled his emerald eyes. “We’re all hungry.”

Fred was… fortunate enough to be packed next to Ron, who shimmied his pointy elbow to get his elder brother’s attention.

“She’s everywhere,” Ron whispered to Fred very conspicuously (there was absolutely no bloody way you didn’t hear it). “Haunting the narrative, huh?” he joked.

Fred frowned and kicked Ron’s vulnerable ankle. “Shh.”

A boy appeared, assumably another host judging by his similar attire; he was tan, a curly blond and had tapped you cautiously on your shoulder. Like an alert corvus, your head snapped towards the boy’s direction. Your eyebrows twitched, but your hands were still frozen on the calendar book.

Fred interpreted this reaction as your own special way of expressing surprise.

“Polly wants you to roll up silverware,” he told you.

“You’ll take my spot here?” You entreated sternly.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

You didn’t nod or say anything else, but perhaps that hard blink was your response. You slipped away from the reception lectern like a snake in weeds.

Fred glanced around and stood up. “Toilet,” he announced, when Angelina glowered at him, silently daring him to be stupid on her watch.

Conveniently, the bathrooms were in the direction you were headed, so he outrightly followed you— past the dining families, the first dates and giggling friends, past the enchanted jazz instruments playing themselves on a raised stage.

You ended up at an empty booth lodged in the back of the restaurant that was occupied by two giant plastic boxes. One was full of clean cutlery and the other of rolled up silverware; the black napkins were piled in a neat tall stack.

Fred slid into the seat opposite of you. “Since when did you work here?”

You took out your wand and gently waved the slender twig. The reflective utensils floated out of the scratched-up box, as the thick napkins levitated and wrapped themselves around trios of forks, knives and spoons.

“I started a few weeks ago,” you aloofly said. Your gaze remained in the air, wand rhythmically flicking to magic the cutlery into simple sets. “I work mostly weekends.”

Fred hummed, drumming the soft pads of his fingers on the smooth table. Yep, that makes sense, he thought. Not a lot of free time at Hogwarts.

Your wand, Fred realized, was nothing extraordinary; it was a smooth crooked stick of a bocote tree that had been carefully sanded and coated with varnish.

He chuckled, “Wouldn’t Alvar’s suit you a little more?”

You were unfazed by his opinionated humour. “Yes,” you agreed casually, listening to the clinks and soft thuds of the rolled of napkins. “But my parents encourage me to step outside my comfort zone. They think uncomfortable learning experiences are more constructive than complacent ones, so I applied here.”

Fred couldn’t argue with that logic; there were dozens of times his parents forced him to do something unfavorable (like apologizing for the spider-related trauma inflicted on Ron or cleaning out the unaired attic), but he wasn’t certain that they encouraged him to be a better person…

“Is the pay good?” Fred blurted. He wasn’t considering applying to The Mooncalf— although he could use a real source of income (the more funds for pranks, the better).

“It’s minimum wage, and we split the tips at the end of the night,” you explained briefly. Your wand halted and all the ornaments hung in the air frozen. You ran out of napkins. You swished your wrist and the remaining cutlery flew back into the plastic box and you stood up, slid out of the booth and grabbed the stash of rolled up utensils.

Fred sprang out from his seat too, eager to shadow and continue talking. “You weren’t at the Quidditch game tonight, right?” He followed you into a busier section, lingering behind as you began to set down silverware rolls on freshly cleaned tables.

You had set down the box on an empty chair and thoughtfully laid out four sets at a square table. You moved onto the next vacant placements. “Like I said,” you restated, as you positioned six rolls. “I’m only interested if it’s a battle to the death; I’m not keen on school sports.”

Fred’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s illegal nowadays,” he scoffed.

“You’d be surprised by who and how people still practice it,” you indulged. “Don’t you remember the Triwizard Tournament? Pitting a bunch of teenagers against each other whilst risking all their lives for socially perceived glory?”

A small smirk managed to form on your lips. The emotion was overwhelmingly uncanny to Fred. It may have been subtle, but any change to your impassive facade was like a boulder crashing into a lake: noticeable.

“I was in the first row for all the rounds,” you added with satisfaction. “It was the most exciting thing to happen at Hogwarts. I only wish I was old enough to enter.”

Fred beamed at the notion and accidentally punched your shoulder in excitement (he didn’t notice the error, but you were inconspicuously shocked by the physical contact).

“So did my brother and I!” Fred exclaimed happily. He sighed mournfully, “If the tournament had taken place a few months later, you would’ve seen me fighting off that Hungarian Horntail!”

Although you were evidently more focused on your job, you spared Fred just enough attention to entertain the conversation. He could see you constantly contemplating whether or not to shoo him away or not.

“I’m assuming you skipped out on the Yule Ball?” Fred shyly threw out. He tried to imagine it: you with ridiculously tall heels, glittery eyeshadow and glossy pink lips. The idea was quickly shot down when he realized he had envisioned an entirely different person.

You rolled your eyes; you thought it was a stupid thing to ask. “Obviously,” you sassed. You were now holding a box empty of silverware rolls. You sharply turned to finally face Fred properly. “I’ve been to more sophisticated galas. I didn’t want to waste my time at subpar dances.”

The blond boy from earlier crept past like a spider on its wispy web, taciturn and calculated. The people he was guiding, however, tromped around like an angry horde of elephants.

“Felt like we were waiting forever,” Ginny commented annoyedly.

“Hope the service is snappy,” Ron added.

“I could eat a horse,” Harry grumbled. He received a jab to his bicep.

“Medium rare?” Ron jested.

“Do you think they give out breadsticks?” George innocently asked.

“I’d eat a handful of salt right now,” Alicia sighed.

Fred’s attention snapped towards the gradually passing team; his eyes met Angelina’s first, who was at the front of the small crowd. Her dark almond shaped eyes narrowed.

Angelina roughly coughed, unamused to find him bothering The Mooncalf’s staff. “Fred,” she sternly warned. “What’re you doing?”

“Just chatting,” he replied quickly with a shrug. He watched you sheepishly. “I’ll, uh, see you later,” Fred concluded with a curt nod.

You ignored him and floated to the front of the restaurant.

Ginny and George shared a tentative glance, as he joined the rowdy Gryffindor herd. They were led to two rectangular tables that had been pushed together to accommodate the party size.

The blond host began to hand out the laminated pamphlets, and the team hurriedly sat down to flip open the menus.

“Your server will be with you soon,” was the last thing the boy said before leaving.

As always, Fred sat with George on his right, Ron on his left, Alicia at the end, and Ginny, Harry, Jack and Andrew opposite them. At the heads of the table were Angelina and Katie.

Ginny’s flittering eyes skimmed the menu and suddenly landed on a short list at the bottom. “Oh, they have savory crepes,” Ginny pointed out, nail tapping on the printed out names.

“That sounds so good, but the real question is: do they have vegetarian ones?” Katie mumbled absentmindedly.

“There’s sweet crepes?” Ginny offered. “Peanut butter, banana; strawberry, chocolate…”

“Who the hell likes French onion soup?” queried Ron, baffled at its inclusion.

“Dad sure loves it,” George answered, laying out a black napkin on his lap.

“I might get the steak frites,” Ron said, ignoring his brother.

Angelina called out, “Are we all just getting gillywater?”

Harry turned to the sound of her voice. “I want a butterbeer!”

Ron leaned forward and peered at the end of the table. “Me as well!’ Ron chirped.

“Same!” Fred bellowed.

“Who’s eighteen?” Andrew inquired boldly.

Angelina furrowed a brow. “I am. Why?”

He beseeched, “Can you order me a Dragon Scale?”

Angelina was aghast by the suggestion. Her eyes were ablaze and she scoffed. “Absolutely not!” The girl proclaimed.

“When you actually score a point, she’ll buy you a drink,” Fred teased loudly.

Sunday mornings were reserved for toasted scones, fluffy scrambled eggs, and last minute copying of homework answers. Fred drowned his pancakes in thick sugary syrup, as he loaned Lee his potions lab report to... base his original and unique analysis off of.

The boy, with one hand carrying a fork and the other a beat-up quill, was furiously writing down chemical reactions he had certainly not noticed during class. To imagine they'd continue brewing tomorrow!

"Thanks, man," Lee absentmindedly spluttered. He poked the prongs of his fork into a greasy sausage. Lee tried to bring the link to his mouth but missed and smeared the sausage onto his cheek.

Fred nudged Lee's writing arm, which accidentally made the 'd' in 'caused' to be printed a little crooked. "You got a little somethin' there," Fred teased, gesturing at his own face.

"Totally forgot we had this dumb assignment," Lee grumbled, flipping to the next page. His eyes briefly scanned the instructions, before he turned to the same paragraph in Fred's documents. "Why didn't he just give us the packet at the end? Ridiculous!"

George spread a thin slab of butter onto his golden brown toast. "We would've forgotten all the info by then," George shrugged. He brought the slice to his lips: crunch.

"I doubt he's gonna even look at this tomorrow," Lee huffed. His penmanship was getting sloppier and sloppier. G's became y's, r's sank into n's, and i's were short l's.

"Then why bother making it look like you did it?" Fred snorted, cutting his pancake into bite-sized chunks.

"Why bother getting into a fistfight for some random?" Lee refuted abrasively.

Fred rolled his eyes; Snape sentenced him to a three detention with Stupid Seymour that afternoon. "You're lucky I'm giving you my answers," Fred reminded him haughtily.

Lee slammed his quill down and pushed the papers aside. "I already gave my thanks," he recalled. He finally ate the sausage link and started cutting up his lukewarm omelette. "Super grateful."

"Uh huh..."

George finished his buttered toast and scooped up a handful of fresh blueberries. "Fred, I've got an idea," he drawled out, popping the small fruit into his mouth.

Fred raised a mischievous brow; that was the one sentence he loved hearing most. "Yes, brother?" Fred theatrically answered.

"People cry when they eat chocolate, don't they?"

Fred picked up his glass of orange juice, he swirled it around, pretending it was wine. "Perhaps they do," Fred said in a snooty accent. "But I've never partaken in such activities. What are you suggesting, old sport?" He took a long sip and made sure to slurp loudly.

"Well, old sport," George picked up his own drink (apple juice) and eddied it, "I'm suggesting we create chocolates that have an emotional kick to them, one that stirs the waterworks and funds profound sentimental and corny displays."

"And we could call them... Tear at First Bite." Fred shook his head at himself. "No, Heartstring Sweets," he corrected.

"Because they tug at your heart!" George nodded approvingly. "You're quite clever, brother."

"Hear hear!" Fred placed his cup down. "But how on earth do you suppose we make these spectacular chocolates, hm?"

"Umm..."

From the open awning windows came flocks of owls, swooping low over the tables and dropping brown packages, parcels of sweets or tied-up envelopes. The nocturnal birds hooted and twittered, as their wings propelled them back into the air after a swift delivery.

Students ripped open candy bars and tore out folded up letters. A muggleborn's parents were considering buying her a car for her 17th birthday, a boy's step uncle was recently engaged, and someone's grandma had taken ill.

"Someone's got themself a Howler!" Seamus cried out, enthusiastically pointing above their heads.

The Gryffindors (and a few members of other Houses) followed the direction of his pale hand to find a Great Grey owl carrying a vibrant red envelope. It swooped down from the rafters with little grace, teetering to the side slightly with its legs kicking out anxiously.

Fred squinted at the feathery blob. He dropped his fork and knife, "Oh shit."

Errol the ancient bird almost collided into Fred's head, but in the process had conveniently surrendered the Howler into the ginger's possession.

"I think we know what that's about," Ron sighed, inching away from Fred.

Fred's stomach rumbled with anxiety; he meticulously slid his thumb nail under the patterned wax seal, letting it lift just enough, so he could open it.

Fred gaped at the letter for a second and then peeled the front flap open; the red envelope shot out of his hands, fervently animated and unfolding itself into a hissing mouth. The pale parchment inside crinkled into sharp jagged teeth, a burgundy ribbon lashing out like a snake's tongue.

The papers ruffled slightly. "FREDERICK GIDEON WEASLEY!" it exclaimed in their mother's voice.

"Here it comes..." George's hands flew up to his ears, ready to shield them from the scornful lecture. He offered a pitiful smile to his twin, whilst also scooting away.

The Howler snarled wickedly, "I AM ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS!" Its paper forked tongue flicked at Fred's nose like a whip; he winced and covered his face. "YOUR FATHER AND I EXPLICITLY WARNED YOU TO BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR; THIS IS YOUR LAST YEAR AT HOGWARTS, AND YOU ARE OFF TO A BLOODY TERRIBLE START."

Hermione lent Ron her ear as he leaned in, shaken by haunting memories. "I remember when Mum sent me one," he whispered to the frizzy haired girl.

She scoffed at him, pushing his shoulder. "And you deserved that," Hermione said facetiously.

"I RECEIVED A LETTER FROM PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL ABOUT THE NEED FOR DISCIPLINARY ACTION FOLLOWING A FIGHT DURING CL--," the Howler suddenly drooped like a limp balloon, it bent down as if it was listening to something. Mum's voice became hush, "-- what, dear?"

Fred was boggled by the interruption; it must've been Dad! Coming to his rescue? But if good ol' Dad had saved Fred's hide, then the letter wouldn't have been sent in the first place... right?

"Let me see that!" The Howler made a shuffling noise. "I see," it murmured. Mum cleared her throat tentatively, and the red envelope straightened up.

A deeper (and more calm) voice spoke, "We've received a letter from the Addams."

The Gryffindor table almost choked.

"You're kidding!" Ron gasped.

"They've expressed their sincere gratitude and point of view," their father continued in a dignified tenor. "We understand you were merely trying to do the good thing--"

"But doing the RIGHT thing doesn't require getting involved in a FIST FIGHT!" Mum obstructed loudly. "You are almost an ADULT, Fred Weasley, and I expect you to outgrow this-- this-- this delinquency!"

Dad ungracefully coughed. "But we are, hm..." the man trailed off.

"Disappointed that this situation wasn't handled differently!" Mum finished.

"But we love you! Mum and Dad!"

Having delivered its message, the Howler began to shred itself into confetti, and a few pieces landed in Fred's syrup soaked pancakes.

Fred's hand slid onto his forehead in dumbfounded shock. "Oh my God," the boy emitted.

"He survives another day," George noted.

"A real miracle that was..." Harry chuckled.

A week following the Potions Incident™, Fred tried his very very best to be on his best behavior for the sake of his parents. This new effort included making it to class on time, actively listening to his professors, and taking notes-- which may sound like normal student behavior, but it wasn't normal for Fred Weasley.

He was a smart in his own right, but all this sitting around, staring at slideshows and reading boring textbooks... Ugh! Fred highly preferred hands-on activities: he had taken Enchanted Pottery I and II last year, and it was phenomenal.

Yes, he gifted his Great Aunt Muriel a flower vase that replenished its water. Yes, he gifted his mum a magically chilling butter dish that he made. Yes, he gifted his dad a beautiful ceramic plate that could keep its contents warm.

And that was why he got better Christmas gifts that year.

But the past few days, Fred Weasley has been extra nice to his peers. He helped find Luna Lovegood's shoes, he volunteered to go shopping with his sister, and he personally trained Andrew during practice.

Fred had depleted his secret stash of midnight snacks (mostly biscuits, granola bars, and crisps), and he was absolutely starving tonight. The hunger pushed him out of his bed, out of the Gryffindor Common Room, and towards the kitchens.

He deserved some mischief, right?

Well, he'd hardly call this mischief; this was a matter of survival. Fred Weasley was surely about to die if he didn't eat something soon.

It wasn't unusual for Fred to wander around the castle at night, but he was often accompanied by his other half. In Christmas pajama pants, a zip-up that was most certainly George's (his initial was on the inside tag) and a moth-eaten rock band shirt (the logo was incredibly faded, but a good eye can make out the name Wilmot and the Banshees), Fred ventured off towards the kitchens, guided by the abundance of moonlight.

With a school as big as Hogwarts, it was incredibly easy to avoid Filch's lackluster security measures. Most, if not all, the paintings he passed were sound asleep; the figures were passed out, leaning against props, hiccuping and snoring.

Fred's stomach rumbled like waves of thunder, as the delicate pitter patter of his slippers echoed against the cold stone walls.

The kitchens (for convenience and practicality) were in the same corridor as the Great Hall. Warm streams of light escaped through the gap beneath the heavy door, along with metallic clangs of pots and pans. The House Elves were still clocked in it seems. Fred could sniff the faint scent of bread; perhaps they were preparing for tomorrow's breakfast?

Fred's warm palm unhurriedly grasped the long iron doorhandle. He twisted and pushed it open marginally, just enough to peek inside-- on a small stepladder was an elf organizing the spice shelf, another was scrubbing dirty plates at a sink, one was tending to the brick oven, and others were sweeping or mopping the floor.

Coast was clear; Fred enlarged the door opening enough for his entire body to be revealed. His view of the kitchens were much clearer now; he saw giant drying racks, butter churning barrels, large jars of dried herbs, cabinets upon cabinets, the Addams girl, rows of low wooden tables--

Wait.

It's you.

In the kitchen.

In the dead of night.

"What-- what're you doing here?" Fred blurted. His voice, despite being so tender in nature, cut through the air like a playing dart. He caught your attention and a earned a few glances from the working elves.

You were sat criss-crossed on the floor at a table facing the entryway, arms folded over your chest assuredly. "Waiting for the oven to finish baking the cake," you bluntly reacted.

Fred stepped into the room and let the door shut behind him. He was bewildered at such a notion. "You eat cake?" he investigated, hesitantly approaching.

"Yes." You were puzzled by his confusion. "Why is that surprising?"

Fred sheepishly shrugged. "You don't seem like you'd have a sweet tooth." He abashedly sat down on the floor across from you.

"It's my grandmother's yew berry chocolate mousse recipe."

Fred furrowed his brows. "Aren't those poisonous?"

"Not entirely." You looked at the elf wearing a blue headscarf and matching tunic. "Cosa knows how to replicate it perfectly, so I occasionally request for her to make it."

The aforementioned elf was waiting by a brick oven. One of her hands was gloved with a thick mitten, which she used to open the iron door of the oven. Inside were three short trays of chocolate cake.

"It's almost done," Cosa stated, after closing the door. "Cosa will grab the yew berries and the mousse from the icebox," she informed. She snapped her fingers and disappeared with a pop.

Your shrewd eyes dragged themselves across Fred's hunched frame. "What're you doing here?" you echoed back at him.

"Looking for a midnight snack."

"You're welcome to try some of my grandmother's cake recipe," you politely offered.

Fred shook his head, "I couldn't."

You stared at him. "I insist."

"Maybe a little," Fred compromised, feeling somewhat unnerved by your persistence.

Pop!

Cosa magically returned carrying two bowls, one with the tiny red fruit mildly covered in frost and the other full of thick airy chocolate mousse. She set both of them on empty counter space. Cosa grabbed the three chocolate layers and set them out to cool on a metal rack.

"Cosa make more mess for Lenny to clean!" cried a particular House elf who was scrubbing burnt leftovers from iron pots. He pointed furiously at the cake pans.

"Lenny doesn't have to clean that!" Cosa snapped back snootily. "Cosa will take care of it!"

"Lenny is highly skeptical," he grumbled, holding up a pan. He squinted at the black residue sitting in the dish. "Cosa forgot to clean up after making French toast..."

Fred couldn't help but watch the two elves bicker. It was an unusual sight-- they had no eyebrows, but their wrinkly eyes narrowed, their lipless mouths pinched into frowns, and their large ears twitched with irritation.

"The Mooncalf is hiring, if you're interested," you said, ignoring the nearby argument.

"Huh?" Fred hummed involuntarily (he had very much heard you loud and clear).

His eyes slowly moved to your pallid yet serene face, fully expecting a reaction of exasperation or disapproval, but your nature stayed neutral.

"They're looking for more servers," you added, unfazed by his absentmindedness.

Fred frowned, "I might be too busy with Quidditch." Time management wasn't an advanced skill of his, but the temptation of income was decently strong. Having a job would make him seem more mature in the eyes of his family though... "I'll think about it," Fred concluded.

Topics of conversation ran out like water in a drought. You and Fred sat in silence, listening to the House elves work. The ginger grew antsy, uncomfortably writhing with restlessness; the awkwardness practically lit his heart ablaze! You, however, seemed unaffected, as Fred struggled to plunge into his head for topics.

A joke! Tell her a funny story or something! ANYTHING!

Fred licked his lips. "What's red and bad for your teeth?" He impulsively initiated.

You studied him for a few seconds before realizing he wanted some sort of signal to keep going. "What?" you indulged him.

"A brick."

You didn't laugh, and Fred choked on his spit. He only grew more anxious and, maybe for the first time in 7 years, embarrassed.

Embarassed. Fred Weasley doesn't get EMBARRASSED-- not in front of anyone with a pulse! Well, you were debatable...

"Tell me another one."

Fred paled. What's that supposed to mean? Was it so bad she's GIVING ME A SECOND CHANCE TO BE FUNNY? How HUMILIATING!

Fred gulped and tried to scrounge up something. Think, Fred, think! Ugh, I'm trying!

"Why was the frog late for work?"

"Why?"

"His car got toad."

"Funny."

NO, IT WASN'T! YOU'RE NOT EVEN BLOODY SMILING. THERE'S NOT A SEMBLANCE OF AMUSEMENT IN YOUR ENTIRE BODY!

Fred leaned the side of his head into his palm and allowed his fingers to mask his eyes. "Don't patronize me," he pathetically grumbled.

"I wasn't trying to."

The House elf had magically cooled down the cake to room temperature. "Bon appetit!" Cosa declared, passing out two forks and small plates to the students.

Oh, thank, Merlin, a distraction...

They each received a perfect slice of chocolate mousse cake, laying on its side, drenched in a thick yew berry infused ganache.

Fred's emotional turmoil had completely derailed his sense of hunger but seeing the dessert before him... his stomach moaned in anticipation, and he quickly cut off a corner piece and shoved it in his mouth.

Each layer was perfectly moist, the chocolate not too bitter, and the fruit not unbearably tart. The whiplash threw Fred's heart into a tornado-- he had braced the fiery storms of hell seconds ago, but now he was eating chocolate!

"'Let them eat cake!'" Fred quoted, trying to rejuvenate his ego and reputation.

"Marie Antoinette didn't actually say that."

His confidence plummeted like a wave crashing onto a beach.

Fred didn't want to-- Fred really really REALLY didn't want to attempt to read your tone, but he just could NOT for the life of him understand you! An enigma of a human specimen! An unopened Pandora's box!

"But I understand what you're saying," you added. "Do you like it?" you interrogated.

"Yes, it's amazing actually," Fred confessed truthfully.

"Grandmama first made this for my father's birthday dinner a few years ago. We had spent the evening playing games and singing."

"What kind of games...?"

"Pin the Snake on the Chimera, Murder in the Dark, Russian Roulette..."

Why did I even ask?

His cowardice reluctantly shooed itself away, and his light-colored eyes bore holes into your downturned head. You appeared frightfully normal when eating cake; Fred personally believed it was the result of two subjects canceling each other out.

One Very Interesting and Unique Individual

- The Activity of a Midnight Snack

= Average

Fred wanted to rip your hair out (not in anger, but the way a child ripped open a present), peel back the thin layers of skin (like an onion), dismantle your skull (similarly to a puzzle), and poke at your blobby brain. Fred had morally promised himself not to use the W-word, but it was all he could think of; you were explicitly and unapologetically weird.

People are always surprised to hear that Fred Weasley does his homework. It may not always be of the highest quality or worth much merit, but they’re usually done on time. His classmates stay vigilant when it comes to potential boobytraps and pranks, but they turn a blind eye to the hours spent studying and researching. 

If they spared a moment looking for his academic efforts, they’d realize he spends just as much time scheming as he does plotting. Schemes are more elaborate than most assume; there are mechanics that Fred and George must engineer and perfect before deploying their art into the world.

“Mate, I think we’re gonna have to retire the singing pasta idea,” George reluctantly conceded. His feet dangled above Lee and Fred’s heads, his back lying flat against the thickest branch of the crooked oak. 

Fred scoffed, hitting his twin’s leg, “No, come on, we’re onto something here!” In his lap was a sketchbook, one currently full stringy noodles with faces and giant mouths agape. There were a hundred arrows, a thousand captions and a million diagrams.

“Merlin, we already asked Flitwick, and none of those bloody charms have worked,” George reminded him. He swung the toe of his shoe at Fred’s head. He missed. 

Fred tutted, “No, you suck at casting them.” He sprang up from his crossed-legged position below the tree, cast aside his book, and looked up at his brother. “It could’ve worked if you just let me try on one bowl!” Fred claimed defensively. 

Lee crumpled up an old note and chucked it at Fred’s face. “Oh, shut up! You guys already wasted 5 plates of good spaghetti!” 

“You said they were overcooked!” said George, jumping down from the tree.

“I was hoping you’d leave it be, so I could EAT!” Lee revealed irritatedly.

"Was eating all the garlic bread not enough for you?" Fred complained.

Lee snapped back, "Can't a man just be hungry?" He rose to his feet and met George the Giant beside him, still inches taller.

"I think we should try charming the noodles before and right after they're finished boiling. The sauce is probably messing us up," Fred theorized, waving his hands passionately about. "If it works, then we need to find a way to make it dormant, so we could sell magical noodles that sing when you cook them!"

George and Lee's approval was a gradual thing to win over; they understood what Fred suggested but--

"How the hell do you suppose we make a singing spell dormant? On spaghetti?" George questioned.

"We add a spell to make boiled water trigger it," Fred fired back.

"But it'd be funnier if it appeared normal and then started singing at the dinner table," Lee argued.

Fred crossed his arms, tolerably peeved. "If you're gonna recommend something, at least have a solution to it. I can't come up with all of this by myself," Fred spat.

He watched for their reaction, but none came. George and Lee fully stopped listening; their attention honed in on some stupid bird or conversation behind him.

Fred frowned and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. "Hello?" he pressed vexedly.

With a calloused hand, Lee loosely gestured for Fred to spin around.

"Merlin's beard!" Fred gasped, stumbling with electrified shock. His ears prickled with warm blood at the sight of you, impervious to his consternation. "Sorry," Fred murmured, eyes scanning you up and down. "I wasn't expecting-- uh, you. Hello," Fred waveringly smiled.

"Hello," you greeted.

Fred licked his chapped lips and eyed the terracotta pot you were carrying. "And you have a plant?"

You held out the bush for him to better observe. "Yes, I do."

Its leaves were dark green, almost black, and toothed. Pinkish-white bulbs frequented its beige stems with a few fuchsia colored blossoms.

"This is Byron's Bleeding Heart. It's a rare shrub native only to Turkey," you informed.

Fred awkwardly glanced at George and Lee (they shrugged). "That's nice..." he affirmed uncertainly.

"A week ago, I overheard you discussing with your brother the need for an emotional stimulant for an upcoming prank."

"Oh... okay, um--"

"Let me finish," you deadpanned. Fred gulped and sucked in his cheek. "The petals of this flower don't quite achieve what you're looking for, but they get pretty close," you continued briefly. "When consumed, they trigger the amygdala to release hormones that cause overwhelming nostalgia and sadness."

Fred's knees weakened under his weight, and he felt extremely top heavy all of a sudden.

Merlin's beard! If Fred wasn't frozen in ineffable awe, he'd clutch the imaginary pearls around his neck-- he'd probably kiss your feet or ascend into heaven! Maybe even skip and dance!

Fred Weasley was aghast and getting disgustingly sweaty.

But you! An angel in black that left him speechless! Oh my God!

"Bloody hell," Lee sighed.

"Is he swooning?" George snorted quietly.

"You're amazing," Fred blabbed dumbly.

You extended your arms further out. "I know," you smiled with aplomb.

Fred's heart fluttered; she SMILED! His hands shook, as he reached and accepted the plant graciously. "But why?"

"It's a gift. Those don't need reasons," you replied coolly. Your fingers twitched at your sides, and you began to pick at your nail beds. "Water it once a day, and don't touch the leaves. They sting."

Fred held the clay pot in one arm and wiped his clammy palm onto his pants. He casually laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, shouldn't be too hard."

"Take good care of it."

"I will. Promise," Fred solemnly swore, pressing his right hand over his chest.

"Goodbye."

Goodbye.

Fred blinked; he hadn't returned the farewell.

"Uh, I-- goodbye!" he sputtered.

Fred watched you leave like black smoke dispersing in the wind. His eyes stared at the imprints you left in the dirt, actively replaying the last few minutes over and over (nails: dark aubergine) and over (shoes: muddy) and over (sleeves: rolled up) and over--

"What the actual fuck was that?" Lee inhaled. "Was that a marriage proposal?"

Shut up.

Byron's Bleeding Heart had spicy undertones to its uniquely floral scent.

"He's always been a ladies' man," George joked.

A large blossom began to unfurl and bloom.

"I think we just witnessed Fred fall in love."

The tiny furnace in the middle of the room was grumbling, chewing up wood, and simultaneously keeping everyone warm. It must've been a full moon, as Fred could make out the somber howls and yelps of a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest.

George snored and huffed in his sleep, Kenneth had restless feet, and Lee was basically dead.

Fred's quilt (his 14th birthday gift from Mum-- it matches with George) was pulled halfway up to his torso, and his hands were clasped together on his stomach, as he stared at the mystifying and allusive shapes the darkness made on his bed's canopy. He imagined figure skaters dancing, warped faces chatting and animals skittering across chaparral plains. And then he began to think about you.

Fred secretly hated and regretted something in every interaction he had with you.

"I'll, uh, see you later" at the restaurant-- no DUH, she works there, AND we have class together.

Plus those terribly lame jokes in the kitchen! Kill me!

He never knew he was such a bumbling idiot. Fred had never been like this; not even when he fancied Angelina! He couldn't pinpoint a prior time where he actually cared if he was perceived ridiculous or not; but the type of stupidity he's been portraying was beyond the Weasley Twin brand.

So why does he care?

Why?

Why?

WHY??

First of all, you’re not intimidating. He’s got nothing to be scared of. You didn’t seem like the type of person to be harboring some terrible secret, in fact, if Fred just found the right questions, you’d probably confess willingly. 

You're rather harmless despite your preference for violent sports and activities. You’re a lot smaller than he is, he could definitely take you in a fight (not that he’d want to beat you up), but there was a daunting characteristic about you. 

The way you carried yourself and spoke… you’re so… poised and proper, almost sophisticated. 

You acted as if nothing could affect you. Events barely rippled or stirred your brow; you were an immovable object.

"Is he swooning?"

Fred rolled his eyes at the sound of George's voice echoing in his head. I was NOT swooning! That was an involuntary moment of weakness!

"I think we just witnessed Fred fall in love."

Oh, BULLSHIT! He shifted onto his side, flipped over his pillow, and pressed his cheek against the cold surface. She caught me by surprise. I wanna see YOU keep your cool when a pretty girl gives you a gift!

Byron's Bleeding Heart sat on the windowsill above Fred's bedside table. A small plastic watering can sat besides it, and both were illuminated by the moon's silvery glow.

"Was that a marriage proposal?"

Um, NO. But if it was, I'd say yes.

Wait, what?

I need to sleep. I got an opening shift tomorrow.

part two (coming soon)

The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted, joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.

Clark, however, was feeling even more impatient than you. Every time he was close, he could smell you. He’d become accustomed to what you smelled like in different moods, and it seemed you really liked it any time he let his eyes linger on you. Or when he kissed you. Or held your hand, or hugged you, or… like, most of the time he was near you in general.

It was making him crazy.

He smiled at you across the table in another meeting at the Daily Planet, noting how you shifted a little bit after catching his eye. He felt his heart flutter every time he saw you react to him in any way. As much as he wanted to be inside of you, he wasn’t some pervert. He actually liked you. A lot. He just also felt hot under the collar any time he thought of you.

It was worse when you got a new perfume. Not that he didn’t like what you wore before, but now? The scent with the natural smell of your skin mixed together was intoxicating. It was also embarrassing. Nearly every time he could smell the trail of scent you’d leave behind you, he was fighting tooth and nail not to get hard; and often failed.

At the end of your third date, he’d kissed you a little harder than he normally would. It made you weak in the knees, and even more needy than you usually were with him. His big hands dipping a little lower on your waist than usual, and the most gentle brush of his tongue against yours. You wanted more, but true to Clark fashion, he just had to be so coy and sweet.

You almost groaned in frustration when he pulled away, his cheeks a little pink as he flashed you a smile.

“Goodnight,” Clark murmured softly. “I… I really like this. Being with you.”

Fuck. You knew it’d be a long night the second you were alone. You swallowed and nodded.

“Yeah. I do too.”

He grinned again, kissing your cheek. “Okay. See you at work?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

He watched you walk inside, letting his eyes trail down your body when he was sure you wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t handle it. Being around you all night, watching you laugh at all his stupid jokes, smelling that gorgeous smell that was all you and the sweet perfume you wore… he needed relief. Badly.

Clark found himself at home within seconds, stumbling into his room in a love-drunk stupor. He ripped at the buttons of his shirt, breathing shaky and excited. He pushed the shirt off, tugging off his undershirt as well. He shoved his pants down in one go, dropping down onto his bed with a hand wrapping around his leaky cock. He let himself picture you.

“Please,” he whispered to nobody but himself, hips starting to jut up to meet his hand.

He couldn’t help but think of how it’d feel if it was your hand touching him like this. How big he’d look beneath your fingers. If you’d use your mouth, your pretty lips struggling to fit him in comfortably. If you’d swallow around him as you tried not to gag, his cock touching the back of your throat. He stroked himself faster, throbbing and pulsing with the need to cum. He wondered if he’d be able to smell you soaking yourself as he came down your throat, and how long it would take for him to make you come on his tongue as a thanks. How you’d move against him, if you’d stay still and let him work or if you’d be so desperate that you wouldn’t be able to help but to grind against his face. He’d be overjoyed with either option.

He reached his other hand down, wrapping both firmly around himself, thrusting up into his fists, pretending it could be you. But he knew it wasn’t the same. He knew you’d be so soft and warm. Tight and cozy and wet around his length as he bounced you on his lap until you were cockdrunk and a little bit dumb. He liked the idea of being the only person who could make it so that you’d turn off your overactive brain for a little while.

He pushed himself into his hands, imagining every possible scenario, certain he could smell you even now. He breathed heavy, murmuring little pleas and whines of your name before he was tensing, hips still jerking as he spilled over his knuckles. It was a full minute of cumming to the thought of his pretty girl. His girlfriend? Maybe he should properly ask, he thought. He wanted you as his.

He glanced down, his own release drenching his hands and thighs. He took a deep breath. Time for a shower.

You saw him at work the next day, his face a little blushy every time he glanced at you. It was sweet, but a little… unusual?

He was generally shy and it wasn’t unheard of for him to get a little red-faced every now and then. But all day? Geez.

“Hey,” you said softly, walking up to him at his desk that afternoon. He looked up with wide eyes beneath his glasses. “I’m finished for the day. You want to go get dinner or something?”

“Oh! I, uh… after work is no good. But maybe later? Dessert? I can bring it to your place?” He offered, glossing over the fact that he was going to be busy with the Justice Gang. He hadn’t exactly let the Superman secret slip yet. “If that’s okay.”

“You want to come over?”

He blinked. “Oh… I, uh—”

“I’d like that,” you offer, smiling at his flustered expression. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Oh. Okay,” he breathed out, his smile bright. “Great. Maybe like… eight? Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Great.”

You smiled at him again, then left. You went home, body buzzing in anticipation. It’s not like you planned on attacking him or anything. Just… suggesting more. Also, you figured you should probably let him know that you’d one hundred percent seen him use his super-speed out of the corner of your eye a couple weeks ago. So much for that ‘secret’ of his.

You made yourself a light dinner, then took a long, hot shower. You dressed down, a thin tank top and soft pair of cotton shorts. Nothing overtly sexy, but not covering much. You figured that the hint of a nipple through fabric would probably do the job for someone as polite as Clark. It turned out to be true, judging by the way he tried to not let you notice he was staring at your chest the second you opened your front door for him.

“Hey,” you greeted with a grin.

“H-hiya. Hi.” He swallowed, trying to make sure he kept his eyes on your face. Nowhere else. But gosh, a tank top and shorts never looked so provocative before. He lifted up the small cheesecake in his hand. “Brought dessert. I remember you liked the strawberry cheesecake from the office Christmas party last year.”

You smiled softly. “That’s sweet. Thank you. Come on in.”

He ducked his head, clearly happy that he’d done good. He stepped inside of your apartment, looking around curiously. He toed off his shoes as you took the cake and brought it to the kitchen. He trailed after you, eyes darting between your home and your ass. He was feeling a little hot.

“You have a, uh… a nice place. I like it. Smells good in here.”

“Thanks. I try to keep it clean.”

He hummed once, leaning against the counter as you popped the lid off the cake.

“Not just that,” he said softly, watching your hands as you started cutting into it. “It just smells like— you. Your perfume I guess. Your skin.”

“You know what my skin smells like?” You laugh.

He flushed. “Oh. Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so creepy. You just… you just smell good. You smell like you. It’s nice.”

“It’s not creepy. It’s sweet.”

“Oh.”

“I like you, Clark. Quit worrying so much,” you mention, glancing at him as you lick a bit of the strawberry syrup off your thumb.

His eyes followed the movement, his tongue running over his lip once. “I like you too. A lot.”

You just grin softly. You plate up the cheesecake, handing him both slices.

“Go sit in the living room. I’m gonna grab some wine.”

He faltered for a second. “I don’t really drink much.”

“I know. It’s only one glass, I know you do that sometimes. I don’t intend on taking advantage of you, you know?”

“R-right. Okay.”

You watched as he walked away. God, he has a cute butt.

Two slices of cheesecake and three glasses of wine later, two for you and one for him, you were definitely getting a little cozier. He pretended not to notice how you leaned into his side; you pretended not to notice his hand on your knee.

“Cat totally thought you and Big Blue were hooking up, by the way.”

Clark blinked, looking away from the movie you’d put on. “Pardon?”

“Since you’re always up his ass. She asked me after me and you started dating if you were getting some super-dick on the side,” you mention with a short laugh.

“Super-d—? That’s inappropriate.”

“And hilarious.”

“Oh, please.”

You chuckle, smiling up at him. Despite his verbal protest, his cute little dimples were still poking into his cheeks. He just looked at you, his eyes wide and sparkling.

“I really do, ya know… like you.”

“You said that,” you reply softly.

“I know. I mean it.”

You just look at him, heart fluttering and body thrumming as he leaned in, his lips on yours. It started off soft. Just a few soft, lingering kisses. You snuck a hand into his dark hair, not tugging but definitely gripping. Judging by the shaky breath that left him, you assumed he liked that. Your assumption was proven correct as he deepened the kiss, one strong arm snaking around your waist to pull you into his chest. You took that as your cue, swinging a leg over his hips, settling on his lap and right over the bulge in his pants.

He gasped your name against your lips. “Geez.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, hands running over your hips and waist. “Yeah.”

Clark felt like he could explode, metaphorically and physically, when you started kissing him again. You were aroused. He knew it well. It invaded his senses and made him dizzy, pulling your hips over his before he could think twice about it. He groaned in the back of his throat when he felt the friction against the extremely obvious erection straining to get out. He nearly passed out when you made an equally needy sound.

“I like you,” he breathed out, voice wrecked already.

“I know, Clark.”

“A lot.”

You smiled, rolling your hips again with his instruction. “I know. I can feel how much you like me, you know?”

He whimpered. Full-on, whiny little whimper. He was smart, he knew he was. And strong. He could pull a building off its foundation. But now? With you on top of him, rubbing yourself on him like this? He felt weak and brainless. Every single blood cell that should be in his brain went straight to his cock. The only reason he didn’t feel embarrassed is the fact that he knew you felt the same way, your pretty face glossed over with want. He mumbled your name once, looking up at you with big, wet eyes.

“You done playing gentleman?” you asked teasingly, brow raised.

He pouted. “I am a gentleman.”

“I know, baby. But I am a woman who wants my boyfriend to touch me for once.”

He groaned. Boyfriend. Yay! “Golly.”

You laughed, for a moment. But it was cut awfully short when his hands snaked under your top, cupping your bare breasts. You let out a soft noise, letting him grope you as he kissed down your neck.

“Clark.”

“Mm…”

Clark was in heaven. Clothing strewn all over the floor and furniture, leaving a breadcrumb trail all the way to your bed. He laid between your legs in only his underwear, staring at you bare and spread out for him as he kissed up your legs.

“Y’so pretty,” he mumbled against your thigh, looking up at you with stars in his eyes through his frames. “Smell so good.”

“Clark, please.”

He smiled, licking his lip as he dragged a finger through your folds, watching the slick gather on his fingertip. He spread you open with two fingers, taking in a deep breath. He leaned in, kissing just over your clit, tongue flicking out to taste you.

“Taste even better.”

“Fuck,” you whined, watching him with hooded eyes.

“Mhm. Thank you,” he muttered, diving in again.

Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping tight as his mouth moved over you. He smiled against you, giddy to finally be tasting you. He’d thought about it so many times, if you’d taste as sweet as you smelled. His hips ground against the bed on their own volition, wanting to find any kind of relief from how he was throbbing in response to finally being able to touch you. He’d been so good, so patient, so slow… and it was finally paying off in a big way. He moaned into your pussy, tongue delving into you, practically fucking you on his mouth. His hands wrapped around your legs, keeping you wide open for him.

Your hips moved against him as much as they could, trying hard to get that extra friction. He ate you out like he was starving for it. You wondered if he’d thought about it as long as you did.

He looked utterly ruined, his cheeks flushed and hair a mess. His glasses were fogged. You reached for them, trying to pull them off, but he quickly grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he shook his head, lips brushing against you.

“Why? Wanna see you.”

“I— I need them.”

“You said you were nearsighted.”

He looked up, trying to see you through the fogged lenses. “W-well, yeah, I just…”

“Please?”

“I really can’t.”

You huffed, horny and needy and wanting to see him.

“Clark.”

“Baby, please. You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand about glasses?”

“They…” He paused. How could he say it without saying it? He needed them because he was secretly a space alien who wore his underwear on the outside to fight crime and rescue puppies? Not exactly a sentence that rolls off the tongue. “It’s… they’re a part of me.”

“They’re not surgically attached.”

“No, but they’re, uh…” he glanced down, your pussy still wet and needy in front of his face. He had half a mind to tell you he was Superman just so he could get back to business.

“Quit it.” You pulled the glasses off before he could notice.

He jolted, shocked and nervous and feeling suddenly like he was in deep. Shoot. He stuttered out your name, his heart pounding out of his chest. You’d seen him. His cover was blown. You’d probably freak out and not want to see him again and not let him make you cum and he’d go home with blue balls and a broken heart.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you, I know. I just didn’t know how to say it, and we hadn’t talked about if we were like actually a thing until you called me your boyfriend today, and… and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Clark.”

“W-what?”

“I knew you were Superman. Now in the nicest way I can say it, shut the fuck up and get your face back down there before I finish myself off instead.”

He blinked in shock, almost ready to protest before you pushed his head back between your legs. He couldn’t argue with that. He moved faster, wanting even more badly to make you feel good. You knew. You knew who he was and it didn’t matter. He could cum right then and there if he wanted to.

You gasped, back arching high as he gained a new fervor he hadn’t had before. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t feel like he had to hold back all the way now. Whatever it was, you didn’t really care. What you cared about was the way he humped the bed and whined against your skin as you came on his tongue.

You were in a haze, the orgasm knocking your feet out from under you. Clark watched you as you came down, chest heaving. Pretty tits and a pretty face and the cutest pussy, his pretty girl. He sighed dreamily, eyes flitting all over you as he pushed his underwear down his thighs.

You blinked your eyes open, mouth watering at the sight of a fully naked Clark Kent and his monster cock. Cat totally owed you twenty dollars, you knew he’d be massive.

“C’mere,” you mumbled, reaching for his hips, trying to draw yourself up to him.

“What?”

“Want it in my mouth. Please.”

“Baby…”

You leaned closer, hand wrapped around him. “Just for a little. Just let me.”

He let out a soft, shaking breath as you touched him. He memorized the way his cock looked in your hand. He knew he was big, but he looked almost scary in your grip. It was insanely hot. His mouth watered as you licked your lips, trying to prepare yourself to take him. He gasped, hand touching your hair softly as you leaned up to brush his tip against your lips. He shifted a little closer on his knees, trying to make it so that you were a little more comfortable.

“So sweet,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. “Sweet girl.”

You smiled up at him, no more of those adorably dorky glasses covering his gorgeous eyes. His lips stayed parted, clearly paying attention to every tiny move you made as you played with him. You let your tongue loll out of your mouth, dragging it against the blunt head of his dick. He moaned outright, hand resting in your hair now, hips jerking as you took him into your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered as you took more of him in, your mouth opening wider to try and accommodate his size. He felt hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. You bobbed your head slowly, taking as much of him as you could. He whined and moaned and made sounds you never expected to hear from him. If only the world knew that Superman was so desperate when he got his cock played with.

He suddenly pulled you off, chest heaving.

“Wait. W-wait. Sorry, honey, I just… I don’t want to cum in your mouth the first time.”

“Hm?”

“Wanna be in you.”

You swallowed, eyes still trained on his length as it jumped in excitement. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Do you have, uh… I didn’t bring any…”

“You want to wear a condom?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “You should always practice safe sex.”

“That the slogan on one of your educational billboards?”

He frowned. You laughed.

“Just want to be responsible.”

You nodded. “Okay. But, for the record, I’m on a contraceptive.”

You almost laughed at the way he clearly struggled with that though. He knew wearing a condom was still the safe option. He also knew that he wanted nothing more than to finish inside of you.

You giggled as he made his decision, pushing you back on the bed and kissing you deeply. He pushed your thighs to your chest and settled on his knees, brushing his thick tip against your pussy, still puffy and needy from the way he’d made you cum with his mouth. He let out a slow breath, rubbing your clit with it a few times before he pressed at your entrance.

“I know it’s… it’s big. Just tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nodded, watching as his face tightened in pleasure and anticipation. You forced yourself to relax, letting him press into you slowly. You moaned pathetically as he pushed harder, the first few inches hurting as much as they changed your life.

“Y’okay, baby?” He grunted out, slowly starting to rock his hips in that shallow depth.

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

“Good. You’re taking it so good, baby. Look at you.”

You whined, not expecting the praise. You fluttered around his length involuntarily, drawing another sound from him. He pushed in further and further with each slow, careful thrust.

“That’s my girl. So good for me. So pretty.”

He dropped down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his hips with strong hands, pulling you up onto his lap. You gasped, the new angle letting him fill you to the brim. He thrust into you quicker now, arms pushing you off and on as he moved his hips.

“Pretty baby. Perfect for me, fitting all of me in you. Y’feel this?” He grabbed your hand, pressing it to your lower belly to feel the bump of him hitting you deep with every rock of his hips. “Take me so well. Gorgeous girl. You’re doing such a good job.”

“Baby… baby, please. Clark.”

He smiled. Cocky son of a bitch. “I know, honey. You like it, huh?”

You nodded quickly, brain and body turned to jelly as he rammed into you like you were his personal fuck toy. He breathed heavy, a million little sounds leaving him between all of his praises. His face was buried in your neck, moving faster now. You held onto him as tightly as you could, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand tangled in his hair.

He groaned, trying hard not to cum with every move of your body against his. He’d never felt such a perfect fit, it was like you were two puzzle pieces finally clicking. He shuddered against your skin, kissing down your neck and chest until he found one warm, stiff nipple to pull into his mouth. He sucked, alternating between a steady suction and his tongue swirling and flicking over it.

“M’gonna cum,” you gasped out, feeling deliciously overwhelmed.

“Good. Attagirl. You can finish, baby. You can cum,” his voice rumbled against your skin, switching to the other nipple. “Cum for me. You can do it.”

You whined and whimpered, letting him pump into you a few more times before you cried out his name, legs shaking hard. He moaned in time with you, trying like hell to keep moving in order to let you ride it out.

If he thought you smelled good before, the scent of you like this could rouse him from a coma. He could only move for a few more seconds before he was buried himself deep, grinding more than thrusting as he gasped your name, mouth still open against your tit. You felt him fill you, cock twitching and throbbing inside of you.

“Shoot,” he whispered, kissing up your chest until he settled his face against your neck. “Baby. Thank you. Thank you.”

“God damn.”

“Never felt anything like you.”

You smiled drowsily. “Says you.”

He laughed, rubbing your back slowly, fingers tracing the skin. “I’ve been thinking about that a long time.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I get half hard any time I smell you.”

“What’s up with you and smells?” you asked softly, leaning back to look at him with sleepy eyes.

“Super senses.”

“Ah.”

“Super smell. I pick up a lot of stuff, and you… you smell extra good when you’re— when you’re wet?”

“That is so gross.”

“Can’t help it. You’re delicious,” he said with his lips against your neck again, voice rumbling in his chest. “Can’t believe you knew this whole time.”

“Not hard to guess, Clark. At least not when I both date you and work with you.”

“Mm… shoulda told me you knew.” He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then cheek, and finally lips. He smiled against your lips. “Dropping that and then pushing me between your legs wasn’t fair.”

You smiled back. “Yeah, well. Also wasn’t fair to hide it. We’re both at fault.”

“Maybe.”

You kissed him again, just once. “So… Superman. Super cock. Super eater. You got super stamina, too?”

Clark had been your roommate for two years now, had no complaints whatsoever, you take it in turns to cook dinner , pay for takeaways , occasionally watch movies together! It was incredibly domestic especially considering you were just roommates. But he was an incredible wholesome man. You easily found out he was superman , you weren't stupid and he wasn't exactly smart at hiding it.  It confirmed it when he accidentally put his superman cape in the washing basket. He begged and begged you to keep it quiet and of course you promised! But all around? Clark was the perfect roommate.

The last couple of days however were a little bit strange .. underwear had been going missing. Socks were understandable , they always meant missing no matter how many you had. But underwear?? Pretty thongs? Lacy sets? Strange. Maybe you were going crazy! But you really. Really weren't.

Clark had taken another pair of your underwear. He couldn't help it , he doesn't know what's wrong with him! You were just so so beautiful, he thought he would never have a chance with you. So when a one time thing turned into more than once? He's never felt more disgusted. He took the pretty red thong from the washing and inhaled it deeply , his kryptonian senses making the scent of your lingering musk stronger. A small whimper slips from his mouth, his dick instantly hardening and he goes to his room , the door doesn't close properly.

He's quick to lay down and undo his pants shoving them down along with his boxers, another sniff of the red thong and he whimpers again, he watches his semi hard dick grow quicker. He was so sick and twisted. But he just couldn't help it. One last sniff. His eyes rolling back before he wraps his hand around his dick fucking his hand slowly.

"Such a pretty pair.. gosh.. oh gosh you look real pretty baby!" He whimpers imagining himself talking to you. He pumps his hand a little faster , precum oozing.

You completely unaware decided to ask Clark if he had seen your underwear, you saw his door was ajar and pop your head in.

"Hey Clark have you seen m-" you cut yourself off at the Scene in front of you. Clark. With your underwear. Smelling it and fucking his hand like his life depends on it. And by the looks of it. It did.

"What the fuck!" You spat out before you could even stop it and he let out. He shrieked grabbing a pillow to cover his dick still clutching the underwear like a lifeline.

"I..I.. you! You! Should've knocked !" He was red in the face , glasses slanted and he's ashamed. "I know.. that's my bad... Clark have you been taking my underwear?" You cross your arms and feels like he's being scolded. Tears forming in his eyes. He's upset his favourite person.

"I'm so sorry!! You're just really pretty and and I know I should've handled it differently.. like a gentleman instead of being disgusting... sometimes my genes make me really horny and things smell good and and I'm sorry! Ma will be so disappointed I'll move out and-!" He stammered out and there was something about it all that was so hot. You walked over sitting next to him on the bed and kiss his cheek. He actually whimpers looking at you.

"It's okay.. I forgive you.. I mean it's a little strange but I'm not gonna judge you... you could've just told me really.. I mean I find you handsome. We do a lot together...! You don't have to be shy about it clarky." You coo and kiss his cheek again. He somehow gets even more hard over it.

"You... you think I'm h..handsome? Oh! Oh that's good I'm glad ! I'm !! Yeah!" He stumbles over his words. You tilt your head at him even more to tease him.

"Do you want me to kiss you Clark?" He goes a darker shade of red.

"PLEASE! Please! I ... uh..yes please I'd like that" You laugh at how cute he was in this state almost taunting him.

You pull his head down slightly and he obeys as you kiss him deeply pressing your lips against his. He whimpered kissing back eagerly, for a moment you deepen it dragging your tongue across his lower lip and he shuddered wanting more until you pull away.

"Do you want some help with that baby?" You coo pointing to his pillow where he hid his hard dick. He nods again. "Y..yes please I'd... I'm sorry again" You take off the pillow seeing his hard dick up close. It's easily more than nine inches , thick, veiny. The tip angry.

"Take off your shirt clarky!! Wanna see you all! Least you could do for me after that little act hmm?" You taunt him again. He's rapid to make it up to you buttoning his shirt showing you his big meaty muscly arms. His pecks on show and he's even more red in the face.

"D... do you still think I'm handsome ?" He begs desperately for an answer. He wants you to like him so bad. "Oh you look so handsome baby! So nice! Can I touch you? Is that what you want?" You tilt your head and he's nodding all over again.

"Please it hurts..."

You make a patronising aweee sound and wrap your hand around his dick and he's already squealing from being so sensitive.

"oh...OH WOW!" You giggle watching him and move your hand up and down on his dick , his tip is oozing desperately and the sight is making you wet. He can smell it and it's only making him worse. You let go for a moment and his dick twitches needily. You pick up the red thong from before covering his tip and move your hand again making sure every time you pump his dick the fabric grazes his tip. As you watch him his blue eyes water and he wails bucking his hips up.

"NGHHH!! THAT! That feels so n..nice! You're so good!" He bites his lip trying his hardest to keep his hands to himself.

"Yeah? You like being nasty Clark? A dirty nasty perve ? I wonder what your friends would think hmm?" You coo and he sobs as you jerk him off faster the fabric taunting his tip.

"No! Please I'm sorry! I... hmm I'm nasty! Can't help it!" He whimpers. You pick up the pace, moving your thumb to push the fabric along his tip and he lets out a gut wrenching sob. This time you lean over and kiss him , deeper than before while moving your hand, he pushes his tongue into your mouth like he's trying to devour you completely, a moan from you and he's a needy mess not knowing where to put his hands. It's a sloppy messy makeout. Saliva everywhere and he's tugging at your lower lip with his teeth to keep you close.

Again his hand lingers so you grab it and push it up your shirt guiding him to your breast to grasp them. You weren't wearing a bra today and it was paying off. His hands play with your hard nipple making you moan into his mouth. You were beyond soaked. When you shift your legs slightly and the smell of your wetness goes straight to Clark's nose. A loud groan from him and he's spluttering cum all over your pretty red underwear, his dick twitching painfully.

"OH MY FUCK-GGGOSH!" He gasps for air pulling away. His lips swollen and tear marks on his face.

"Awe.. you did good! My little perve made a mess of my underwear!" You squish his cheeks and he looks at you differently.

"C... can... can I have more ...please?" He asked so politely and so shyly and you grin nodding.

"So greedy! So needy!of course you can baby!" You slowly strip off in front of him. Your breasts finally coming into view and you can see his dick throbbing again. You slowly slip off your sopping wet panties and straddle his lap.

"J..just b..be careful honey don't want you to hurt yourself because of me." He looked so worried hands still hung awkwardly. He had dreamed about this for so long. Now it was actually happening he didn't know what to do with himself or you.

You hover over his dick slowly sinking onto the tip gasping at the stretch from that alone.

"P..NGH please be careful sweet girl!" He stutters and you whine slowly sinking onto him , jaw o dropped the entire time. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he whimpers. "Such a pretty pussy... oh it feels perfect!" He hesitates , his hands hovering near your waist and you tut grabbing his hands and placing them on your waist slowly moving up and down on his dick your pussy aching for more.

"Everything you dreamed it would be huh? You like it? Good enough for you?" You coo at him and his jaw drops this time a pained whine slipping.

"She's a dream come true... gosh so perfect ... so tight honey" he wails letting you bounce on his dick and keeping his blue eyes on you.

You guide his hands up to your breast and he gasps like he's being given the greatest privilege ever.

"You're so big Clark... you like hearing that? You like hearing what your dick does to your roommate huh?" You moan and he nods eagerly. Desperately trying to please you in any way he can. You move more rocking your hips feeling him deep in your stomach.

"You look like heaven to me... oh my...I need more!" He throws his head back and looks back at you. You grin reaching over to grab your soaked thong and cover his nose with it. The scent filled his lungs and suddenly his hands slip to your ass grasping your cheeks firmly and fucking his hips up now bullying his dick into your pussy frantically. He's whimpering the entire time muttering little words of apologies inhaling the scent as much as he can. He's like an animal gone wild.

"Oh Fuck! Clark thats it! Show me how much you wanted it." You moan louder planting your other hand on his shoulder only pushing the thong further into his face. "Fuck! Oh! NGH! I'm really sorry! I'm sorry I .. oh my gosh I don't wanna stop!" He's rutting his hips into you like a maniac and you wail dropping the thong slamming your lips into his. Teeth clashing and his glasses beyond crooked, your tongue was practically shoved down his throat.

He could hear EVERYTHING. Your heart. Your pussy squelching and sloshing around his dick as he ruts all the way to the hilt. He wanted every single inch of you and he didn’t care how selfish it was. Not when he had you. “She sounds perfect honey … mhmmfff! She’s made for me. Need.. need her all the time!” He babbled about your pussy endlessly tears rolling down his face. HE WAS GONE.

“Oh you’re actin like she’s yours to keep baby… you’re doing so fucking good! What happened to shy Clark?” Your eyes rolled back further burying your head in the crook of his neck. He moves his arms around your waist almost hugging you closer as he slams his hips in a punishing pace. Molding your pussy to keep it himself.

“Oh… please.. if she’ll Fuck… have me! If you’ll have me .. I’ll take care of you… oh I’m making such a mess of you I’m sorry I’m so nasty …” He tightened his arms around you. You wailed rocking your hips against his thrusts feeling so full.

“Fuck… she’s all yours. All yours to perve over. Do whatever you want to it.” You moan loudly in his ear and he whimpered his thrusts picking up like a jackhammer. The plap plap noises of his balls smacking against your ass filled the room vulgarly. Your pussy tightened around him brutally and you clamp your teeth into his shoulder reaching your orgasm. Eyes rolling back and a muffled whimper as you soak his dick. There’s so much that its leaking out of you and down your legs. He’s whimpering hugging you close as his dick erupts. Filling you with his seed and continuing the thrusts trying to keep it in you.

“GOSH!! I’m sorry… baby there’s gonna be so much.. gonna make you all messy….. make a mess of my girl” he wails as more cum stuffs your pussy. It’s leaking all down him every time he thrusts into you , your pussy feels full and warm and he hadn’t stopped whimpering while rubbing your back.

“Did… did so good Clark.. feels good!” You kiss his cheek gasping for air as his cum keeps spilling. His thrusts come to a halt and he reaches one hand to tilt your face up and kiss you softly.

“Did I hurt you?… are you okay?” He’s cooing at you this time and you shake your head.

“I’m fine! I’m.. wow! Who knew you were such a perve and so good in bed.., you okay?” you grin and he chuckles wiping his tears away.

“I’m fine… please don’t tell anyone I’m a perve by the way .. I.. I don’t .. I’m not-“ he stammers again but you shush him.

“You’re safe with me Clark , I’m not gonna tell anyone. If I can keep you being superman I’m pretty sure I can keep catching you being a designated panty sniffy a secret!” You tease and he rolls his eyes carefully laying you down and pulling out. It’s gushing out endlessly and he runs to grab a towel trying to be so careful with your pussy. Especially after he’s finally been able to fuck it.

“Okay.. I actually made a really big mess I’m sorry, I’ll take you to the pharmacy tomorrow!” He’s red in the face passing you a shirt of his and goes to your room to grab you some underwear. Of course you pull it all on and look at him as he’s pulling on boxers.

“Of course you knew where my underwear is. You Pervy little shit!” You scoff at him and he shakes his head not wanting to be scolded again.

“In my defence It’s a normal place for a women to put underwear!” You laugh gently at him opening your arms and he immediately crawls onto the bed delicately resting his head on your chest not wanting to crush you.

“How many women’s drawers have you been in Kent?” You snort kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back. He’s guilty for how much he loves to be babied by you. He leans down and pecks your lips so softly and looks at you.

“Just yours!” A grin grows across his face like he’s really proud of himself.

“That’s the most romantic creepy thing anyone has ever said to me! Awee! Chivalry isn’t dead!” You tease him and he gives your lips another peck.

“I’m gonna set the bar high for you I promise. And I’ll try not to steal your underwear anymore.”

But that was a lie and you both knew it.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES !!! HEGSYSGS

Okay uhm. I was supposed to be working on a Scott fic and this came to me instead ! So enjoy:)) thank you for reading !!

You liked the arrangement. It was nice to have company when you used to feel lonely most of the time. You didn’t even have to speak sometimes, but having him within reach— hand rubbing your legs as you watched TV, sitting with you as you smoked, laying a head on his chest as you each read books from the library, being able to just reach over for a kiss and nothing more— was enough.

Initially, you assumed living with a boy would be messy, like it had been with your brother back home, but Andrew was so clean, it freaked you out a little. Sometimes, you’d leave Andrew in the apartment while you went to class or a club meeting, and he’d clean everything. He’d wash the dishes, including your roommates’, and deep clean the kitchen. He would even do the laundry, having it all folded for you when you returned. You learned to accept it, loved it even, as it gave you time to just be with Andrew when you came home after a long day.

You were so patient. You took the time trying to get to know him without forcing it out of him. You’d sit in silence, just holding his hand in yours, letting him speak when he wanted to. Sometimes he’d get so lost in his thoughts, you’d ask how he was feeling, and when he said I don’t know, you didn’t push for an answer. 

You found learning came easiest when you just observed him. The clench of his fists when anything remotely dangerous or frightening came by— skateboards going too fast, service carts zipping by you on campus, other guys trying to talk to you. His attention to detail, small pieces of information that he regurgitated about the world around him. His need to keep tidy. The way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was thinking, which you assumed weren’t good thoughts. How he’d never stop thinking unless you pulled him out of it. 

He learned your quirks too, how you left half-drunk glasses of water in your room, the 20 minute showers you took when you had to wash your hair, how you blasted music while getting ready or doing homework. More importantly, how you tended to be self-sufficient, rarely asking anything of other people and tending to issues yourself. How you shared and vented about your problems, but slipped jokes and swears like it was no big deal. The way you could soothe him with just a touch and a soft smile because anything happened to be enough for you.

Andrew didn’t realize how much being with you would change things for him. Without his family, he didn’t have to keep his guard up, search for double-meaning in each comment, or flinch at every sudden touch. He learned to ease into you, letting you run your hands through his hair and kiss his face whenever you pleased. 

An ache grew in his chest every time you came home to him and smiled softly. No favours, no requests, no question. Steady arms and a kiss on your cheek, you seemed so happy at only that. It took a moment to feel adequate, just being there for you and being around. You never tried to use him for anything, make him prove his worth to you.

With him, it was all about moderation, learning, adjustment. 

In bed with him especially, you took it slow, letting him tell you when. If little flinches at the simple movement of your hands were any clue to you, you knew he wasn’t accustomed to sex the way you were. Patience, soft control— you needed to (got to) practice these like a mantra when it came to Andrew. He wasn’t much of a talker, which you expected, but his eyes and his body said everything his mouth couldn’t. 

Andrew was needy but quiet about it, thinking he didn’t want to push you either. You trusted him, and he knew that, but he was willing to wait for explicit permission before doing anything with you. It felt right that way, he didn’t want to leverage you into a situation that you didn’t want. Lord knows he’s been there.

His restraint burned you. In every press of your body on his, in every time his fingers brushed below your hips, he tensed up. He’d whisper a sorry every time he pushed further than you had before. 

Before your letters, his libido was at an all time low, mind too blank or too busy that his body was neglected. During your letters, he found his blood rushing in ways he hadn’t felt since he hit puberty. It wasn’t embarrassing when he could deal with it alone. However, the first time around was most embarrassing when he felt like he couldn’t control himself.

“Relax, Andy.” You said, running your hands over his body. 

He was laying beneath your hips, tense and hands anchoring your waist like you just might disappear. After a chaste kiss before bed turned into deeper ones, you found yourself on top of Andrew, rutting into him softly to chase some relief. Only at this moment did you realize you hadn’t actually done anything with Andrew. 

He’d been staying with you for the greater half of a week now, and you were surprised you or him exhibited restraint past the first two days. When you weren’t in class, you practically spent every waking moment together. All of it had been gentle kisses, a warm embrace, the push of your body on his, a good night, then heat between you that was never snuffed out.

Mouth shut, he gazed up at you on his hips, doing as you said. In your large sleeping shirt, you never really wore any shorts to bed— figuring it was okay now too since it was just Andrew. His shoulders dropped as he eased the muscles in his forearms. Lips curling, he admired the feeling of you beneath his fingertips, the way you adored his body on yours, the sigh that came from your mouth with every shift.

With half-lidded eyes, you followed your hands over his torso as you fingers mapped creases and valleys and soft spots. Where his shirt had gone, you weren’t sure, but you were positive it was your own doing. Lightly toned, his chest had been calling you ever since you got to feel it through his shirt. It definitely didn’t help that his torso was the size of a tree trunk under you. Just as you’d expect, his freckles continued onto his torso, much lighter than the rest of his body. 

You kissed down his shoulders and over his chest as your hands rubbed over him. Hips continued moving in stutters as you adorned him in kisses. His breath had come out roughly while he adjusted to the feeling of your lips all over him. When you moved back up to look at him, his eyes were twinkling and his forehead had relaxed. 

“How do you feel, Andy?” 

“Good… good.” He nodded, reaching his hands up to your sides. Biting down on his lip, he tilted his head up at you, as if to ask permission. 

With his eyes so soft, you couldn’t deny granting his wishes. You leaned down as his hands reached to your lower back, holding onto you firmly. A warm spot had been forming itself in your panties since Andrew had put his hands on you, even though he hadn’t done much past squeezing at your waist. You planted your lips over his, letting his tongue melt into yours as you continued dragging yourself over the yearning in his sweatpants.

As you peppered his lips in kisses, he bucked involuntarily under you. His face burnt up almost immediately as his breath caught in between your mouths. Attempting discipline, he forced his hips back down and bit your bottom lip in the process. You groaned, reaching your hand to the base of his skull to find the short plane of his hair in your fingers.

Freezing under you, Andrew’s lips stalled, as did his brain. You pulled away to catch his avoidant gaze. Tapping your fingers on his jaw, you urged him to look at you again. Eyes watering, he caught your concern in his sight.

“What’s going on, honey?” You asked, resting your forearm beside his head as you peered down at him. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled. He didn’t know what for in particular, but so many things. Shame coated the back of his mind as his hands went limp on you.

“It’s okay to want, Andrew.” You said quietly, surfacing your fingers over his temple. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to find himself again. Nails carding through his hair, you attempted to get him back to Earth as his eyes searched yours for sincerity. Softly, you admitted, “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

With that, he firmly pulled you back into him, wasting no time to press his lips onto yours. You hummed in satisfaction, finding his hands on your waist and guiding them to slip under your shirt. For once, he allowed himself to get lost in you. 

His hands explored your body, rough palms against soft flesh. As he huffed into your mouth, soft wanting noises spilled out of his lips, grunts and whines that matched the soft voice he used with you. Hands pawing at your chest, Andrew’s hips rutted up under the cotton of your panties as you gasped, taking his breath with you.

Aching to see you, Andrew pushed the fabric of your shirt over your head and dropped it on the space beside him. You sat back when he did so, hands on his stomach once again. Awestruck and pupils blown out, his chest heaved as he looked at you in the low light from your bedside lamp.

“So pretty,” he mumbled, running a hand to rest on your cheek. His thumb ran across your bottom lip and you kissed at it playfully as he lightly squeezed your cheek beneath his fingers.

“You think I’m pretty?” You teased, sliding yourself over him like silk. As you kissed along his jaw, his hands went over your underwear, hovering like he was building up courage. Your lips moved along the column of his throat, and his breath caught exactly where you had nuzzled into a sweet spot.

“So pretty,” he repeated, straining voice as your hands surfaced over his arms. Fingers meeting his, you guided them to hook over the sides of your waistband and tug. He did so on his own, sliding his fingers down your legs in the process. You shivered at the light touch over your thighs, then your calves, allowing yourself to kick your panties aside. 

Perching back, you hovered your hands over his own bottoms, looking at his face for approval. Mouth slightly agape, Andrew nodded, running a hand over the front side of your thigh. You stalled, raising yourself slightly as he stared at you. 

“Tell me, Andy.” You spoke gently, fingers feathering his hipbones. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, eyes zeroing in on yours as he bucked up again, “F-Fuck, I want to feel you.”

Breath shaky, he inhaled as you pulled off his waistband, boxers and sweats in one go. You let them pool at his legs, slipping off on their own. He sprung up in front of you, throbbing and ready. His tip had been leaking, a sticky, sensitive flush like he just might snap.

You looked back up at Andrew, who had been biting down on his lip in anticipation. 

Shutting your eyes, you nudged yourself onto him, guiding his head over your achy little sensitive spot. His precum glided over the wet that pooled between your thighs, forming perfect friction as you rocked yourself against him ever so slightly. Starting to squeeze around nothing, you let the tiniest bit of noises come from your mouth.

You were just about ready to slip him in when he started panting. Opening your eyes, you saw him with his eyebrows scrunched and jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, though, as his fingers grasped harder on the tops of your thighs. They bent to pull you towards him, imprinting with proof of eagerness on your plush skin.

“C’mon,” he huffed in a low voice, shutting his teeth to stop himself from asking for too much.

“Uh, huh,” You shivered helplessly, lining him up as you tilted your head down to look at his face. His mouth had fallen ajar as he watched you squirm over him. Hands stayed on you, grounding like you would float away otherwise.

Easing yourself onto him, you worked yourself over every inch, pulling yourself up then back down. The stretch was more than you’d thought it would be, not expecting to make yourself take it slow. By the grace of gravity and clenching need, you buried him all the way in. You held back a moan as you let Andrew come undone first.

While you sank down, Andrew had been slipping soft groans in between his breaths. His muscles tightened when you bottomed out, hips buckling to meet yours. He gasped, chest rising as his freckles glistened in the warm glow.

Pulsing around him you let yourself adjust as your fingers found his hands. You urged them up to your ass, letting him grasp as you began a tender pace. Breathy moans fell from your mouth as his hands grasped and moved about your ass and thighs in every pump. As if the stretch wasn’t already enough, he hit the right spot when his hips jerked into you.

“Right there,” You pleaded through an exhale. You had been panting over him, trying to form proper words as you fell out of rhythm, finding yourself more frantic and desperate than you liked to be. 

“Like this?” 

Eyebrows furrowed in intrigue, he pinched on the flesh of your ass again, snapping his hips against your like he just did. Pressure built as he did so, knocking your hips down to his in a heavy thrust. 

“Please, fuck—” A whine stopped you from continuing as you fluttered around him. “Please fuck me. Please?” You begged, leaning to grab onto his biceps. Your hips tilted closer to Andrew, causing him to work into you deeper. 

He whimpered as you sunk your fingers into his skin, taking that as a signal to continue into his hungry pace. With pants and moans, Andrew snapped his hips to yours, pumping you onto him and taking himself deeper with every push.

“Kiss me,” He managed to choke out your name through heavy exhales.

At last, skin found skin when you lowered yourself to kiss him. You fell limp in his arms, allowing him to take control over you. He found leverage when he wrapped his arms around you tightly, letting his hips do the work as he drove himself into you again and again. 

You took his lips to yours as you began to ache, rolling your hips over his. He continued to fuck you while you kissed him sweetly, trying to hold whiny sounds in. His lips were desperate, swallowing more of you down when your abdomen pressed against his.

Trailing away, you began to nibble at his jaw and neck as you felt yourself quiver around him. Your mouth danced over his skin, painting him with affection and a little bit of spit. His heart raced under your fingers that grasped at his chest. With your core pushed further towards him, his pelvic bone worked against your nub, sweat and heat stoking the fire in your belly.

“So good, Andy. So, so good.” You panted into the side of his neck, lips pressing and pushing. Your nails pressed into the soft flesh at his chestplate as your legs tensed.

Letting out a shattered breath. Andrew jolted into you while you yelped, letting yourself ride to your climax. The snap of your hips against his started to amp up as Andrew seated himself inside you like it was his only mission. Jerking harsher towards you, he felt shockwaves ripple through himself.

Groaning, your lips vibrated against his throat. You toed the edge as he got rougher, jagged strokes and tough grip. The fire in you huffed, pulling you faster and faster to your peak.

“My pretty girl.” Andrew said into your ear. He continued to pound into you as he held you tight in his arms. “My pretty girl,” he started mumbling in chants.

He started to feel overwhelmed as your breath moved along his skin and he felt his gut tighten. Emotion overtook him and stinging began to grow behind his eyes. Despite all, his words only endured as did his pace, hands clutching and sprawling over your back. Beginning to choke up, he swallowed harshly, but the tears came anyway. 

Too fucked out to notice, your legs clutched around him as you spasmed. Stars and white noise flooding your senses, you writhed around him, repeating whines and hums like they’d been stuck in your throat all day.

With a loud groan and the stall of his hips, he flooded into you. It all came out like a desperate exhale, twitching and emptying as if he’d never felt like this before. Squeezing his eyes shut, he realized his face had been wet as filled you up. He sniffled, though he didn’t mean to, as he tightened his embrace around you.

Trembling, you tilted your head up to see hot tears streaming down his face. He had shut his eyes tight as his lip quivered. You furrowed your eyebrow, thinking you’d done something wrong. 

Slowly, you brought your finger tips to his jaw, smoothly skating to the creases by his eyes. You pressed the droplets away as he continued to shudder. Sniffing, he pressed you tight to his chest. 

“Andrew, honey.” You whispered delicately. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He stayed quiet, letting the tears flow without acknowledgement. As his closed eyes shut stiffly and the crease between his eyebrows deepened, you held onto his face, letting him release as he needed to. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, thumb brushing away the pebbles flowing over his cheek. He huffed under you, trying to calm himself down. You pressed a kiss to the knot between his brows, “Not going anywhere.”

The permanence of your comfort, the willingness to understand him, the constant thoughtfulness. Andrew was overwhelmed by your refusal to neglect him. He always felt purposeless if he wasn’t doing something, if he wasn’t someone’s pawn. You never asked anything of him when you welcomed him into your home, and you never held it over his head. 

He was just your Andrew. Your confidant, who just listened to you talk about anything and everything. Your companion, who sat with you in silence while your attention was elsewhere. Yours, who you’d ask a range of questions to, like he was the most important person to you, and wouldn’t push if he didn’t want to respond. It was all so simple, so comfortable with him.

After this epiphany, he realized how much he wanted to provide for you, add something to your life. He wanted to give you things that only existed in your wildest dreams. He wanted to be good for you. 

Without your help, he’d look for construction, warehouse, landscaping jobs he knew he could do. He’d spend time in the library during your classes, looking up salaries and ways to get money that were above board. Nothing was nearly what he used to make as a “Property Manager,” but it could be enough for now, just for now.

“It’s so fucking stupid.” You groaned, pacing the living room as a documentary on snow leopards played in the background. 

Returning from a meeting with a financial aid advisor, you were fuming when you walked in the door. You had dropped your bag on the kitchen counter in reckless abandon as you immediately began ranting about your meeting. From the couch, Andrew’s eyes stayed on you despite his interest in the show. 

“My parents are too poor to pay for college out of pocket but too rich for grants? How the fuck does that work?” You were thinking aloud, flipping through your phone as you searched the Federal Student Aid website for a loophole or something. 

Your family was well off, enough to send you and your brother to college, but California was vicious like that. With your growing costs and insistence to stay in San Diego longer after you graduated, your parents were the first to remind you of the price tag on that life.

“God, I wish I could rob a bank or something.” You seethed, dropping on the couch beside Andrew. When he didn’t say anything, you shut your mouth immediately and apologetically. He felt you tense up beside him.

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s okay.”

He urged you towards him, arm slung around your shoulders and your legs pulled over his thigh. He learned how to be more physical with you after learning how much you liked it and how much he craved this closeness. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he curled you in closer as you tucked your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry, Andy. I’m just frustrated.”

You knew you were privileged, you did. Due to countless papers on disadvantaged families and just staying informed, you were rarely one to complain about your situation. Even knowing Andrew, you felt guilty that you were so ignorant in front of him.

Hell, you were a student at a four-year university, and your parents largely paid for your tuition and lifestyle (at least for what your crappy job couldn’t). Your problem was with the Financial Office, which had been throwing you for a loop these past few days and wasn’t doing much but offering loans with insanely high interest rates.

“I know, sweetheart.” He ran a thumb over your shoulder. 

Even before your outburst, he knew this had been bubbling on you. Obviously, you couldn’t take care of Andrew, at least not financially. He saw the way you were with money lately— heated phone calls with your mom about spending, longer shifts at that shitty restaurant, comments about the stupid motherfucker at the bursar office. He knew he might’ve been a weight on this.

Something to him told him that he owed you, even though you constantly told him he didn’t. If he wanted to really, truly help you, there was only one unfortunate way for him to do so.

After making dinner together, you had gone to bed with a tight pain between your temples. You had taken a Tylenol, then curled up beside Andrew, clutching onto him like it was the only thing you needed. Maybe if you had his warmth and his reassurance, nothing else mattered.

He lied awake that night, running his fingers through your hair while drafting possible ways he could talk to his family, how he could possibly get something to you soon without grovelling. He’d been out for a month, and his family definitely didn’t know where he was or that he had been released. What would he even say? Given the circumstances, he definitely didn’t want them to find out about you. 

The morning came with a medical drowsiness that you didn’t want to face, but this time, Andrew wasn’t beside you. Reaching over, your hand found the empty space beside you, clutching air with a deep sigh. 

“Andy?” You called, rubbing your eyes as you slouched over the pillows. “Where’d you go?”

“Did you sleep well?”

He was standing at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and up way too early. You gave a negative groan in response as he came into focus. Pulling the sheets over your cold shoulder, you peeked at him.

He stayed where he was, arms at his sides and a distance much too far away for your liking. How long had he been there? Possibly enough to wait for you to wake up?

“I need to borrow your car.”

You hummed, like it was some hallucination, as your eyes threatened to shut again.

Andrew moved over to sit where he was just laying beside you. Reaching his hand to your face, his fingers pushed the pieces of hair away from your cheek to get you to fully wake up for him. Unmoving from your cocooned position, you gazed up at him, eyes dragging down every few seconds.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said, running his fingers over your jaw, “I need to borrow your car.”

You had been half-conscious and you were mostly aware of what he was asking you. You didn’t want to say no, but Andrew hadn’t really gone anywhere without you in the past month you’ve been together.

“Why?”

“I just have to take care of something.” He said as you slowly sat up from your position. 

Tucking your knees under yourself, you furrowed your eyebrows as you scratched the side of your head. Surely, Andrew didn’t mean he’d rob another bank after your comment yesterday. You shifted a little as your blanket peeled down your torso. 

Seeing your gaze move away, he pulled your chin to face him. Your eyebrows fell as you looked past his freckles and serious lips. His eyes were soft, begging for you to see him.

“I’ll get gas,” He said, “And I’ll be home before dinner.”

With what money? You wanted to ask, but knew better than to be snide. He had some money and an expired credit card from his belongings in jail, but that was run down sometime last week, through pitching in for groceries and rent.

Not sure what else to say, you gave a begrudging okay and a kiss to his cheek. 

So, you went to class, like it was the noble thing to do. You liked this class, you really did, but you had a problem trying to concentrate on the content. Your notebook stayed absolutely blank as you stared off into the distance. There was something that rubbed you the wrong way about Andrew leaving in the morning. 

You don’t know why, but you started getting anxious about him, your Andy. Poisonous thoughts spilled through your head before you could stop them. Did you trust him too fast? Was it wrong to be caught up with a criminal, like everyone was saying? Did he lie to you? Was he running off with your car? Did he only come to leech off of you then let you down easy? You’d sink your nails into your palm to attempt to calm your nerves, but it only made it worse. 

You hated feeling like you couldn’t trust him. You were never like this, you weren’t the anxious girlfriend, and you always hated the idea of becoming one. Usually, you were a pretty secure person, looking at things for what they were and accepting your feelings without spiralling. In this situation with Andrew, though, it was hard to relax. 

The problem was… You didn’t really know anything about his past. You knew his family was from Oceanside, but it seemed like he didn’t have a good relationship with them. You tried, really tried not to blame him for it, but how were you supposed to be something with him, when you barely had a clue who he was before. It never bothered you for the past month, but your brain and your gut spun like they had been conspiring against you the whole time.

That’s exactly where Andrew had gone. Oceanside, home. He somewhat remembered his way back, finding major freeways based on vague remembrance of San Diego street names. Guilt had subsided in him when he knew he was going for a good reason. Sure, those post-prison jobs he’d seen were honorable or… legal, but that wasn’t going to provide for you, not as much as he wanted to.

On the ride there, he had played one of the curated CDs you kept in your car and it was exactly what you described in your letters— a mix of random genres that didn’t seem to belong together, but contained the multitudes that you were. He scrapped the plan from the evening prior, deciding to grab as much cash as possible, a gun maybe, and slip out like it was nobody’s business. 

Andrew had parked around the block, keeping your little Prius safe from sight. When he walked up to the gate, he noticed both Baz’s and Deran’s cars parked in the driveway. He assumed the house would be more barren, which he could deal with, but that wasn’t the case.

With a sharp inhale, he moved into the open garage, immediately darting for a duffle bag and exactly where he knew money and guns were stashed.

Being alone with your thoughts wasn’t helpful at all. When you walked around campus, everything looked like it was hurting you, bright glimmers of light stabbing into your retinas. It just so happened your friends invited you to grab coffee with them after their 2pm. You thought you would spiral more if you stayed alone anyway. You felt like you needed to talk to someone, even if they might focus on the other thing. 

As you entered the coffee shop, you saw Angela first, in line typing on her cellphone. She was at the end, glancing up every few seconds to check for you or Mila. Catching her eye, you walked up to her with a wave and the purse of your lips.

“Hey.”

“Are you good?” Angela asked, arm hovering your side. Your tired eyes told her you had been deep in thought about something, and the dryness of your voice also said that you’d been pacing outside.

“I just, uh…” You shook your head to yourself, clearing your throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

As the line moved, she turned to you and put her phone away, “Look, I’m sorry for what I said… a few weeks ago. Your love life shouldn’t be any of my business. I’m just worried, y’know?”

You nodded.

She continued, “You don’t really know this guy, y’know? I’m just scared he might hurt you.” 

“Well, Andrew’s—“

Before you could continue, Mila came by from across the room with her loud voice, hollering your name. She had come in through the other entrance, lunging over to you. Reaching you and Angela, she slung an arm over your shoulder.

Immediately, Mila piped up with a smirk in your direction, “Who was that dilf I saw you with at the pond the other day?” 

You raised an eyebrow at her, “My boyfriend?”

“Since when did you have a boyfriend? Keeping secrets from us now?” She teased, pinching your arm as the line moved forward.

“It’s her pen pal.” Angela shrugged, slightly peeved, pulling her phone out from her pocket again.

“Oh, no shit. You’re dating a criminal?” She squealed noisily, and Angela yanked her arm. 

“Not so loud.” She mumbled, moving to the cashier to order.

You sighed to yourself.

“I think it’s hot.” Mila mumbled as she nudged your arm.

After catching up on gossip about the usual suspects, struggles with professors, and heavy class loads, you opened up about Andrew. You told them about your days with him, how he stayed with you, made you feel whole. They nodded as you spoke. Mila had said it was good for you, Angela shrugged in half-agreement.

Then, you told them what happened in the morning, the sick feeling that sat at the pit of your stomach, that’s been eating away at you.

“I don’t know…” Angela shrugged, “Have you ever tried Googling him?” 

You inhaled sharply and looked away. You repeated what your heart had been screaming at you all day, “I’d feel guilty doing that. I got to know him on my own, isn’t that enough?”

“Can never be too safe.”

Mila suggested, “I feel like you have to. You don’t really know who you let into your home if you don’t do a little internet stalking. You can figure out his priors too, see if he’s actually dangerous.” 

“He robbed a bank.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Did he do anything else? You said he had brothers and a mom, why didn’t he go home to them? Why’s he staying with you?”

Your mouth ran dry as you listened to Mila materialize your thoughts.

“I… I don’t know.” 

“I get that there’s purity in knowing him for yourself,” Angela started, “But what harm can one little search do?”

“Don’t say that, we’re gonna end up playing the Wikipedia game.” Mila shook her head.

With a reluctant sigh, you reached into your bag for your laptop. Opening it up, you started doing something that made you feel even more guilty, something that you probably should’ve done a long time ago. 

Angela and Mila sat in anticipation, peering at the back of your laptop for when you were ready to turn it over.

You typed his name in the search bar, starting with “Andrew Cody Oceanside.” Before clicking on anything, you scooted closer to the girls, showing them your screen. The click of your enter key opened floodgates that you regretted even thinking of.

You learned about his family, about his mom and his brothers. There were robberies, minor violence, alleged ties to drug lords and gangs, possible arson, and many apartment properties. You’ve watched enough TV to know the properties were for laundering money.

“Okay,” Mila squeaked, “It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t lie.” You sighed, shutting your laptop. 

As you stuffed your laptop back into your bag, Angela asked, “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” You said honestly as you sat back. The feeling in your stomach had subsided, now that you knew things, but you still felt horrible nonetheless.

“Does it change anything for you?”

“No.” You tried, playing like you meant it. Then you shook your head, vacillating to yourself, “Yes. I don’t know.”

Just as Andrew was about to slip out, Baz had come into the garage. Andrew’s breath hitched and he swiftly pushed the duffle bag into a corner. Heading to his car, Baz did a double take to where Andrew was standing on the side of the room.

“Pope?”

Andrew looked around avoidantly, “Uh, huh.”

“Pope— What the fuck… What the fuck are you doing here?” Baz blinked like it wasn’t real.

Stunlocked, Andrew shrugged, standing absolutely still. Knowing Baz, he’d eventually tell everyone that Andrew returned. He didn’t want it like this, he didn’t even want it at all.

“When did you get out?” He raised an eyebrow, coming closer to him.

The garage door swung open again and a teenage boy he’d never seen before came out, “Hey, Baz, Smurf wanted to—”

“Who are you?” Andrew furrowed his eyebrows.

“J, just give me a sec.” Baz waved dismissively at him. Looking back at Andrew, he waited for a response with the raise of his eyebrows. “You didn’t say you were getting out when I visited last month.”

“Baz,” Smurf's voice rang through the hallway, echoing into the garage.

Andrew froze at the sound of her voice, as if he wasn’t already still enough. When she entered through the door, her eyes darted up at him as she stopped in her place. He pretended not to notice that her face dropped too.

“Hey, baby.” She suddenly smiled, holding her arms out as she came towards him.

Arms unmoving at his sides, he let her hug him. 

He lingered longer than he meant to. Smurf had invited him inside, made him explain his parole. Through a caught breath, he learned about Julia’s death, which he figured from J’s  presence alone. He attempted to not get roped back in, but he didn’t know what to say when he had been lying the whole time.

Smurf had him stay for dinner as they discussed new jobs, still spearheaded by her. He sat patiently, since there was nothing he could really do. He was supposed to get the money and leave. Every second he stayed in that house meant every second he could’ve been getting back to you slipped away.

After dinner, Smurf mentioned to him that he couldn’t stay and couldn’t work for a while. One foot out the door, he tried not to act so relieved when she said that. Though, the idea of working again enticed him— income, enough for you to get through college without worry and possibly to stay with him after.

They reached some kind of agreement. Money would flow from Smurf to Andrew. Then, he would work jobs for them after a while, at least until the gap of time between his parole and jobs didn’t look so shady.

With a luggage full of clothes and a bag full of money, Andrew ditched the motel and found his way home to you. Pulling into your parking garage, he looked at the time on the dash, 7:30, which was an hour later than you usually had dinner with him. He made his way into your apartment with the duplicate key he wasn’t supposed to have and soft optimism in his eyes.

You had been curled up in bed, facing away from the door as you heard him come in. After you parted ways with your friends, you didn’t want to think about the whole situation. Resorting to numbing the noise in your head, you had been scrolling on your phone for the last two hours.

Andrew placed his things by the door and headed to sit next to you. You took a moment to yourself, deciding how you wanted to react. Before you could choose something, his hand surfaced over your back.

“Did you eat?”

You wanted to scoff or ignore him or get upset, you really did. His palm gently rubbing your side broke your heart a little bit. Something inside of you tugged hard, begging you not to be frustrated, and you rolled over to catch his eyes. The tenderness on his face made you feel ashamed for every bad thought you had that day.

Eyes sullen, you brought yourself up to him, letting his arms drape around you. He pressed a kiss to your hair as he pulled you into his chest. You gave a soft shake of your head, hands finding his arms around you. You let him hold you for a minute more as you failed to process all of your thoughts.

Looking up at his face, running your fingers up to his hair, you wanted to say, please don’t ever leave again, but you just settled for what your heart could take.

You asked dejectedly, “Where did you go, honey?”

from then on, he'd been dumping his load in your womb — over and over. the sex got hotter. . . and messier.

the pure bliss in your face after you felt the warmth of his seed swimming inside you would make him want to do it again. a secret he had harboured in his mind for a long time was that it would take.

his neediness towards you never satiated. he'd imagine you with a baby bump and breasts heavy with milk. he'd see a beautiful glow surrounding you, the excitement of motherhood.

you were meant to be a mother. a mother to my kids, he decided.

when you uttered those words of you making him a daddy, something in him switched. you were flipped to your back, your panties were roughly ripped off, and andrew took his hard, heavy cock out of his jeans just enough to shove it inside of you.

he didn't bother to take all of your clothes off, didn't treat you gently, and didn't make you come on his tongue at least thrice. but you loved it when he gets desperate like this.

all the slow and gentle love-making would be saved for another time.

the loud, wet slaps of his deep thrusts and his heavy breaths could only be heard in the room. he rendered you completely silent — the quick pounding of his cock didn't give you any chance to breathe air into your lungs. he had you dumb on his cock.

"let me hear you, mama. let me hear how good the father of our babies is making you feel."

that did it for you — your moans, cries, and whines were strangled but deafening — "f-fuck! oh my god— fuck!" you violently convulsed under him, and your were clutching and scratching at everything your hands could touch.

andrew shuddered at his own release, "there we go. so beautiful. my gorgeous mama."

he pulled out of you to bend both of your knees up to your chest, a copious amount of his cum already leaking out of you.

he tutted with mild disapproval. "stop clenching, baby. you're pushing 'em out." he caught some of the substance with his fingers, and shoved it back into your still clenching hole.

that didn't work because andrew's cum was still leaking out of you. so, as a last resort, he grabbed your torn panties that was still wrapped around one of your ankles, and carefully pushed it in you.

the strange sensation of the material made you look up at your boyfriend, "andy?"

"just keep it there until you've had enough rest. gonna have to, sweetheart. you wanna make me a daddy, right?" ♡

💭 i can't believe i missed his birthday i'm such a fake pope cody's princess