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Hey friends I hope you enjoyed this I want yall feed back on the writing portion is to much Am I giving too much details lemme know so I can do better guys sorry I’m be slacking my ideas are on pause but it’s ok I love you guys ok baiii💋

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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 - NEW! 7/25/26 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Epilogue

Tagging some friends who expressed interest!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, chest going flush to him.

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

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

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

"Yes, Robby."

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

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

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

"Go let our guest in, honey."

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

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

You shook yourself. It was just Jack.

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

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

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

"Hi." you said, a little shyly.

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

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

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said.

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

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

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

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

You reached up, pressing your lips to his gently.

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

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

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

Jack looked at him, clearing his throat with a small smile. "Thanks for havin' me, brother." He stepped forward, bringing Robby into a hug. Robby patted him on the back in greeting, squeezing his shoulder as they parted.

"Good to see you." Robby said. "Come in. Honey, will you take his things while I get Jack a drink? What'll you have? Just got his new Bourbon you'd like."

You went to Jack, taking his backpack from his shoulder, but as you held your hand out for his crutches, he kept it in his hand.

"S'alright, sweetheart. I'll keep this." he said gently, nodding down toward his prosthesis. "Wanna get the damn thing off as soon as I can, anyway."

You nodded, quickly going to set his things down in the entry way.

As you lingered in the hallway, you heard their conversation carry through the house, something about how old the new bottle was, what notes the whiskey had, whether Robby was overselling it. Jack complimented the smell of dinner cooking. It all felt so…normal. Just two friends talking in the kitchen, shoes on the mat by the door. Jack's backpack looking less out of place than you'd expected.

Except your pulse was still kicking hard from a simple kiss from him.

You hurried into the kitchen, taking the auburn liquid from its decanter before they could get to it, hastily busying yourself. You poured Jack two fingers into a glass as they chatted and grabbed Robby's from where it sat on the counter, walking over to them and handing them their respective drinks.

"What a sweet girl you are," Jack cooed as your fingers brushed, taking the glass from you.

Your belly swooped.

"Isn't she?" Robby agreed, bending to kiss your cheek. "Why don't you sit with Jack at the table, honey? I'll bring the salad."

You nodded, nerves feeling jittery and your steps a little quick as you went to the table and sat by your guest.

"You mind if I get this thing off sooner than later?" Jack asked, lowering himself into the dining chair with a careful groan. The cheekiness eased out of his face for a moment, replaced by something more pained and sheepish as he glanced at you. "Not exactly dinner table etiquette, I know."

"I don't mind." you said easily, pouring all three empty water glasses full from the jug in the center of the table.

The table was set with one of Robby's nicer sets, not the fancy kind of serving plateware you had grown up around, the kind married couples got in boxes with tissue paper and little cards tucked inside. But still, the plates and salad bowls were a pretty gunmetal gray, the silverware true silver and gleaming beside the folded napkins.

Robby shrugged, uncaring as well, as he poured you a glass of your favorite wine.

Jack said a gentle thanks as you finished pouring his water, and he began to undo his prosthesis. When the end of his leg became visible, he rubbed his palm over it, letting out a deep sigh.

"Better?" you asked quietly, sipping your water to quench your parched mouth.

He leaned back into the seat, hand still at his knee, rubbing the day from it. "Yeah. Better."

Robby brought over the large salad bowl, the alabaster tongs waiting at the top. He set it down in the middle of the table, then took his seat and doled out a few helpings of salad onto each plate. He put your wine glass in front of you, then settled back with his own bourbon in hand.

For a moment, the three of you just sat there.

The table was ready. The salad bowl between you, water glasses filled, silverware laid out beside folded napkins, dinner still warm in the oven, waiting to be served. Jack had his bourbon in one hand, his other still massaging his residual limb. Robby sat across from you, one ankle hooked under his chair, his gaze moving between you and Jack with a funny look in his eyes—but he was smiling.

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, heating rising to your cheeks without even having to have take a sip.

"Well," you said, lifting it, your voice only a little uneven. "Here's to…new beginnings. And good company."

Robby looked at Jack.

Jack looked at Robby.

A smile tugged at Jack’s mouth first, softer than usual, though with that same cheekiness that always lit his eyes, and he held up his bourbon, looking over to Robby, who lifted his.

"To new beginnings." they said together.

Dinner went normal. Natural as anything, like it was just you and Robby enjoying dinner with a dear friend. Nothing about whatever this was got brought up, whether because no one dared to bring it up first or because the conversation flowed easily enough without it, you couldn't be quite sure.

Every so often, Robby's hand would rest lightly over your knuckles when telling a story, the lines beside his eyes deep when he smiled. You felt Jack toe at your ankle once while you listened, thinking it was just a mistake, and then he did it a second time, then a third, until you began to nudge him back beneath the table. Your toe traced up the outside of his calf, careful at first, then a little braver when his mouth twitched around the rim of his glass. He took a bigger bite just to hide his own smile when you hooked your foot behind his ankle.

By the time the plates were cleared and the three of you rejoined in the living room, your belly felt warm and content, cheeks hot with the effects of a couple glasses of wine and good food.

"If it's okay, Jack—" you said, stopping him before he could sit in the lone armchair across the sofa, his weight bearing down on his crutches as he moved into the room. "I like…um…I like touching. For conversations like these."

"Oh?" he asked, standing a little straighter, fixing his grip on the crutches and crooking his head at you.

"Like…" You felt your heart race up a little, a bashful smile twitching at your lips. "I don't know. It helps me feel more connected, I guess. If I can reach for you, touch you." You patted the cushion beside you on the large couch. "Can you sit next to me here?"

Jack's expression softened, though the teasing stayed at the edge of his mouth.

"Yeah, sweetheart." he said. "I can do that."

He made his way around the coffee table, setting his crutches at arm's length before sitting down. The couch dipped around his weight, a long sigh expelling from his lungs as he settled his arm along the back. He was close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and the contact sent a little spark of nerves through your stomach.

Robby joined you too, just on your other side, but not before handing Jack his refilled bourbon. He gave you your wine, then sat close enough that his knee pressed into yours. When all three of you had your glasses, you lifted them one last time, the rims touching with a small clink before everyone took a sip.

"So—" you breathed, settling further into the cushions and looking between them, "who'd like to start?"

"Start?" Jack chortled, "I've been here for two hours. Thought that's when we started."

Robby smiled at the fellow attending just as you did. "She means to talk about the three of us, Abbot."

"Oh, I know." Jack said, glancing at you. "I just like pushing her buttons."

"I know you do." you said, rolling your eyes and chuckling. "Okay, how about this: what is something important to you in a relationship?"

"A relationship? So we're just jumping in?"

"Yeah, we are," you nodded, "What do you look for in a partner?"

Jack pursed his lips, shrugging, "I like someone kind." he said. "Not just to me, but to people around them too. Waiters, nurses. The person taking too long in front of them at the pharmacy. You know."

You nodded. "Sure, yeah. That's definitely important."

"And funny." Jack added, then glanced at Robby. "Which is unfortunate for him."

Robby's eyebrows lifted. "Might come as a surprise to you, Jack, but some people do find me funny—even charming."

Jack lifted his glass a little, his smile gentling. "Then they get to know you and realize it's mostly deflection."

You looked at Robby, expecting a retort, but he only huffed through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. You laughed too, some of your nerves loosening with it. Robby's hand squeezed your knee before settling again.

You leaned into him, resting your chin on his shoulder for a moment as you asked: "What about you, Robby?"

"I…like…" he thought for a moment, his eyes on his knees then over to you, soft and warm and crinkled at the corners, "you."

You smiled, eyes narrowing, "Try again."

He smiled wider, looking away and nodding, "I look for…someone who is honest, who says what they mean. I want someone who I can count on to be there, to trust. I like…taking care of people, so that sort of thing is important. For someone to let me do that."

"Okay, not fair—" Jack interrupted, "he already had an answer locked and loaded."

"No take backs." you teased, shrugging as you peeked over at him.

"Not taking it back, just…" Jack shrugged back, "Okay, what about this? I like someone who is…comfortable in their own skin. Knows how to dance through dark days. Who…wants to do that. With me."

The room went a little quieter around his words, but not quite heavy. There was a stillness, an awareness of a tender wound he was showing so easily. So generously. Robby's hand moved over your knee. You took your chin from where it had rested on his shoulder to look up and over at Jack fully. He looked away first, taking a sip of bourbon with a faint pinkness at the tips of his ears.

"Very deep, Dr. Abbot." you said gently, reaching for his hand that rested in a fist on his thigh.

"Thank you, sweetheart." he nodded once, as if in mock bow, squeezing your hand where it held his. "What about you?"

"Me?" you asked.

"Yeah, you." Robby said, his hand still cupping your knee, resting their before sliding up and squeezing your thigh. "What do you want?"

You sat back a little further into the couch, thinking.

What did you look for in a partner?

Someone kind, yes. Someone trustworthy and honest too. Someone who could hold your hand through the darkness. Of course.

But also, you wanted someone who could take care of you and still allow you the freedom to choose. Someone who could see and know the worst parts of you and not just the sweet ones. Someone that could handle those selfish, scared parts of you. The parts that wanted too much.

That was the thing, wasn't it? All this want. Sometimes it felt bottomless. Maybe not every second of every day, but often enough that you knew it was there. A deep, hungry place in you that wanted to be filled with unconditional love. A reciprocated want just as deep if not more. It was embarrassing, it made you feel greedy and guilty all at once. It didn't have a clinical name for it, a nice way of asking for it.

You looked down at your hands— Robby's on your thigh, Jack's intertwined fingers.

"I think I want someone who sees me for who I am," you answered finally, "and instead of questioning it, wants it."

Your face warmed as soon as you said it, the rest on the tip of your tongue wanting to get out, but you bit down and held it back.

"I know…" you sucked in a breath, steadying your nerves, "I know I can be a lot sometimes. Too much… so… someone who can… handle that, want that… it's all… I don't know."

Robby leaned forward, tilting his head so he could find your gaze, making you look at him, "You are not too much." he said, so so gently. You felt Jack squeeze your hand, and you looked between them.

Jack's eyes were narrowed in a way that flamed your face—he was studying you so intently you wished you could sink into the couch cushions and disappear. This was all so new to him, you remembered. Not only this dynamic that was forming and changing and being shaped, but the big conversations. It felt a little scary now to you too. Exposed, open. The three of you sitting here with your feelings out where everyone could see them.

But Jack didn't seem scared off or worried he was getting into something he wasn't expecting. if anything, he seemed softened by it, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

"What—" you cleared your throat, "what about… how will the three of us be together? Like… will you come here? Will I go to you?"

You were asking Jack, who breathed in fresh breath, sitting up a little. His eyes flicked to Robby too, including him before he answered: "I guess…would it be like split custody?" he asked. "Some nights with me? Some nights with you? Or what?"

"I think—to start— we should be together." Robby answered, "Just until we can get a feel for it, so no one feels left out."

"And will the two of you…?" you asked, the question filling your mind and slipping out before you could stop it. "Is this a triad now? Are you two—"

Robby's face lit up red as anything you'd ever seen, his breath huffing a little, shaking back and forth.

"Woah, woah, woah." He shook his head, his hand lifting from your thigh to rub the back of his neck. "I don't think—I'm not really—"

"What does triad mean?" Jack asked.

Robby's hand moved from his neck to around his beard, covering his mouth as he said, "Means you and I would also be—"

Jack smiled widely. "I mean, Mike, you're handsome and all, but I don't—"

"Yeah, no." Robby said quickly, smiling despite himself while refusing to make eye contact.

"The maturity of two teenage boys…" you whispered through a laugh, sitting back and watching two grown man blush and fidget.

"Oh, yeah?" Robby teased, mirth in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

Before you could answer, his arm came around you and pulled you back against him, turning you with such easy strength that you ended up laid across his lap, your back to his chest, your legs stretching over Jack's thighs.

"Robby—!" you squealed, reaching your wine glass out so it wouldn't spill.

Jack smiled, taking it from you before the wine could slosh over the rim. His fingers brushed yours for a second, then he set the glass safely on the coffee table.

"There." he murmured. "No casualties."

Your face burned as Robby's arms kept you cradled up against him. You were half laughing still, breathless from how quickly he'd moved you, but the sound caught when his hand came to your jaw. His fingers settled beneath your chin, thumb along the side of your face, turning you so that you had to look up at him.

He was smiling, but not in the same way now. The playfulness was still there, just there in the lines beside his eyes, but his grip had gone certain. Familiar in the way that made your body remember him before your head caught up.

"Count your lucky stars I don't take you over my knee for laughing at us like that." he murmured.

You giggled some more, your spine tingling when you felt Jack squeeze the tops of your legs, rubbing his palms up and down them.

"Thought you said we weren't gonna have fun tonight." you murmured with a wicked smile.

Your knees shifted apart without much thought, the movement small but obvious with your legs draped over Jack's lap. His hands paused for one little second, the three of you seemed to notice it at the same time.

"I never said he and I weren't allowed to."

Jack's palms slid a little higher over your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your knees before dragging back down. A slow massage, nothing hurried. Still, your skin lit under his hands, and the hem of your skirt bunched slightly beneath his fingers.

"Tease." you muttered.

Jack was watching his hands and the way you squirmed beneath them, a shy, sly smile pulling at his lips. Robby was smiling down at you too, thumb brushing your cheek before tapping twice to draw your attention back to him.

"Are you going to behave, young lady?" Robby asked.

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip.

"Somehow I don't believe her, brother." Jack said, and you could hear the smile still in his words.

"Me neither." Robby's hand tightened at your jaw, moving your face back and forth once before giving it a little shake. "You are so cute." he whispered.

You smiled wider, your hands coming up to wrap delicately around his wrist. "So are you."

"That so?" Robby asked, amusement lighting up his features.

You nodded.

"And what about him?" he asked, shifting your face so you were looking at Jack. "Do you think he's cute too?"

You nodded again. "Very."

"Aw, shucks," Jack said, a tinge of red flushing his cheeks again.

Robby's thumb pushed deeper into the flesh of your cheek as he asked: "Why don't you go show him how cute you think he is?"

You looked up at Robby, uncertain.

"Just a little kiss." he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips over the tip of your nose. "Would you like that, Jack?"

"Course I would."

"Go on," Robby said.

You sat up, your body a little wobblier now, the warmth from both their hands lingering in places that made you feel too aware of yourself.

Jack sat back, widening his thighs so you could climb on top of him. You moved slowly, hands finding his shoulders first, his finding your hips in return. His palms settled there, thick and warm around you, holding you with a care that only made your stomach flip harder. Your skirt bunched where your thighs spread to make room for the breadth of his body, the fabric pulling high. You felt your nerves light up your skin.

You bit down on your lip again, smiling, "Hi."

He smiled a little crookedly, "Hey,"

You glanced over at Robby, who was watching intently, his hand along the back of the couch, legs spread open, his bourbon back in his hand.

"Go on." he said once more, tilting his glass toward you before taking a long sip.

Slowly—carefully— you leaned down and pressed your lips to Jack's. He was so warm, and you could taste the malted rye of bourbon just on his lips. He breathed in as you kissed him, his hands moving along your sides until they wrapped around you completely, keeping you glued to his chest. His muscled arms squeezed, making you gasp, opening for him, and he let out a little pleased hum at that as his tongued dipped to taste behind your lips.

You settled into him easily then, your arms wrapped around his neck, leaning further into his hold. As you sat deeper into his lap, you could feel that bulge grow eagerly now, both of you enrapt in one another. Your head went light at the feeling, with the heat of his mouth and the slow slide of his tongue, the wet sounds of your lips parting and finding each other again.

This was a different kiss. Where the kiss at the door was sweet, easy, lingering too, it wasn't as… intense. That kiss had piqued your memory, where now they were coming back in a flood—grinding down on him in the front seat of his truck, him languidly kissing your chest, the wild little panic of doing something you shouldn't and yet not being able to get close enough no matter how hard he pulled you in.

This kiss was still tender, still a little unsure, both of you retesting the motion of it in front of Robby, but that heat was there underneath. That need. The way Jack kissed like he meant it. All of it was there, simmering below the surface.

When your lips parted, your eyes caught on the shine of his bottom lip, wet and a little swollen from your mouth.

He kept you close, belly to belly, but leaned his head back and looked toward Robby while he pulled in air. You followed the angle of his face, dazed enough that it took you a second to remember Robby was right there when you looked over.

His glass rested low in his hand now, his eyes dark and fixed on the two of you, his thumb rubbing along the side of the tumbler.

You leaned down to kiss Jack's cheek, then the line of his jaw, nestling into him because you could. Because Robby was there watching and nothing about it was hidden. It felt good. Felt right. Less like sneaking away to give in to one another and more like being given the room to want it. Like space had been made for the hunger instead of everyone pretending it wasn't there.

"There is one thing I wanted to…" Jack started, breath still uneven. He cleared his throat. "I just want to say it before we get too far ahead of ourselves."

You kissed just under his ear before pulling back to look at him. "What is it?"

His arms loosened around you, though his hands stayed on your hips. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your shirt, the calloused tips brushing hot skin, and even with the seriousness moving into his face, he still touched you gently.

"I don't want to feel like… like I'm just a guest in this," he said. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back up to search your face. Then he looked at Robby.

"I get this whole thing, I think. Or I'm trying to." His thumb moved over your hip. "You being in charge. Telling her what to do sometimes. How to do it. And I can see she likes it."

Your face flamed. Jack's mouth twitched, but he didn't tease you for it.

"You told her to kiss me when I walked in the door, didn't you?" he added.

You looked over at Robby, gnawing on your lip a little.

Robby nodded. "Yeah."

"See, and that's…" Jack breathed out through his nose, trying again. "I'm not saying I didn't like it. I did. I do. Clearly."

Your stomach squirmed, and his hand squeezed your waist, as if he could feel your unease. He looked up at you, licking his bottom lip.

"I just don't want everything between me and you to feel like it's… " he went on, quieter now, his pretty eyes looking into yours. "Like I'm waiting for permission. I respect what you two have. I don't want to come in here and step over boundaries and rules, but… I want to be able to be with you because you want it, too. Not just Robby telling you to."

"I hear you," you whispered gently, your hands moving to his face, cupping his jaw.

His eyes softened on yours.

"So do I." Robby said. You turned slightly in Jack's lap to look over again. Robby had set his glass down on the side table, his elbows resting on his knees now, body angled toward both of you.

"I think we can set parameters." Robby said, clearing his throat. "What we both feel comfortable with. What she feels comfortable with. But you're right. I don't want you feeling like you're just waiting for me to hand you a hall pass."

"Yes, definitely." you agreed, thumb brushing over the edge of Jack's jaw. "I don't want that either."

Jack looked between the two of you, his hands still petting the warm skin beneath your shirt. "Okay, so…"

"So tell us what you'd like to do." you said. "What you wouldn't like, what feels good, what feels weird. We can talk about it."

He sighed. "Geez, I feel like I'm in a therapy session."

You pinched his ear lightly. "Don't be so dramatic. It's just a conversation, Jack."

He gave you a look, but his hand tightened at your hip like he liked the scolding.

"You're sitting in my lap asking me to define my emotional needs." he said. "That's therapy."

"Your therapist sits in your lap?" you asked, crooking your gaze.

"Oh, you are a testy little thing." Jack narrowed his gaze, smiling up at you.

"Told you." Robby chuckled.

You smiled despite yourself, still close enough to feel Jack's breath against your face. "Then start with something easy."

Jack's eyes flicked to your lips, then back up.

"Easy?" he repeated.

You nodded.

His fingers spread against your back beneath your shirt, his voice low and settling deep in your belly as he said: "I'd like to kiss you without needing Robby to tell you to."

Robby's gaze moved to you.

You swallowed, then nodded. "I'd like that too."

Jack looked at Robby.

Robby sat back a little, hand rubbing once over his beard, taking the sight of you in Jack's lap with a careful breath.

"That's fine by me," Robby said.

Jack's eyes came back to yours, and the little shift in him made your heart kick. His fingers brushed up along your lower back.

"Can I kiss you again, sweetheart?"

Your face warmed, but you smiled. "Yes."

And he did, starting slow and tender again, just a gentle brushing of lips before you pulled him tighter, letting your tongue trace over the seam of his lips.

But you pulled back, just teasing, licking at his open mouth as he gasped.

"What else?"

He groaned, head tilting onto the back of the couch.

Robby chuckled from the other side of the couch, "You're killing him, honey."

"Yeah," you said, "but im having so much fun."

You leaned back, resting your hands on his chest, "Okay, what about… what about when we want to…do more than just kissing?"

The men shared a glance, and Robby said: "I had said in the beginning that maybe we should start with the three of us together. At least under the same roof."

You looked over at him. "You want me to…to be intimate with you when Jack is here?"

"And vice versa." Robby said, nodding.

Your mouth fell open a little, bemused.

You'd known, in theory, that this was where the conversation would go. It had been sitting under every touch, every glance, every careful little permission Robby had given since Jack walked through the door. Still, hearing it out loud made your stomach dip, because suddenly it wasn't some…thing you had all been circling. It was Robby saying yes, Jack's hands on you, your body still warm in Jack's lap while Robby watched from an arm's length away.

"I actually thought, maybe…" Robby shrugged, but the color rising in his face made your attention sharpen. His fingers flexed once against his own knee, then stilled. "It could be fun to…"

"Go on." you said, sitting back further on Jack's thighs.

You were suddenly very interested in what was going to come out of Robby's mouth next. He looked at you, then down at your hands where they rested on Jack's chest. His jaw shifted and his eyes flicked away.

"Touch?" he murmured, eyes barely glancing at you.

That one word changed your whole face. Not because it was sexual. But because it wasn't, not exactly. It was a sign. A bid. The word both of you used when what either he or you wanted felt too tender to ask for straight on. Touch meant come here, help me say it. The need for reassurance, connection. Something as simple as your hand in his did wonders for bravery.

You reached for him at once, leaning over without leaving Jack's lap. Robby scooted closer and took your hand in his.

His palm was warm and a little damp from the glass, his fingers closing around yours in a firm hold. You squeezed once, and he squeezed back, his index finger finding the inside of your wrist. That was all it was. Just skin and pressure. Just the reminder that he wasn't saying this from across the room by himself.

You had told Jack at the beginning that touch helped you. That you liked being able to reach for someone during conversations like these. But Robby needed it too sometimes. He needed the physical proof of you there while he let himself say something that scared him.

Jack didn't interrupt. His hands stayed on your hips, but his thumbs stopped moving, studying the two of you, watching how you went about this.

Robby looked down at your joined hands, then cleared his throat.

"I think I would like it if…" He stopped, ears going pinker now. "Maybe I came home and you two were already…"

You kept your voice gentle. "Already what?"

Robby breathed out through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. "Already together."

"Like you're walking in on us?" you asked.

His eyes flicked up to yours, embarrassed and interested and a little relieved that you had said it for him.

"Okay," you said, nodding, but gnawing it over in your head. Picturing you and Jack together, tangled limbs, sweaty and gasping. "How would that work?"

"We could text about it first." Robby went on. "A day when you're here, that is. And I'm coming back from a shift or something. Not really a surprise. Just…set up like one."

Jack was looking between the two of you, one hand still resting on your hip.

"Is that something you'd want to try too?" you asked him.

He shrugged, mouth pulling to one side. "I…have no idea." Then, more honestly, "Yeah. I mean, it sounds pretty sexy. Just… I've never done something like that."

He looked at Robby then, no judgment in his face, but like he was trying to understand—brows pulling together, his fingers tightening and loosening on your waist.

"Doesn't it kind of go against what you were saying? About wanting to be together when we're intimate?"

Robby's thumb paused against your hand, his lips pressing tightly together. There was almost a shyness to him.

You looked over at him, squeezing his fingers. "Is it okay if I try to explain what I think you mean?"

He nodded, though his face was still flushed.

"It's more like…" You glanced at Jack, then Robby again, careful now. "He likes seeing it. Me wanting you. You wanting me."

Jack's eyes moved from you to Robby. The latter's hand tightened around yours, but he didn't stop you.

"But not if we're lying about it." you said. "That's what is different from this and…what we did before. If it's sneaky, or if he walks in and actually thinks something happened without him knowing—that's not fun. That would just hurt him again."

Jack grimaced, looking apologetically at his fellow attending. Both of them looked at each other for a long moment before you continued.

"So we'd talk about it first, texting, plans, whatever. He'd know what he was coming home to."

You looked at Robby then, your voice softening a little. "And he likes knowing I still want him there. That when he walks in, I look for him. That I want him to see me. That I want him to do something about it."

Robby breathed out a quiet laugh, embarrassed but not disagreeing.

Jack seemed to let out a breath too, relief at Robby's reaction. "That about right then, Mike?"

Robby brought his other hand up to his beard, thumb dragging along the corner of his mouth. Still a little shy now, not quite looking at either of you.

"Yeah," he said, nodding once. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

You smiled, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles, the wiry hair there tickling your lips. Robby's thumb brushed under your chin after, fond, quiet— and for a second none of you said anything.

It felt like the three of you had actually done it. Started the conversation, not fought about anything. A good start, at least. There would be many more to come, you were sure of it.

Jack's hand gave your hip another small squeeze, and Robby was still close enough for your fingers to stay tangled with his.

For a moment, none of it felt impossible.

And then, from the other room, your phone started ringing.

All three of you looked towards the sound. It took you a second to place it. Your bag was still in the kitchen, abandoned on one of the stools from when you'd come in earlier, and the ringtone sounded too loud against the hush that had settled over the living room.

You blinked, still half caught between them.

"Is that me?" you asked, though it obviously was.

Jack's brows lifted slightly. Robby's hand loosened around yours, grunting as he got up from the couch, "I'll grab it."

You watched him disappear into the kitchen, your brain still slow to catch up with the sound. A second ago, you had been sitting in the center of something warm and strange and careful, all three of you talking around sex and rules and wanting like it was something that could be held without falling apart. Now your phone was ringing from the other room, so ordinary, and yet felt like dragging the rest of the world back in by the collar.

Robby came back with it in his hand, the screen lighting his face from below. He frowned down at the name, not suspicious exactly, just confused.

When he handed it to you, you saw Mel King glowing across the screen.

You blinked.

"Hello?" you answered, a little timid.

"Hi!"

You startled at her loud, chipper voice. She sounded like she was in a car somewhere, her words a little muffled behind the engine and the faint rush of the road.

"Hey, Mel." You sat up a little straighter. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, totally." she said quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I probably should've said that first, right? That it's not an emergency. I forget sometimes that's how people hear phone calls. I'm a really bad texter so …But no, it's okay. Everything's okay."

Your eyes flicked to Robby, who had settled back beside Jack, still watching your face with that narrowed, assessing look he got when he was trying to decode something, whether it was a differential or just your expression. Jack looked confused too, but quiet.

"Okay…" you said slowly. "That's good."

"What? Oh, um, anyway— I was just wondering if you were going to Whitaker's tonight?"

You looked between Jack and Robby.

Robby's brows pulled together, both of them seemingly able to hear Mel's voice through the speaker that held to your ear.

Jack mouthed, Whitaker?

You shook your head a little, just as lost.

"One of my residents," Robby said under his breath, tapping Jack on the side.

Jack gave him a flat look. "I know who Whitaker is, Mike." he whispered back, "My memory is just fine, unlike yours."

Robby's mouth opened, already offended and ready to retort, but you reached over and tapped his chest before he could start.

Both of them looked at you.

You narrowed your eyes and pressed a finger to your lips, and then returned your attention back to the phone.

"Uh, why?"

"He's having some sort of party!"

"Oh." You glanced down at your bare knees, at the edge of your skirt, then across the living room where Robby's glass still sat on the table. "That's nice."

"Yeah! I think so. Maybe. I don't know." Mel's voice dropped a little, the brightness wobbling at the edges. "There are supposed to be a lot of people there, and I know some of them, obviously, but not like…know them know them. And I don't know what kind of party it is. Like if it's a standing party, or a sitting party, or if people are going to be weird if I leave early."

Your expression softened.

Robby must have caught the change, because his posture eased a little too.

"I was wondering if you were going." Mel continued. "But if you're busy, that's fine. You don't have to. I know it's late notice. I probably should have texted instead of calling, but then I thought you might not see it, and then I thought calling would seem too serious, and now I'm doing the thing where I explain the whole thought process, so…"

You bit back a smile. "I hadn't planned on it, but…"

"Oh, that's okay. I understand if you're busy or something." she said quickly. "I was just kind of maybe hoping you would come? Just so I can…well, you and I seemed to—"

She stopped, like the sentence had gotten too personal too fast.

You waited.

Mel took a breath, audible through the phone.

"I would just feel comfortable if you were there." she said finally. "As my backup."

The words landed in you gently, but with more weight than you expected.

You looked at Robby again. His face had changed now, the confusion giving way to something quieter. Jack's mouth softened too, his eyes moving between you and the phone like he understood enough from your expression.

"I didn't know you required backup, Dr. King." you teased, because it felt easier than letting your voice get too sweet. "You're always so well adjusted."

There was a tiny pause.

"Really?" Mel asked, quieter.

You could almost hear the smile through the phone.

Your own smile faded a little, turning tender before you could help it.

"Yeah," you said. "Really."

"Thanks." she said, almost under her breath. "Well. Okay. I'll see you around then."

"Hey—Mel?"

"Yeah?"

You looked between the two men again.

The night you had been having was still all over the room. Robby's warmth, Jack's hands on you, the careful conversation you had barely finished having. Part of you wanted to stay exactly where you were, to fold back into the strange little world the three of you had made on the couch and not let anything else in.

But Mel had called. And she had asked you to be there in the only way she could manage.

"I'll come."

"Oh!" Mel's voice jumped. "Are you sure? I have to tell you about this thing that Frank—"

The sound muffled suddenly, like she'd turned away from the phone to say something, and then just as soon as she did, she was back, her voice clear in your ear, "Sorry, I mean Dr. Langdon. He did this thing today, and it was insane—"

"Yeah, okay," you said, laughing softly. "I can't wait to hear it! Listen, I'll text you when I'm on my way, okay?"

"Okay! Bye!"

"Bye." you murmured, holding back a smile as the call ended.

Both the attendings in front of you let out little laughs. Your head snapped up. "Hey!" you said, swatting Robby's arm. "Be nice. Mel's my favorite."

Robby held up both hands in mock surrender, his mouth twitching. "Hey, hey, she's a great doctor. She's just a little…"

"Odd?" Jack finished.

You looked at him, offended, and Jack's face changed immediately.

"I like odd!" he said, one hand lifting from your waist like he was defending himself in court. "Hey, I'm as weird as they come. Trust me when I say I get it."

"As you should, night crawler." you said, still nudging him lightly in the chest. He caught your wrist with his hand, finger engulfing the delicate joint.

"Do I at least get a goodbye kiss?"

You glanced down at him, trying for wicked and probably landing somewhere closer to breathless. The sudden dip in his tone had your heart jumping into your throat. "Dunno. You'll have to come and get it when I leave."

Jack clicked his teeth softly when you squirmed again, holding both of your wrists between his wide hands with very little effort. As if to remind you that he was bigger than you, stronger, that his arms could keep you exactly where he wanted if you let them.

"Nuh uh." he said. "Want it now."

"Greedy." you chastised.

"Oh, you've only seen the start of it."

You meant to say something back. You really did. Something smart, something teasing, something that would make Robby laugh and give you another second to pretend your pulse hadn't jumped even harder now.

Then he kissed you again, not quite so sweet. His bottom lip caught yours, teeth grazing just enough to make you inhale through your nose, and his mouth curved like he'd felt the sound before you could hide it. The kiss went wet and slow, his hand climbing into your hair while the other stayed around your wrists, keeping you close while he took one more and then another until your head felt warm and your body forgot why you had been getting up at all.

"What about me?" Robby asked.

His voice was mild, almost amused, but still, your stomach flipped just at the sound. Oh, this was going to be fun.

You pulled away from Jack with a small, wet sound, blinking like you'd been caught doing something far worse than kissing a man you had very much been told to kiss.

"Can't leave without saying goodbye to me too, can you?" Robby said, his voice hoarse.

Jack's hand stayed locked around your wrists, not letting you go entirely, so you leaned awkwardly across the space between them. It was clumsy, your skirt twisting under you and your fist bracing against Jack's chest so you wouldn't tip sideways.

Robby met you halfway, his hand coming to the back of your neck, guiding you the last few inches to his mouth. His beard rasped softly against your chin, the smell of bourbon and want on his tongue when he pushed it into your mouth. It was sharp and sweet beneath the bite of liquor, his lips moving familiarly over yours.

There was a difference to their kisses, outside the obvious physical sensation of beard versus scruff. Jack made you feel fluttery and nervous and heavy with a curiosity that only knew of wanting. But with Robby, Robby you knew. And he kissed you like he knew you. He didn't rush or show off, he didn't need to make it clear you were his, because when he kissed you, you melted into it. Completely and utterly at home in your body with him.

When he pulled back, his beard had left your lips tingling.

You stared at him a second too long.

Jack gave a low chuckle, his hands still secure around your wrists. "Yeah, alright. That's a hell of a goodbye."

Robby's eyes flicked to him, still amused, still warm from the kiss as he sat back. "I couldn't be left out after yours."

Jack frowned like he had to consider it, then nodded. "Fair. Mine was pretty good."

You looked between them, face hot, still a little breathless, then finally unwound your hands from Jack's grip, pulling down your skirt as you stood.

"What?" Jack asked, adjusting himself a little beneath the throw pillow he had pulled into his lap.

You pointed at him. "Subtle."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"Clearly."

Robby huffed a laugh into his glass, which only made you shake your head harder. You readjusted your clothes, hoping neither of them noticed how unsteady your legs were, though the silence behind you told you they absolutely did.

"You two are so…" you shook your head.

"So…?" Jack asked.

You looked between them, both of them spread out on the couch, smug in different ways and entirely too pleased with themselves.

You scoffed. "Never mind."

"No, go on." Robby said.

"Nope." You grabbed your phone and started toward the bedroom. "You don't wanna know." you called over your shoulder.

"Say it." Jack called after you, teasing. "Old? Cranky? Jealous?"

"Annoying?" Robby added.

"That's yours." Jack said.

You reached the archway of the door and paused, turning back with one hand curled around the edge of the wall, fingertips pressed to the opening. Both of them were watching you.

Jack still looked rumpled, flushed and smiling with one hand smoothing down his shirt. Robby sat spread comfortably on the couch, bourbon back in his hand, his mouth still shiny from your kiss, his beard a little damp at the corner.

Your stomach flipped all over again.

"I was gonna say—hot." you said.

Jack's smile widened first, pleased and almost boyish. Robby's brows lifted, slower, his eyes darkening just enough to make you regret giving him anything to work with.

"You better be careful, honey." Robby said, his voice dropping in that awful, familiar way. "You keep talking like that, you're not gonna make it out of the house."

You grinned, backing away before either of them could pull you back in.

"Nope! I have to go be Mel's emotional support person. You two figure out how to survive the compliment."

Whitaker's house wasn't actually Whitaker's house, you remembered on the way over.

It was Trinity Santos' apartment, technically, though apartment felt like the wrong word for it. It was more like a renovated house split between floors, with a narrow downstairs hallway that led to the stairs and then up to her actual front door.

You'd changed before leaving Robby's too—something easy and a little warmer, less date-night than what you had worn for Jack and Robby. Simple shorts, a top, a cardigan for the chill of the evening. You pulled it closer around yourself as you stepped out of the Uber. The cool gust of wind helped cool the ghost of the memory of Robby's warm mouth and Jack's hands on you.

They'd both insisted on driving you, but after their multiple glasses of bourbon you'd given them a very stern talking to about drinking and driving. So Robby ordered you an Uber Black without argument.

The party was loud enough you could hear it from outside the porch. You tried the handle instead of knocking, knowing no one would be downstairs to hear it. You slipped inside to the bass pounding down the stairwell, the vibration of music along the banister as you used it to guide your way up to the front door. Slipping inside, the music swelled and you could smell the heat of bodies and incense burning.

You wondered if the downstairs neighbors were just really cool, hard of hearing, or dead asleep by some miracle.

"You're here!" you heard from your left. The living room was crowded, Santos and Whitaker already sitting on the couch beside a few other familiar faces you knew well. Mel jumped up from her spot on the floor and was bouncing in front of you before you were able to close the door.

"Hey," you said, smiling. "You good?"

"Yeah," she said, then paused, "Actually, yeah. I am. Trinity is asking everyone to play a game in the living room. Want to join?"

You glanced past her, watching the card game unfold, Santos explaining loudly over the music while she rolled her eyes and talked with both hands, Whitaker already looking like he deeply regretted whatever rule clarification he had asked for.

"Looks very serious." you said.

"It's not. Seems very easy. Dennis said you just need to play to understand."

"That sounds like something Dennis would say when he doesn't understand either."

Mel smiled quickly at that. "Maybe, yeah."

"Okay, let me… get a drink, say hi to some people then I'll come find you?"

"Yeah, okay." Mel nodded, then hesitated just a second longer. "And…thanks again. For coming. I thought this would be worse. I'm actually… I'm good. If you decide to not to stay long. I'm sure you had plans and all so—"

"It's all good, really, Mel. I'm happy to be here."

She smiled, nodded, and headed back to the living room.

You turned into the kitchen, ready for a much needed vice for the evening.

Someone was standing in the middle of the room, though—tall and lanky with dark, gray hair, tattoos on his arms. He had one hand shoved into a pocket of his black jeans while the other held a red solo cup and a rolled paper between two fingers.

Your shoulders dropped, and you couldn't help the full smile that pulled your lips wide. "Hey, Jesse."

His gaze flitted up to you at the sound of your voice, face braking immediately into a big grin that crinkled his dark blue eyes. "Hey."

He stood a little straighter, pulling his hand from his pocket to open his arm to you, and you slid underneath it, tucking yourself into his side and bringing an arm around his middle. He was tall, your shoulder fitting just right under the crook of his shoulder, one cheek against the worn cotton of his shirt, his arm folding easily over your shoulders.

"Having a good night?" you asked over the music.

"Am now." he replied, cheekily squeezing you closer. He lifted in red cup in solidarity. "And I have off tomorrow, so I'm celebrating."

"I need a drink so we can cheers to your twenty four hours of freedom." you said, elbowing him. His gold chain necklace glinted as you saw a silent huff of laughter shake his shoulders.

There was always something easy about being around Jesse. He never crowded a room or made himself known loudly, but he was never absent from it either. He stood steady in the chaos of the ED, quiet and always ready, the kind of nurse who seemed to know what was needed before anyone had to say it. When to move, when to wait, when to put a hand on a shoulder or a firm voice into the air.

And outside of all that, he was funny. A little dorky, once you'd gotten to know him. He played guitar in a small cover band, hunted down good coffee like the hipster he swore he never was.

Cool, you thought. Jesse was cool in a very… Jesse way.

He squeezed you again before letting go and turning to the counter top, stretching his hand wide across the array of liquor, "Pick your poison."

You wrinkled your nose as you scanned the vodka and tequila, some bottle of something blue you didn’t trust on principle, all of it sure to punish you tomorrow after the glass of wine already sitting warm in your stomach.

Jesse watched your face, the corner of his mouth tugging.

“If you’re interested, I was actually about to go outside.”

When you looked back at him, he waggled the joint where it was held between two fingers.

You nodded, "Yeah, okay."

He reached out his hand, bony and long-fingered, and you took it gratefully, letting him lead you through the house.

The kitchen had spilled into the living room by then, people standing in the walkway with drinks in their hands, shoulders turning sideways to let each other pass. You smiled when you saw Mateo chatting with Victoria in the corner, and Whitaker and Joy somehow enjoying themselves on the couch with Ogilvie. Trinity sat on the loveseat beside them and Mel, who was sipping at her drink, caught up in whatever story someone was telling while the game went on.

You didn’t stop to say hello, but when Trinity’s eyes found yours, you smiled. She lifted her cup a little from where it rested against her knee, and you kept moving, Jesse’s hand warm around yours, his shoulder turning sideways to make room for you towards the back of the house.

Outside, the air was crisp against your cheeks. The back door shut behind you with a muffled click, cutting the music down to a low thump through the walls. You pulled your cardigan closer around yourself as you stepped onto the deck, the railing damp where you leaned your hip against it.

Someone had left a citronella candle on the little table by the door, burned down to a shallow pool of wax and there was stack of empty Solo cups sat beside it, one fallen on its side.

“I never knew Trinity and Dennis had such a cute place,” you said.

Jesse shrugged, looking back through the glass door for a second, then over at the kitchen window before bringing pinching the joint between his lips.

“Me neither." he said, a little muffled, "I also never knew how much they really loved avocados.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head with an amused, questioning smile.

“Think I counted… like ten on their counter,” he said, flicking his lighter a few times. The little wheel scraped under his thumb, sparks catching and dying until a flame finally burned bright. "'nd one open in the fridge when I went to get a water."

A smile huffed out of you, remembering an argument between them about avocado stealing as you watched Jesse. The flame bent sideways, lighting the end of the stick in an uneven orange line. He inhaled, cheeks hollowing slightly, the tip brightening before he pulled the lighter away.

Then he looked at you with a small smile and handed it over. You took it between two fingers, bringing it to your lips, but the end had already gone out. You held out your hand for the lighter.

Instead of giving it to you, though, Jesse took a step so he was directly in front of you. He moved in closely, his hand coming up to cup around the joint near your mouth while the other held the lighter up. You couldn't help but study his face while he sparked the light—his cute gray curls and the salt and pepper goatee, the tiny creases beside his eyes and the blue gray circles under them that had gotten deeper since last time you saw him.

The flame sparked again, and you pulled a few light breaths until the end caught, smoke filling your mouth with skunky richness. It warmed your throat, holding there for half a second before pursing your lips and blowing it away from him.

"Thanks," you said, handing it back as he moved away. Jesse took it from you without looking away for long though, his fingers brushing yours before he brought it to his mouth.

“Y’know,” he said after a second, voice easy enough that you almost missed the carefulness, “people have been missing you a lot in the Pitt.”

"You guys still call it that?" you chuckled, and when he didn't reply, you shrugged, pulling your cardigan tighter where it had slipped down one shoulder. “Just been taking a bit of a break, I guess.”

“Robby being tough on you or something?” he asked.

He took another smaller hit after he said it, then turned his head and blew the smoke away from your face. The question might've sounded prying from anyone else, maybe it was. But Jesse had a way of being gentle with something like this, but in a way that made you know you couldn't get away with half-assed answers.

You took a second to answer, looking down into the yard below instead of him. There wasn’t much to see beyond the deck light: a few bare branches shifting at the edge of a fenceline, a trash can near the side gate, the pale square of a neighbor’s window through the dark.

"Nothing I didn't deserve."

When you looked back at him, he had his head bent a little, looking at you funny.

“What?” you said, a little defensive, crossing your arms.

He shook his head and handed you the joint, and you took it without taking your eyes off of him.

“Seriously, what?” you asked again, holding it between your fingers and waiting. “Stop looking at me like that, Jess.”

He shrugged, leaning back. His knee brushed yours as he stepped closer to you along the rail, the wood creaking a little beneath his weight as he settled against it. He looked comfortable here, one palm planted on the top, lighter stuffed back into his pocket.

“S’just…” he began with a sigh, eyes dropping briefly to the deck boards before coming back to you. “We get a little… worried.”

You'd been taking a hit when he'd said it, and you coughed on the rough pull.

“Worried?”

You handed the joint back quickly and pressed the heel of your hand to your chest, blinking through the sting in your eyes. Jesse took it, but he didn’t make a joke or laugh at you for coughing. He only licked his lips, gaze steady on your face.

If you knew one thing about Jesse, it was that he was not one to pull back from this kind of thing. A hard discussion. The thing that needed saying. He’d let other people talk themselves in circles if they needed to, but when it mattered, Jesse stepped in.

You could feel your limbs begin to get heavier even while your head still buzzed with nerves under his searching gaze. Your brain felt a second behind suddenly, too aware of your own hands, the thick lumpiness of your cardigan where it had bunched under your arms, the cold railing pressing into your hip.

"Yeah, worried, kid." he repeated. "We like to make sure our best girl is happy. That you're not…being…" He shrugged, glancing down at the joint between his fingers. “I don’t know. We just like seeing you. Like having you around.”

You licked your lips, unsure of what point he was trying to make, but you shrugged anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, Jess. Promise.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look away. You watched as the party moved behind him through the glass door, bodies passing in and out of the kitchen light, the music softened to bass and a loose scatter of voices. Out here, it felt so much more quiet, so still.

You looked at him again, realizing he'd asked you something when you saw the waiting look in his eyes. “What?”

“Taking a break,” he said, carefully. “Was that something you wanted?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Jesse took another hit, but he didn’t rush you. He turned his face aside to exhale toward the yard, smoke thinning out past the railing.

“It wasn’t…” You rubbed your thumb over the inside of your wrist, where your sleeve had ridden up. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, I agreed to it."

“Okay.”

“And I needed it,” you added quickly, a little too quickly. “Probably.”

One corner of his mouth pulled, but he kept it soft. “Probably?”

You huffed, embarrassed despite yourself, and looked toward the yard again. “It’s complicated.”

“Usually is with you two.”

You glanced back at him. Jesse had the joint held low now, his palms braced behind him over the railing, his face quiet in the deck light. Just waiting, not prying—but also not letting you escape his questioning, either. He was such a nurse. Always noticing the in between of things that anyone else might miss. He was like this in other scenarios too, you remembered. Your traitorous brain picking the worst time to flood your mind's eye with memories. Making you tell him how you liked it, how good his fingers felt inside of you. He would make you tell him what you wanted him to do to you, telling you how good you were for using your words. He was always a giver, as long as you asked for it nicely.

You swallowed.

“The four weeks are up anyway,” you said, trying in vain to keep it all so casual. “So… technically, the break is over.”

For a second, Jesse didn’t move, as if he hadn't heard or maybe hadn't cared. Then his eyes dropped to your mouth. It was quick, barely anything. But you caught it, and once you caught it, you felt it everywhere: in your chest, behind your knees, in the sudden warmth that pushed up through your throat despite the cold air.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice lower.

You nodded, and watched as he slowly pried his fingers from the railing, his body leaning forward and then walking towards you. He stood so close your chests nearly brushed, his long, lean body looming over you.

"Jess…" you murmured, trailing off.

He brought the joint up to his lips, sucking in a long pull.

"Hm?" he murmured, his eyes a little glossy and red even in the dark.

He brought his boney hand to your face, cupping so gently. His finger tips were cool to the touch, soothing against your warm skin. He leaned down so that you had to lean back to make room, the hand with the joint braced on the railing beside you, the other still gentle at your jaw. His mouth opened a fraction, and he released a slow breath. Not all of it at once like an exhale, but softly enough that the smoke drifted between your faces, thin and warm as it curled over your lips.

You gasped, inhaling the herbaceous scent. Along with it, was the smell of him—patchouli, spice and some sort of freshness. It was almost just as intoxicating, it made your head feel softer, your body slower to remember itself.

He pulled away, his eyes glossier now, licking his lips once again. He didn't move far though, just dropped his hands from your face to bring the joint back to his lips.

"One more?" he whispered.

You nodded. You weren't entirely sure if you'd have words now, your brain still lagging behind every movement.

He brought the burning stick back to his lips one last time and took a deeper hit, cheeks hollowing as he filled his lungs. Then he crushed the burnt end carefully against the ashtray on the railing, setting it aside before he reached for you with both hands, a little more eager.

His palms framed your face, thumbs near the corners of your mouth, and he bent down until there was almost no space left between you.

You opened for him too, your lips so close to his as released the smoke into your waiting mouth. It was shockingly intimate, intense, his body radiating heat as your chest brushed his.

And when he'd run out of smoke to give, you closed your mouth over his.

The kiss was cotton dry, but still warm. You barely hesitated to deepen it, your hand fisting in the cotton of his shirt, pulling him into you. He tasted like some sort of mixed drink, and for one ridiculous second, it made you wonder what his favorite was. If he liked tequila, or vodka, or maybe he was a gin kind of guy.

Then his tongue pushed past your lips, and all the silly thoughts went straight out of your head.

Both of you moaned when your tongues slid against each other, mouths opening wider, rougher, teeth clacking together in the clumsiness of it. It made you giggle against his mouth, and you felt his answering breath of laughter before he pushed his body harder against yours. He kissed so sweetly and yet so hungrily, everything intense and slow while still moving quicker than your brain could follow.

Your hand reached into his hair then, fingers sliding through the dark gray curls before you pulled lightly. He moaned deliciously into your mouth, a thick groan vibrating against your lips.

When he pulled back to breathe, he was panting, forehead dropping to yours. For a moment, he stayed there, breathing against your lips, his hands still holding your face. Then he rolled his forehead against yours before pulling away, only to press another quick kiss to your mouth.

"Definitely missed that." he said, voice hoarse.

“Wha—” you began as he pulled back, the cool air filling the space that had been so warm a moment ago. “That’s it?”

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your chin before he let you go.

“For now. Besides, I think I’m too high.” His grin came back easy and lopsided. “And I at least want to be able to remember the next time I get to have fun with you, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could admit you were maybe a little too stoned too, feeling clumsy and giddy under the warmth of his gaze. He was so smiley all of a sudden, all crinkled eyes and pleased amusement, and it only made you smile wider too.

"Never took you for such a tease, Jess." you said.

“If you want more, you know where to find meeee…” he trailed off, already backing toward the door with one hand reaching behind him for the handle. “C’mon. You need water. And so do I.”

You sighed, but agreed, pushing yourself off the railing to follow him inside.

Inside, Jesse made good on his promise for water.

He guided you into the kitchen with his hand loosely back in yours, then pressed a cold bottle into it before getting one for himself. You drank half of it quickly, water slipping from the corner of your mouth and down your chin, which made Jesse laugh under his breath before he wiped it away with the side of his thumb.

“Hydration first, then go eat something,” he said seriously, lifting his own bottle, and licking the water from his digit.

You snorted. “Yes, nurse Jesse.”

That made him laugh, grinning at you for a second before someone called his name from the other room. He wandered off toward the hall, leaving you with the water bottle sweating cold in your hand and the warm, loose feeling of his mouth still lingering on yours.

You drifted back toward the living room and found Mel on the couch, high as a kite too after someone had given her a gummy. You meant to sit with her for only a second to check in, but she was glassy-eyed and too funny about the chips in her lap, and you were still stoned enough that everything she said made you fold into yourself with laughter. The two of you ended up tucked together on the couch, sharing from the same bowl, shoulders pressed close while the party moved around you.

It felt easy for a little while. Warm. Stupid in the best way. Mel kept leaning in to say things she clearly thought were very important, only to lose her own point halfway through, and you kept laughing with your hand over your mouth, trying not to choke on the sharp salt of the chips.

You didn’t notice when the front door opened again, but you did notice the change in the room. The way the voices closest to the entryway thinned out first, then the living room seemed to follow, conversation dropping until even Mel’s laughter faded beside you.

“Oh—” you said suddenly, realizing why the party had gone quieter, why no one was talking in the living room anymore.

Standing in the middle of the room, somehow the most shy and uncomfortable you’d ever seen him before, was Brendon Park.

He had his keys gripped in one hand, his shoulders held a little stiffly. There were no black scrubs, no badge clipped to his chest. Just a simple tee shirt pulled across the wide breadth of him, blue jeans, and a pair of casual loafers that made him look so oddly normal your brain took a second to catch up.

"Brendon?" you asked, standing up to come to him. His hair was different too, less severe. Usually it was slicked back from his clean face, but tonight it was barely brushed, dark pieces falling soft over his forehead.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Sorry, it’s just…” He took a look around the room, the keys tight in his hand. “Can we talk?”

"Yeah, of course—is everything okay?"

He looked a little shy, though when his eyes moved from you and to the onlookers, they darkened into that usual piercing gaze.

“Let’s go talk back here,” you offered, taking his hand in yours and pulling him away into the hallway. “C’mon.”

The noise of the party swelled again when you guided him from the room, though it muffled a little once you turned the corner. The hallway was dark except for a strip of light coming from under the bathroom door, two bedroom doors shut at the end.

“I’m sorry, Bunny,” he began with a heavy breath. “I just wanted to see you.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Langdon told me, actually.”

"What?" you asked, looking back at the party, as if you'd be able to pick him out of the crowd. "Frankie's here?"

"He dropped Mel off, her DD or something he said."

"Oh…" you murmured, your brain scrambling to make sense of that. Frank and Mel?

"I wanted to see you, talk to you." he went on. He leaned in a little as he said it, your back settling against the wall. It was less intense than it had been the week before in the hallway, but still. Brendon had a way of taking up space without trying. His chest was wide beneath the cotton of his shirt, one shoulder angled above you, his head tipped down so his voice stayed low between the two of you.

"About what?" you asked, your voice small as a mouse.

“I’m sorry about how I acted,” he said gently, his face closer now. “I was a dick in the hallway last week. I shouldn’t have come onto you like that.”

“It’s okay, Bren—”

He shook his head.

“No. Not out in the open like that. And Abbot—” He hissed in a breath, closing his eyes for a second. The name on his mouth sounded like it took everything in him not to curse. “He got under my skin. And I’m sorry.”

Your hand came up to his jaw, light stubble beginning to grow there, rough beneath your touch.

“Brendon, it’s okay. I promise. I was really worked up that day and just overwhelmed.” You swallowed, thumb brushing once near the corner of his mouth. “From… not seeing anyone in a while.”

He nodded, his thick hand coming up to gently hold yours against his face, "Me too."

Your brows threaded. "What do you mean?"

His eyes were on your mouth now, and it was like he couldn't help himself, he leaned in, pressing a feather light kiss to your mouth. Then another. The third one lingered, his lips slotting against yours with more pressure, one careful breath leaving him through his nose. You welcomed it, your brain still airy and full of static, your body heavy and light at the same time.

"Miss you," he murmured against yours lips.

You hummed into his mouth, opening for him when his tongue brushed at the seam of your lips, warm and slick against yours. His free hand found your waist then, not grabbing quite yet, only settling, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your belly beneath your layers.

The kiss stayed careful for only a few seconds.

Then his mouth opened wider over yours, and you felt the control in him start to slip. His hand tightened at your hip. His body came closer, pinning you tighter to the wall. You made a small sound into him when his hand that was holding yours against his face slid down your arm and up to your cheek, cupping your face and tilting your head back against the wall so he could gain better access to lick behind your teeth.

Fuck, he felt so good. Big and warm against you, his tongue pushing hungrily yet so gentle. You pulled it between your lips, suckling on it, making him moan.

When you let go, he was panting against your mouth, and then, his hand left your side to lean across you and push open the bathroom door.

Light flooded the hallway before he was pushing you inside, easily manhandling you onto the sink where he pushed himself against you when the door closed.

"Fuck, Bunny," he breathed when your legs wrapped around his hips. You sat on the edge of the porcelain, cold through the thin fabric of your shorts, close enough to feel him through his jeans. Thick and hard and wanting. Your cardigan slid from your shoulders, and you shook it off completely, letting it pool around you on the counter. Brendon took advantage of the movement, pushing the straps of your tank top down until your breasts spilled free, his mouth closing over one of your nipples.

You threw your head back with a breathless moan, your hand going straight into his hair. It felt so different than usual, soft and loose under your fingers, short enough that you could drag your nails over his scalp when you gripped him. He groaned at the feeling, sucking your pebbled nipple harder.

His swollen lips traveled across the valley of your breasts to take the other one into his mouth, licking and nipping until it peaked just the same. His hand came up to massage the other, squeezing it hard in his big hand.

“Jesus, Brendon—” you whimpered, your hips searching for friction.

He was panting when he kissed back up your neck, and you let him. You leaned your head back to give him more room, and he sucked harder on the sensitive column of your throat, groaning into your skin. His arms wrapped around your body to pull you nearly off the counter entirely, his hips grinding into yours.

Your body was a little contorted now, shoulders digging into the corner where the mirror met the counter, but you didn’t really care. Not with the way he was pushing his straining bulge against you, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against the thin fabric of your shorts. You could feel the seam of his zipper, the hard shape of him, the way he kept pressing in like he was trying to get closer than clothing would allow.

His entire torso eclipsed the light above you, throwing your body into shadow beneath him. Your back curved awkwardly against the small single sink, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, your hips tilted up toward him while the weight of him crowded you into the porcelain.

"Feels so good, Bunny—" he moaned, mouth wet against your neck. “How does that feel, hm? Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes—” you panted, your hooded eyes dropping between your bodies.

You watched the hard press of covered cock grind against you, watched the way his hips rocked into yours, the denim rubbing your thighs raw, hands tight on your waist. It was messy and clumsy in the small bathroom, his lips on your throat, his breath rough against your skin, both of you trying to get more from the little space you had.

“Love grinding on your sweet little pussy, Bunny,” he groaned. “Missed you. Missed touching you, missed fucking you—miss this. Shit, oh shit—”

His hand came up beneath your jaw, tilting your head back so he could kiss you. It was so rough that your teeth clicked together as he ate at your mouth, all heat and spit and tongue, and you opened for him without fuss, hooking your ankles behind his back to pull him in closer.

"Feels so good, Brendon—oh my god—wait—no, no, no—please—"

A building pressure was heightening in your belly, coiling down into your hips, making them tremble and ache where they tilted up towards him. Every drag of his denim-covered cock against you made it worse, the hard pressure catching just right through your shorts until your breath started to break.

"Yes," he urged, and you moaned at the lewd way he kissed you now, spit shining on his upper lip, biting at your bottom lip harder.

“I don’t—I can’t—” you gasped, fingers twisting in his shirt. “I don’t wanna come, Brendon, please. I’m n-not allowed to—”

“Fuck that,” he cursed, the words broken against your mouth before his tongue pushed back inside.

“No, no, no—” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut.

He was so hard against you. So hot and desperate, his hips losing rhythm now, grinding in shorter, rougher movements while his hands gripped you enough to bruise.

"Wish I could feel it on my cock, Bunny," he panted, "what I wouldn't do to have your tight little pussy coming around me right now—oh god—fuck I'm gonna—oh, fuck—!"

His body locked up, and for a second, he looked almost shocked, eyes widening as his hips shoved hard against yours. Then he came with a low groan, mouth falling open against yours, his breath spilling hot over your lips while his body jerked between your thighs.

You kept kissing him—suckling at his lower lip, nipping gently while his body came back to himself. Your own impending orgasm ebbed as the grinding stopped, the sharp climbing crest of the wave now settling down. Air filled your lungs in a shaky rush, your head a little more woozy than before, hips aching from the stretch of where he leaned into the cradle of them.

Brendon stayed pressed to you for a second longer, breathing hard, forehead dropping near your temple.

“Shit,” he whispered, "I can't believe…I just..."

You let out a huff of laughter, your hands going into his hair, scratching behind his ear. You turned your head to kiss the delicate lobe, "I thought it was hot."

He shakily chuckled with you, and then finally pulled back with a deep sigh. Shaking his head and looking down, a little bashful, he cursed under his breath.

"Feel a little like a teenager." he said with a lopsided grin, reaching for the toilet paper as he unbuckled his belt.

You sighed too, letting your body melt against the sink, stretching your legs out straight before letting them back down to the cabinet and sitting up. You watched him clean himself up, a little pulse between your legs as you watched him handle his half-hard cock, sticky wet spend glistening along the shaft.

Guilt began to curl up in your belly while you watched him, thinking of Jack and Robby. Wondering if they were both still on the couch, talking about you, about what things would look like. What would they think, knowing this is where you were? Watching Brendon Park clean himself up after he left his house in the middle of the night to come find you.

"Tell me what’s going on with you lately." he said as he looked at you again, studying your face. "I’m sorry. I get so—” He swallowed, eyes flicking over your expression and then shaking his head as he zipped his pants back up. “You’re so— I guess I just miss you. I just wanted to see you.”

You licked your dry lips as you looked over at him, tapping your heels lightly against the wood cabinet under you.

"I miss you too," you said quietly, "Things are alright. Robby and I are still—"

“Bunny,” Park sighed, cutting you off as his hands settled on either side of your hips, leaning in. “I don’t really give a shit about Robby right now.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, then dragged back up. “And I especially don’t want to hear his name when I was this close to bending you over this sink and fucking the shit out of you despite him.”

Heat rose fast into your face, and you had to bite back a smile before you could school your features.

“I know,” you said gently, reaching up to pet the back of his neck. “I know. But right now, I really don’t want to get in more trouble.”

“You’d never be in trouble with me, Bunny,” he said, very seriously. “Whatever Robby’s problem is, he can talk to me about it. I want to take care of you the way you’re supposed to be taken care of.”

Your brows threaded, "No it's—it's not Robby that's the problem, Brendon."

His face changed at that, darkening a little, but he still stayed gentle as he said: "So he's got it in your head that you somehow are?"

You bit your lip, unsure what to say to that.

He brought his hand to your face, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin to pull your lip from beneath your teeth. He leaned in, kissing you gently. His lips were swollen and soft from his ministrations on your skin.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured. “And this mess he’s got you in is just going to end badly, Bunny.”

His voice was still so gentle, and it took your staticky brain a moment to catch up to what he meant.

You sat up straighter on the bathroom counter, "Brendon, I don't know what you're trying to get at, but if you're trying to get me to leave Robby, it's not going to happen. He and I have agreed to what we have."

“Yeah?” Park said, still standing between your legs, his hand coming back to your face when you tried to look away. His thumb caught beneath your chin, fingers firm, turning you back to him. He looked too big for the little bathroom, shoulders nearly filling the space between the sink and the door, his chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

"Listen to me, Bunny." he said, voice so soft it made your stomach twist, "You deserve better than Robinavitch. He's an emotionally stunted old man that is going to break your heart."

Your gaze narrowed on him.

For a second, you just took him in. That sharp gaze softened on you, his massive shoulders crowding the room, the swollen place on his mouth where you’d kissed him, the hair you’d ruined with your own hands.

Your hand came up to his wrist, nimble fingers wrapping around it, tightening them around the joint.

"Jokes on you, Sharkie. I don't have one."

You pulled your cardigan back over your shoulders, slid off the sink, and pushed past him out of the bathroom.

You didn’t stop in the hallway, or the living room to say your goodbyes, or even when you heard your name being called. You made a beeline for the front door, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes, your cardigan clutched crookedly around you.

“Bunny!” you heard Park call behind you, but you wouldn’t turn around. He called again, this time with your actual name, the sound chasing you through the open door and out into the cold.

You stopped on the sidewalk, the tears you’d tried holding back spilling down your face as you brushed at them with your sleeve. You clutched your phone tightly in one hand, thumb hovering over Robby’s name.

A hand came down to your shoulder, and you jumped.

"Hey, shit—I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have said—oh, bunny, c'mere," Park cooed. He pulled you into his arms before you could decide whether to let him, massive and warm around you, your face burying into the center of his chest.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, one hand cupping the back of your head. “Please don’t cry.”

You didn’t hug him back, but you let him hold you. The front of his shirt was soft beneath your cheek, still carrying the heat of him from inside the house. His nose pressed into the top of your head, his arms folding around you tighter when your breath hitched.

"You're such a dick," you cried between the deep valley of his muscular chest.

"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that." you muttered wetly.

He sighed, the breath moving through his chest against your hair. For a moment, he swayed you a little, one hand spread between your shoulder blades, the other hooked around the back of your neck. Then he let you go, but only enough to hold you by the cups of your shoulders.

“I’m a jealous asshole, okay?” he said. “I know that. I’m jealous Robby gets to have you all to himself. I’m jealous he gets to call the shots with you when you’re your own person able to make your own decisions. It pisses me off, Bunny.”

"Brendon—"

“I could be so much better for you,” he went on, low, urgent now, the words rushing and his hands griping a little harder on your shoulders. “I would be so good for you. You’d never have to wonder if I wanted to be with you. I’d never tell you who you could or couldn't talk to— I’d never make you feel like wanting more was something you had to be punished for, and—”

“Stop!” you exclaimed.

The word came out louder than you meant it to, sharp enough that his mouth snapped shut. You pushed his arms down and off of you, putting space between your bodies so fast you nearly stumbled. Your face was wet again. Of course it was. You wiped at your cheeks with the heel of your hand, glaring up at him.

“You don’t get it, Brendon. And that’s fine. Maybe you never will, and you don’t have to. But I need you to stop thinking that I’m, like—stuck in this thing with him!”

Park looked down at you very seriously, his arms going across his chest. The light from the front door cut along one side of his face, catching the line of his jaw, the place where his mouth was still swollen from yours. He looked so handsome and so furious and so hurt. And though it pulled your heart nearly out of your chest, he had to understand.

“I chose this with Robby,” you said tersely, pointing a finger up at his chest. Your voice shook, which only made you angrier. “I want to be with him. The bullshit of the past few weeks was because I crossed a line. I slept with Jack Abbot without telling him, okay? Me. I did. Not Robby. And now this—you and me tonight—”

Your throat tightened around the words.

You looked away, one hand pushing hard over your mouth.

“I shouldn’t have even…” You stopped, breath hitching. “Jesus.”

Brendon didn’t say anything. He only watched you, face unreadable in the dim light, and somehow his silence felt worse than a retort.

“I was punished for sleeping with Jack,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him again. “And I’ll probably get shit for making out with you in there too. And that’s okay. That’s part of the deal.”

His expression shifted, jaw going tight. You saw it happen and rushed on before he could start.

“No, don’t look at me like that. Don’t do that.” Your hand lifted between you, palm out, trembling a little. “That’s what I mean. You hear the word punishment and you decide you know everything. Like you think I need saving or something. But you don’t know what it’s like with him. You don’t know what I asked for. You don’t know what I want.”

“And what you want is that whatever Robby says goes?” Park asked, disbelieving.

"Yes." you hissed.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s not about making you feel better!”

Your voice cracked then, and you hated that too. The whole night had cracked open somewhere you couldn’t close it, and now everything was spilling out wrong, too loud, too much, too honest. You crossed your arms over your chest like you could hold yourself together physically if nothing else.

“So all of this,” he said after a long moment, voice lowering, though a scowl still pulled his features tight, “the crying, the pulling away, telling me no last week and then kissing me back tonight, then looking scared because we—what? Made out? Something we’ve done plenty of times before, but because Robby’s waiting for you at home now, it’s different? That’s all because you want it this way?”

He took one step closer, then stopped himself. “If it is, tell me now,” he said, his voice so low you had to strain to hear it. “I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t come to you. You and I will be done.”

Your throat burned even worse when you looked at him now, your eyes softening and going wet again.

"I don't want you to be done with me." you croaked.

His face softened at your words, his shoulders dropping. But he kept his arms folded across his chest, still staring at you with a piercing gaze.

It sounded so childish, so quiet and defeated, completely different from your sharpness before. "I want you, Brendon. I like how you look at me. I like kissing you. I like all of it, and it’s just—” You dragged in a breath, pushing both hands into your hair. “Shit is weird right now.”

"But it doesn't have to be, Bunny."

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“But it is. It is, and things will go back to normal soon, it’s just—” You sighed, pushing your hands into your eyes until you saw little sparks of color behind your lids. “I don’t know how to do this right now. I keep fucking up. I don’t know how to want you and not make everything worse.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

When you dropped your hands from your face, Brendon was right in front of you, closer than you expected but not touching you yet. His gaze moved over your face, taking in the tears, the heat of your face, whatever wreckage the argument had left behind. Then his hand lifted, slower this time, giving you every opportunity to move away.

When you didn't, he pushed your hair back from your face, careful around your temples, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Okay,” he sighed against your skin. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

You sniffled and looked away.

He exhaled long and controlled, the way he did when he was forcing himself not to say ten other things.

"Can I take you home?" he asked softly, "We don't have to fix this tonight I just…want to at least get you back safe."

You nodded, arms crossing in front of your chest. "Yeah, okay."

“Okay, c’mon.” he murmured.

His arm came around you, pulling you in close. It didn't feel possessive anymore or unwelcome. It was just the warmth of his body against yours as he guided you to the sleek black BMW, and you let yourself be led. You leaned against him, exhausted by the conversation.

When he opened the door for you, you climbed in wordlessly, shutting it behind you with the rest of the evening.

fun fact: I have a friend in an enm relationship and she read it over and me the two thumbs up on this !! even about having someone outside the relationship trying to push that they know better for you.... mmmhmmm

Jack wasn’t sure when he first noticed that his house had gone from macho-bachelor pad that obviously hadn’t seen a woman’s touch in years to a place that had something pink tucked in all its corners.

Ever since you’d moved in, pink was suddenly all that Jack saw. 

Your pink towels were always fluffy and warm next to his hanging-by-a-thread navy ones on the bathroom rack. Your pink slippers sat dutifully next to his crutches while the two of you were working the night shift; you up in pedes, him down in the third layer of hell. Your pink hair ties scattered in various places: his bedside table, his side of the sink, one in the shower, a few in his vehicle, and he swears he stepped on one in his garage. 

However, no matter how many pink hair ties he saw in his dreams, nothing could have prepared him for your actual addiction: lip gloss. 

As a man, Jack thought that you’d maybe have two or three. One to go in your makeup bag and one to go in your purse and one to leave in your locker at work. 

Oh, boy, was he wrong—dead wrong. 

If he thought you had too many hair ties and too many earrings and too many claw clips that he always had to remind you to take out of your hair before a drive, their number (combined) held no candle to how many lip glosses you had. 

It felt like every trip to the store ended a new lip gloss added to the cart. And that didn’t even compare to the ones you bought online. Jack’s head went dizzy with the, what he felt to be innumerable, list of brands that you swore was better than the last. 

Rhode, Kylie Cosmetics, Summer Fridays, Glossier, Refy, Dior (Jack did like that one because he knew you used his card for that), Clinique, NYX, Eadem: the list went on longer than a receipt from CVS. 

Jack didn’t know how you could keep up with all of them. One minute you were yacking his ear off about the newest sparkly nude shade while the next you were raving about a deep berry shade that would match your dress for the next medical gala. And then in two days, a new box would show up with your name on it, and he could only bet that the four cardboard walls held a brand-new lip gloss. When he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure he’d ever seen you finish one push tube before ordering a new one. 

But that really never mattered; he didn’t care what you bought with your money as long as he got to take care of everything else you needed. 

One time when he asked why you bought so many, you had simply told him that buying a new lip gloss felt like a reward. Whether you got one after a good night with lots of cases with happy results or after a bad shift where the world just felt impossible, you could always find a smidge of joy in buying something pretty to put on your lips. 

Jack understood a little too well. While he didn’t spend his free time scouring the shelves for a new plumping formula that held the smallest of shimmers, he found that same smidge of joy in spending time with you and slowly learning that down time didn’t mean he had to fill it with adrenaline-rushing activities. 

Now, even if the only downside to your lippie addiction was that your bank account went down by almost $25 each purchase, there were a lot of upsides to it as well. One of Jack’s favorites being that you’d get to test each of them out . . . on him. 

Jack became the heart eye emoji every time you swiped the same gloopy-looking lip gloss across your lips. His hazel eyes tracked the back-and-forth motion, and most times he’d run his tongue across his own lips in preparation for what came next. Your lips, now glossy and catching the light in whatever shade you’d gotten, would stretch into a smile as you looked at him expectedly. He never failed to look away, face sometimes leaning in inch by inch before you even finished applying the gloss. 

“Calm down, boy,” you’d said, nose scrunching at his eagerness. “You’ll get your kiss in a minute.” 

“I’m being calm,” he replied cooly like he wasn’t a breath away from your face, eyes taking in each freckle and smile line on your face. If he inhaled deep enough and if your gloss came scented or flavored, he’d be able to smell it on your lips. “You’re just so pretty.” 

“You’re such a flirt.” 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his cheeks before pulling him into a kiss. Jack never minded the feeling of the gloss transferring over to his lips. He remembers how his late-wife’s favorite wine-red matte lipstick would always leave a few prints behind and even on his teeth depending on how long he stayed connected to his lips. But now it seemed as though glosses were more popular than lip stick, and Jack would die happily with his lips between your smooth ones. 

His lips would move languidly across yours like he was savoring the feeling. His hands would also rise and hold your face so you couldn’t escape the onslaught of his kisses. And the few times that the gloss was indeed flavored, he’d make sure to finish with a swipe of his tongue to the point a string of saliva would connect your lips together before your giggles started sounding off at the sight of his lips covered in sparkles or stained dark pink. 

A boy would hate the fact, but Jack was a man, and he wore the color with pride. 

_______________________

“Brother, you got a little something, riigghhttt there,” Robby drew out while poking Jack in the cheek before handing it over his friend. “Second thought, I think it’s doing something to bring out the rosiness of your cheeks.” 

Jack smacked his hand away. “Knock it off. I thought you’d be out of here by now?” 

Robby shook his head and chuckled. “You should know by now that I haven’t left on time in years.” He leaned against the nurses’ station. “Is that a new color? Pretty sure we saw this shade two weeks ago.” 

“Can’t ever have enough shades,” Jack repeated from the multiple times you had told him the same. “But yeah, it’s a new one. There was a summer drop, and you know how she gets.” 

And he did after witnessing the near meltdown of the 2025 Rhode summer launch that you thought you had missed out on before Jack casually mentioned he’d been able to get every single product while Robby sat in the chair chuckling the entire time. 

“Did you say summer drop?” Victoria’s voice suddenly sounded, pitch a bit too loud for someone coming down after twelve straight hours of traumas after traumas. 

The corner of Jack’s lips twitched into a smirk. “My partner’s very into those. Between the two of us, we spent a minimum of $400 just to get that damned towel.” 

And it wasn’t even pink Jack thought. But a summer drop was a summer drop. 

Victoria’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you talking about the Rhode drop?” 

“Yeah. Next week’s the popup in New England, and thankfully it happens on my day off.  I don’t want to think what would happen if we failed to get a hoodie.” 

“Damn, Dr. Abbot,” she said, jaw dropping slightly. “I didn’t expect you to be someone so into makeup.” 

Jack looked up from the tablet in his hands with furrowed brows. “Huh?” 

Because to Jack, anything you were into swiftly became everything he was into. By himself, he didn’t have a lot of interests outside of the ER and some yoga he did in the mornings. You’d brought a fresh air to his life with your hot Pilates on the weekends and your farmers markets and movie watching and book reading that included matching Kindles. So for Victoria to be confused as to why he knew exactly when the next Rhode pop-up would be, his chest flared with a feeling of invalidation. 

Victoria must have picked up on his inner turmoil by the face he was making because she quickly backtracked. “Oh, uh, that wasn’t meant to be a negative thing, Dr. Abbot. I just mean that a lot of guys really aren’t into something like that. So it’s kind of refreshing to see.” 

“I see.” Jack turned back to the tablet. “It’s a good thing I’m not being piled in with the rest of the male population.” 

“So,” Victoria began again, now looking like she wanted to delve into Jack’s personal life. “I’m guessing your girlfriend likes lip gloss?” 

Robby answered for her with a large smile. “You have no idea.” 

“Who has no idea?” Trinity asked on her way out. However, she paused and smirked at the sight of the glossy kiss-shaped splotch on Jack’s cheek that he hadn’t wiped off. “Ooooo, Dr. Abbot, you got something—” 

“Thank you, Santos,” Jack gruffly said. “I’m very well aware that I have something on my cheek. And I’d prefer that everyone stopped pointing it out. If I wanted it gone, I would have wiped it off when I noticed it before I got out of my car.” 

Jack paused. He’d said too much, and he knew that Victoria and Trinity caught on it.

“Wait,” Trinity said, “does your girlfriend come to work with you? Does she work in the Pitt?” 

Victoria looked around with wide eyes like she’d be able to find something hidden in plain sight. “Is she here?”  

“I wonder if she knows Dr. Barbie. She also likes lip gloss.” 

Robby looked over at Jack knowingly. 

The two girls, despite their excitedness, had made a few errors. 

Jack had said partner, and they clung to the idea that he had a girlfriend. But if the absolute rock of a diamond he put on your finger followed by that thin band had anything to say about it, you were far from being woman who deserved the juvenile title of girlfriend. Plus, much to contrary belief and your affinity for all thinks pink, you were only five years his junior. He absolutely loved the way you now wore your hair with gray licking at your roots. 

Second mistake was automatically thinking you worked in the Pitt. Even if you’d worked in an ER well before meeting Jack, you’d shuffled departments around until you ended up specializing in pediatrics to help your reign in your small bouts of baby fever after deciding that children weren’t something you ultimately wanted in life. 

Yet, that didn’t mean you weren’t unknown in the Pitt. To his knowledge, the younger kids had started calling you Dr. Barbie because of the number of pink scrubs you wore into work. 

See, just another bit of pink that Jack welcomed into your shared home. 

They knew you were married, often opting to let your ring flash as you walked through. So the idea of Jack having a girlfriend while you had a full husband meant that they didn’t make the connection. 

Well, that was until the elevator dinged and you stepped out, pinks scrubs, hair falling in those beautiful curls you got with an over-night curler, and, most importantly, lips shining with your first gloss of the day. 

“Dr. Barbie is so pretty,” Victoria mentioned almost dreamily. “Her time management must be insane if she manages to look so good all the time.” 

Trinity hummed in agreement. “If she wasn’t married, I’d be in line in a heartbeat.” 

Despite their comments, Jack smiled as he watched your eyes scan the room until they landed on him, and a bright smile plastered onto your face once you started making your way over to the nurses’ station. 

“Jack!” you called. “Just the man I was looking for.” You stopped right in front of him, mouth open to continue whatever you were saying, but you stopped, cocked your head, and narrowed your eyes. You clicked your tongue and stepped forward as you licked a finger. “Honey, you should have told me I left that on your cheek.”

It was as if all else faded into the background, and Jack quickly dodged your finger. “Hey!”

“Jack, just stay still for one second.” 

He caught your outstretched hand. “Knock it off.” 

“I can’t let you go the entire night walking around with Macadamia Butter lip gloss on your face.” You managed to get your hand free and gently wipe the kiss mark off. “There.” You watched Jack’s face fall. “Don’t pout.” 

He sneered playfully. “I’m not pouting.” 

He was definitely pouting. 

You warmly smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll just come down later and refresh it, yeah?” 

Jack hummed lowly before he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in the middle of the emergency department not caring who saw. He ran a quick tongue across his lips after he pulled back. “Is that the hot cocoa one?” 

Your smiled turned into a bashful one. “I’ve turned you into a lip gloss connoisseur.” 

“It’s not like you have over twenty in the house plus the extra five in the truck along with the seven you keep in your locker—” 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you giggled right as your pager went off. “Looks like I’m being called away. I’ll see you later?” 

He nodded and smirked down at you. “I’ll see you later for my reapplication.” 

You turned away and yelled over your shoulder. “Fig sauce is going to look great on you!” 

Once you were out of sight on the elevator, Jack turned around to see the shocked faces of Victoria and Trinity. His chest puffed out just a bit, knowing he had shown them at what a good husband he was. 

“Fig sauce,” Robby chuckled. “Man, you’re so whipped. I’ll see you in twelve for my reapplication, Dr. Abbot,” he teased while walking away. 

Jack couldn’t help but laugh softly until he remembered that Robby wasn’t the only member of his audience. He eyed the two women carefully. 

“I’ll get you each three glosses from whatever brand in return for your silence.” 

Oh, yeah, Jack Abbot was indeed a lip gloss connoisseur. 

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

In fact, the first hour of your shared shift had been fine - enjoyable even. You both cracked jokes, sharing stories about peculiar mentors that you had encountered in the past. Frank even offered you some of his hard-earned wisdom; things that he wished he had known as an MS3.

Then he had led you into various operating rooms, detailing the cases and procedures to you with a hand on the small of your back. It made your skin flush, but he didn't notice, taking your silence for rapt attention - something that was rare in students these days.

Throughout his residency, Frank had met countless students that were simply jumping hoops and leaping hurdles, just going through the motions to reach that fabled paycheck at the end of their placements. (He took small pleasure in knowing that the wages would most likely disappoint them; residents were always the ones to get underpaid.) Hell, he had even seen doctors that were entirely the same: only in it for the money.

However, it was quickly apparent that you were different.

There was something in the way you spoke to patients, how you advocated for their best interests. It was clear that you had a passion for helping people, and that you were seeking fulfilment from this career, rather than a hefty sum of money. Frank thought it was an admirable quality, but in spite of this, he still found himself at his wit's end by midday - barely able to tolerate you.

As reflected by hundreds of studies, it has been proven that asking questions is an important part of the learning process. However, it would seem that none of these researchers had ever met you, with your endless stream of inquiries. Seriously, Frank felt like he was being interrogated.

He would be elbow-deep in someone's body cavity and you would pipe up from beside him, sickly sweet voice asking something about the technique he was using. They weren't even stupid questions, too, that's what really bothered him.

The first time, Frank had foolishly tried to offer a response. You watched as his incisors sank deep into his lower lip, gaze never faltering as he struggled to conjure an answer. He had stammered uselessly until Robby stepped in to (semi)-end his suffering, heckling him from the corner of the room, "Focus on the patient Langdon - there'll be plenty of time to look confused later."

There had been a resounding laughter at that remark, so Frank decided it was best to ignore your queries from there on out to avoid any further humiliation. Still, he couldn't understand what was causing these vacancies in his mind. It could possibly be attributed to the focus that each procedure demanded from him, or the way that you stood too close, letting your perfume dizzy him.

Nonetheless, you continue asking questions. It shouldn't bother him, (you're here to learn, after all) but it does, because now you direct them at Robby instead.

Robby, who explains concepts to you with a lot more warmth and patience than he ever had with Frank - or anyone for that matter. Despite his best efforts to shake off any lingering jealousy, he couldn't help but wonder why you received such special treatment.

That wasn't his breaking point, though.

No, that came about two weeks in.

In Frank's defence, it had already been an exhausting day: the shift was running over by at least an hour; he hadn't found an opportunity to eat since that morning; and you had just decided to revive an annoying habit that Frank thought you had finally moved past.

Evidently not, as you begin every contribution to the case with a “Well, my dad said that…” or a “My dad showed me a journal that said…”

It wasn't to say that he doubted your dad's knowledge - whoever he was - but Frank wanted to hear from you. He wasn’t just asking these questions because he felt like it, he genuinely wanted your input. Although it wasn’t something he would admit easily, you had offered him a different perspective on more than one occasion. Your advice was valuable to him.

So maybe, just maybe, when you opened your mouth to say, “I think I remember my dad telling me about this,” he snapped, looking up at you from where he stood bent over the patient.

“If I wanted your dad’s opinion, don’t you think I would be asking him instead?” he begins, leaning towards you on his forearms. You tried to hold his gaze, not letting him intimidate you as his eyes darkened, becoming more pointed and accusatory as his voice rose, “All day you’ve been leaning on him like a crutch. I don’t know who he is - fuck, I don’t even care - but if you want to be a doctor, you have to think for yourself.”

The nurses had immediately gone silent, busying themselves with trivial distractions. You could hear Princess fiddling with her gloves from across the room, and Langdon’s ragged breath breaking through the silence. You thought he was finished, but a vein fired off in his neck as if to prove you wrong.

“Have you ever heard a resident quoting their dad as a source of medical information?” he paused, watching as you shook your head, letting his hair fall into his eyes as he mimicked your movement, “No, of course you haven’t. We’ve spent years attending lectures and studying medical journals, you know, the reliable, legitimate resources?”

Frank sucked in a deep breath as he prepared to continue, but the vitals monitor began to beep, interrupting him. Instead, he just threw you a look, one that said ‘do better,’ before turning his attention back to the patient.

Fortunately, this altercation hadn’t been mentioned again. He still felt guilty about it, taking a bad day and pent up desire out on you. The divorce hadn’t been easy, especially when you were tormenting him every day; you must have been the only person to look so good in scrubs.

The thought had been weighing on Frank's mind - a constant thrum since you were assigned to his watchful eye. 

Who were you? What was it that seemed to make everyone fawn around you?

He had seen it on multiple occasions: Dana insisting you take a lunch break, even when the ER was hectic and you were decidedly not hungry; Perlah bringing back all sorts of souvenirs for you whenever she went abroad; but most obviously, the way Robby nurtured you. It was shameless favouritism, and Frank wanted to know what was causing it.

So, one night when sleep refused to find him, he turned to Instagram. 

Truthfully, he was shocked that he fought the urge for so long. A little impressed, actually. Nonetheless, he has always been an inquisitive soul, and the curiosity mixed with the jealousy (although Frank wouldn't call it that - perhaps just a healthy bit of competitive spirt among peers?) had become too much to bear.

The mattress squealed as he rolled to face his end table, arm reaching out and guided to his phone by the moonlight. It laid in a bed of its own - one of those electromagnetic chargers, a useless purchase born from a 20% discount - but it was in a far deeper slumber than Frank had any hope of finding. It was selfish, but if Frank couldn’t sleep, then neither could his phone. He yanked it from the bay and shuffled up against his pillows.

His touch woke the device, a photo of his dog coming to fill the screen, and the brightness filling his room. He winced, hurriedly stabbing at the control centre to dim the display. 

God, this would wreak havoc on his eyes.

After he gave himself a moment to push away the optical static, he headed straight to Instagram. The home page showed a woman wielding a giant bowl of salad, the subtitles flaunting her nutritious recipe. He stared aimlessly as she began chopping up various vegetables, unsure of where to begin his search. 

Look, cyber stalking - or any type of stalking - was new territory for him. Besides, Frank had really boxed himself into a corner here. 

For the entirety of your placement, he had deliberately avoided any small talk with you. It was a strange form of self-preservation, because Frank hated nothing more than being wrong. He knew that if he spoke to you, his dislike would quickly feel unjustified, and that was something he just couldn’t handle. The logic was primitive, but it had served him fairly well until then, as he realised that he didn’t know your surname.

Nonetheless, he remained hopeful and decided to start his search in the most obvious place, fingers typing your name into the search bar. The results began appearing, but a quick skim told him that he would need to wisen up, as the list only showed him a handful of random influencers who happened to share your name.

He readjusted himself on his bed, bringing the screen closer to his face as he pondered his next move. He felt like a detective as he compiled a mental web of everyone you know, plotting a route to your account.

Frank also felt like a total creep.

Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, he reasoned, exiling the guilt like had so many thoughts over the past month. Some of them - like how he wondered what your mouth might feel like - were persistent, and he had to pushing them away in some strange Sisyphean feat. 

He shook his head, resetting himself. Then he was back into action, fingers taking him to his profile and sifting through his followers to find Mel. He recognised her account immediately, the colorful profile picture of her and Becca catching his eye. Clicking on it, a strange sort of flow seemed to consume him, and he suddenly found himself on a roll. Frank scrolled through her page to find Whitaker, and from there, Trinity – your close friend.

Whenever he saw the two of you whispering at work, it felt like a conspiracy against him. He was always worried that he would open his locker to find rotting food in there, or gum plastered to the inside, but deep down he knew you were too nice to do something like that. He couldn’t fathom why, but even after he had shouted at you, you remained friendly with him. Everyone knew that he couldn’t say the same for Trinity.

Ready to continue the search, a digit remained hovering over the screen, but it instinctively tucked itself away as he found what he needed: a photo of the pair of you on a girls’ night out. You’re both leant on a sticky bar giggling to one another, and even Frank could admit that it was a cute photo - he wasn’t blind.

So, he sent out a silent prayer that you were tagged, then pressed tentatively on the thumbnail. 

It almost felt like fate as the little grey widget popped up, and he didn’t even read your username, thumb eclipsing it as he pressed with desperate haste. If there was a God, he was looking down on Frank kindly because by some miracle, your account was public - dumb, but convenient, Frank mused.

From there, it was like someone had released the hounds. He wasted no time scrolling through your extensive post history: a trip to the Maldives, some photos of your various meals, and a photo dump of you almost exclusively in bikinis.

Look, he knew he shouldn’t.

But his free hand was already pushing into his boxers, and his dick was already half hard.

Besides, if he had already exercised all of his worst impulses, what was one more? It wasn’t like you would find out.

That was all the convincing he needed, fingers coming to wrap around the shaft as he groaned. He had denied himself this for too long.

Then, he continued his exploration - cock in one hand, phone in the other. He flicked through the slideshows, smearing his precum around the tip as he looked at your lips, shiny and pouting. God, what would they feel like wrapped around his dick? A question for the ages.

He was stroking the shaft when the next slide took him by surprise: a photo of you from behind, bikini practically wedged between your cheeks. His hand sped up, that sound of skin against skin filling the room as he raced to match the thoughts that were speeding through his mind. Your skin looked so soft, and God - your ass was perfect. How had he not done this sooner?

Frank began to lose himself in the pleasure, imagining the way you would sound beneath him, sweet and encouraging. Breathless as he would bend your knees over his shoulders, pace harsh and unforgiving - punishment for the way you had embarrassed him.

What really finished him off, though, was thinking about how you would sound as you came, all coos and whimpers, drunk on his cock. It was almost instantaneous, Frank cumming alongside the imaginary you he created, his load spurting onto his phone.

In the midst of his orgasm, he scrolls one more post, searching for something to ride out his high to. He thought he had struck gold, only to end eye-to-eye with his boss, who was now coated in a sheen of Frank’s cum.

Post-coitus had never been so short, as Frank leapt from the bed and waddled to the bathroom, wiping his screen clean with a towel. It was only then that he noticed your username, and that he had accidentally hit the follow button.

@yn_robinavitch2003

Fuck.

thank you so much for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed!!! my asks are shamelessly open, so please send in any requests!

A/N: based on this gorgeous ask, sorry it took so long but thank you so much for the request, i hope this isn’t dull or ooc! part two is coming and it won’t take so long this time i promise 💕 also i haven’t proofread, i’ll do that in the morning!

Jealousy danced on your tongue, tasting thick as bitter tea leaves. Dragons circled the sky in flashes of red, blue, green, and gold. The reign of Queen Rhaenyra brought many dragons under her yoke, evoking memories of Old Valyria, and her lineage continued the legacy. She ensured her descendants understood the responsibility that fell before them. Dragons were a power to be used wisely and with great discretion. She valued the opinions of the dragon keepers, who understood the creatures even more than their riders did. They held revered positions and worked closely with the royal household to preserve the mystical beasts, ensuring they flourished.

Tears burned your eyes, fingers slowly curling into fists before you tore yourself away from the happy scene playing out in the cerulean and cream skies. You walked over the red and black chest that sat by the foot of your bed, opening the latch and lifting the shimmering purple egg swirled with silver and pink into your arms, cuddling it close. It was the egg your Uncle Baelor had placed in your cradle. The one that never hatched. The only Targaryen without a dragon. Even your studious father had bonded with the elusive Grey-Ghost, the two shy beings finding companionship with one another.

A knock sounded at your door, and you quickly wiped your tears away before the guard announced your Uncle's presence, granting him entry. Baelor frowned when he saw you cradling your egg, tears rolling down your cheeks.

"I came to see if you'd like to ride with me on Vermithor," he said softly, walking over and pulling you into his warm embrace. Your Uncles were always kind enough to offer their dragons, their saddles big enough for two. Vhagar remained the largest left, but she had made a home in Pentos, living out the rest of her days in peace.

"That is kind of you, Uncle," you whispered, tucking your egg between you.

"We will find you one yet," he assured you. "The keepers say Silverwing has been spotted over the Gullet. Perhaps with her return, you will at last have one.

"Mayhaps." But you did not wish to get your hopes up.

"Come, sweet girl, ride with me. I'm certain it will lift your mood," Baelor whispered, kissing your temple.

"Allow me a moment to change," you smiled.

You were left to your thoughts as your ladies helped you into your riding leathers, egg tucked safely back into your chest. It felt unfair that, as the eldest grandchild, you were the one left without a dragon. One should be yours by rights. How is it that Aerion could claim one, yet they avoided you as if you were a plague? You pushed the tears down and went to join your Uncle, your hand pressed tightly in his. How you loved him. How you loved Maekar.

The Bronze Fury waited in the courtyard, and immediately, you felt in a better mood. While he was not yours, you had spent much time on his back with Baelor. Almost as much time as you had with Maekar and Meleys. You had a soft spot for the Red Queen. Vermithor snorted, letting your gloved palm rest against his muzzle before you climbed the leather netting up his body to slip into the saddle. Baelor joined, sitting behind you with one arm around your waist and the other on the reins. His breath was warm against your neck, nose nuzzling your soft flesh before stealing a kiss. A roguish gesture; one you expected from Maekar, but you enjoyed it when that side of Baelor came out to play.

"Uncle," you gasped against his mouth, though you knew that while high up on Vermithor's back, none were likely to see.

"I have half a mind to chase them all from Dragonstone so it can be you and I alone there," he whispered in your ear, hand spanning across your belly.

"Even Maekar?"

"I suppose he may stay, but I do enjoy having you to myself at times," he admitted. He was not immune to jealousy.

"Both of you make me happy. I do not think I could choose between you." Your father was kind enough, but it was Baelor who placed the egg in your cradle, and it was Maekar who took you for your first ride. They nurtured this need growing inside you, more than your father did. They filled a void.

"Luckily, we would never make you." He drew another sweet kiss from your lips before taking to the skies on Vermithor. "Sōvēs, Vermitos!"

A crimson slash cut through the clouds as Vermithor approached Dragonstone, and you grinned as Meleys swooped down, the two dragons flying side by side until they landed on the bridge. You climbed down Vermithor and ran into Maekar's arms. Meleys spread her red wings, offering a shield as you kissed him.

"Crying again?" Maekar said, studying your wet eyes and puffy face before smoothing his leather-clad fingers over the remaining tear tracks and wiping them away. "Girl, you must move on from that damned egg. We'll find you a dragon."

"Baelor says Silverwing has been spotted."

"If she makes home in the mount, we'll have her brought to you."

"Thank you."

You held onto their arms while entering the castle, vibrant with the family's energy. Once a month, everyone rode their dragons to the Dragonstone and supped together in a grand feast. Aelora, Daella, and Rhae twirled around the great hall as the musicians practiced and Aemon and Aegon chased each other with wooden swords. Daeron huddled in a corner with Aelor, each sipping on wine, while Aerion sat in a chair, leg thrown over one of the golden arms, using his dagger to cut into a green apple. Matarys walked with Myriah, your grandmother, who was bathed in bright orange silks and held onto his arm. Valarr stood with your grandfather and father, no doubt, discussing history together. Alys rested on a bench, belly swollen with a third child, while Rhaegel fed her grapes.

"Oh, darling, you're here," your mother smiled, rushing over to greet you. While your father's love was dim, your mother's shone through like the brightest star in the sky. You were the one thing she had desired above all else. A precious child to call her own. Her only one. The Gods had blessed her with the first royal grandchild, but none after that. Perhaps that is why she understood your yearning for a dragon more than Aerys did.

"I promised to deliver her safe and sound, Aelinor," Baelor smiled, passing you into your mother's arms. It felt a bit foolish considering you were a young woman of twenty, but you still craved the fuss she made over you. Her gaze lingered on Baelor a bit longer, and you wondered if perhaps she knew. She had always been observant. Yet she made no move to pull you away from your Uncles. When the time came, she knew one of them would do the honorable thing and take you to wife. But which would it be? Only time would tell.

"My darling girl, I've heard Silverwing has been spotted. Mayhaps your time is coming," King Daeron smiled, leaning on his cane and holding his hand out toward you.

"I am hopeful," you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. You heard Aerion scoff. For some reason, he took pride in teasing you over not having a dragon.

"Some of us are late bloomers," your grandfather assured you.

You went to greet your grandmother, kissing her cheek before venturing further down towards the mount, sitting on the edge of the gantry and letting your legs dangle over the stone lip. It was warm and misty, smelling of smoke and burnt meat. You could hear the dragons moving through, claws digging into rocks, and the slither of their bellies. Moondancer ventured closer, leaning her head down to sniff you.

"Rytas, Hūrlilios," you greeted her, extending your bare palm. She grazed her massive head against it before slithering back into the mont.

You basked in the warmth the space provided, enjoying the music of the dragons with their lilting chortles and deep brays. You closed your eyes, singing the lullaby you knew by heart,

"Drakari pykiros. Tīkummo jemiros. Yn lantyz bartossa. Saelot vāedis. (Fire breather. Winged leader But two heads. To a third sing.)

You looked out into a sea of glowing eyes as they gathered around you in a thunder, listening to the song. If only you had one of your own to sing to, to call forth and bound with. You stood and made your way to your guest's chambers to change and get ready for dinner. Golden silk and jewelry adorned your frame, choosing a warmer color in honor of your grandmother's house. It often felt luxurious and otherworldly to be at Dragonstone, and you wished to express that through your dress. It seemed other members of the family had picked up on this as well, a sea of color scattered around the long table. Your grandfather looked rather dashing in his blue silks, emulating the color of his beloved Dreamfyre. You took a seat next to your mother and cousin, Aelora.

"Morghul loves your singing," she whispered to you, an almost dreamy look in her indigo eyes.

"All the dragons do, it comforts them," Baelor smiled before lifting the golden cup to his lips.

Aerion pierced a bloody piece of venison with his knife, shoving it into his mouth as his gaze settled on you. How you wished another had stolen his attention tonight.

"Caraxes couldn't care less about your pretty voice," he hummed. "He'd rather be hunting down a pig."

"One that resembles his rider no doubt," you murmured under your breath, and noticed Baelor's lips quirk briefly with amusement before he gave you an admonishing stare.

"Boy," Maekar warned, anger flashing in his violet eyes.

"There must be something off with you. All of us have laid claim to a dragon," Aerion said. Picking on you seemed to be his favorite pastime.

"Aerion," Myriah scolded, and your mother placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Young man, this is not the place for such childish taunts. Leave your cousin be," King Daeron chided.

"A pity too. Even our dear great-grandmother flew on the back of Silverwing. They say you look like her. 'Tis a shame, your blood must be too diluted," he sneered, managing to insult you and your mother in the process.

Gentle, jovial Uncle Rhaegel bounced to his feet, balling his hands into fists. Your grandmother placed a gentle hand on his arm as the sound of forks clattering against plates clanged through the room.

"Do not fret, my darling," Myriah told him soothingly, and he sank back into his chair, next to Alys. He was rather protective of your grandmother, and many taunts swirled around her Dornish appearance; he would not stand for it. She gave Maekar a pointed look.

Maekar smacked the back of Aerion's head so hard that a sudden silence fell through the hall. Your grandfather did not subscribe to the belief in Valyrian blood purity; the proof was in his own children and grandchildren. It was a sharp, cruel jab that Aerion took, and he meant it with every bit of venom. It was foolhardy as he backhandedly insulted himself in the process. His mother had been of Dornish stock, and he was no more Targaryen than you. Baelor's head dropped, face red with embarrassment from Aerion's words. It seemed all felt shame except for your wretch of a cousin. Your chair scraped agaisnt the floor before you fled the hall, no longer possessing an appetite.

The handmaidens were finishing preparing the bath you requested after dinner, surprised to see you so soon. You thanked them, then dismissed them, wishing to stew in silence. However, you were not surprised to find Baelor and Maekar entering your rooms mere moments later. Baelor moved behind the tub, gently washing your back as Maekar paced the room.

"I do not know when that boy became such a vicious creature," he seethed.

You and Baelor stayed silent, knowing full well this was how Aerion coped with Dyanna's death. The heart of that family was gone, and damage was dealt in various forms, lingering behind like deep scars. Baelor had slipped into melancholy after Jena's death, finding strength in his sons and you. Everyone dealt with tragedy differently.

"One would think I'd be used to it by now, but it still stings," you admitted.

"You are no less Targaryen for not having a dragon," Maekar said gruffier than he meant to.

"I know," you sighed. "But that self doubt lingers. Why am I the only one? Even my father, with his nose stuck in books, bonded with one."

"I think you need to get away from King's Landing for a bit. We should send you to Dorne, you might find peace there and be away from the family," Baelor reasoned.

"I do not wish to be separated from either of you," you whispered.

"I can find an excuse to join you. Brother?" Baelor responded.

"I could take the children to Starfell to visit with Dyanna's relatives, then join you in Sunspear," Maekar said, perching on the edge of the tub before dipping his hand into the warm water to squeeze your calf.

"I would like that very much," you smiled.

"You may not have a dragon, sweet girl, but you have managed to capture two powerful princes," Baelor hummed.

"Yet I can hardly brag about that feat," you chuckled.

Their lips were warm on yours after the bath, stroking your flushed, damp skin with eager fingers slipping between your thighs, guiding you into the blissful throes of pleasure. You were in a floaty stage of peaceful slumber when you heard the soft voices bickering outside the door. Grabbing the chamberstick, you ventured toward your doors and pulled them open, finding Maekar's younger children standing there.

"It is late," you told them flatly.

"Silverwing has returned!" Egg told you excitedly.

"We were going to see her," Rhae smiled.

"By yourselves? That is dangerous!"

"That is why we came to get you," Egg reasoned, and you noticed Aelora swaying in the shadows. The twins had been longtime companions of yours while you were growing up in the Keep.

"Aelora came just in case," Aemon explained.

"Please, cousin, she is pretty, and she might be yours!" Daella whispered.

"Alright, let us go," you sighed, taking hold of Aelora's hand. She was only four years younger than you, and her gossamer robe billowed around her. She was sweet and kind, but in no such mindset to protect the children if they were attacked or harmed. You handed Daella your chamberstick and lifted one of the torches into your hand. The amber glow flickered over the rocks and magma until a flash of silver caught your eye.

"Naejot māzīs, Gēliotīkun," you called to her.

She merely blinked her blue eyes in response; they shone through like sparkling sapphires in the dim light.

"Sing to her," Rhae whispered, tugging on the sleeve of your robe.

"Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis. Se gēlȳn irūdak. Ānogrose (From my voice: The fires have spoken. And the price has been paid with blood magic.) You continued the song from earlier.

She crawled closer, warmth seeping from her silvery scales. Her breath was hot against your cheeks; meanwhile, you held your own as she crept closer. Her muzzle hovered mere inches from your face. Hope flooded your chest as you reached your hand toward her. You could almost taste the magic in the air. It was all dashed away when she snarled, snapping her large jaw before crawling away into the dark confines of the caves. Anger and disappointment swirled through your body.

"I…I'm sorry, we all thought she might choose you," Aemon said softly, squeezing your hand.

You gave him a little smile. "It is alright, but I wish to go back to bed."

You and Aelora saw the little ones back to their beds, and she kissed your cheek just outside your rooms. "It is not the mother you seek, but the daughter. You will find her in the sand," she whispered in your ear before twirling her way back to her quarters. Exhaustion clung to the corners of your mind, too tired to try and find the meaning of her words.

After seeing your cousins settled in Starfall, you departed with your Uncles for Dorne. You flew with Maekar on Meleys, your arms wrapped around his waist, and your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

"Tymās, Mēlī!" he bellowed out. The Red Queen spun through the air, making your belly lurch and tighten when she turned upside down. Laughter chimed through the air as you clung to him.

Dorne proved the perfect respite, full of warmth, delicious food, intricate fashions, and interesting people. It was a good distraction for your mind, and while your Uncles had their dragons for people to fawn over, you slowly came to terms with being dragonless and accepting that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

What was the saying? Things happen when you least expect them.

Your great-aunt Daenerys arranged for you and your Uncles to enjoy the Water Gardens by the Summer Sea. The turquoise waters were healing, and you enjoyed the sound of them crashing against the cliffs.

"I fear I do not wish to return to King's Landing," you smiled, head resting in Baelor's lap. He wore cream and gold silks in the Dornish fashion, his dark chest hair laced with gray on display. You lie topless, soaking up the warm sun.

"It is rather freeing here," Baelor commented, massaging your scalp.

Maekar sat in the shade of a red silk parasol, a cup of strong wine in hand, clad in green silk. The hot sun proved a bit intense for his skin. You suspected it was refreshing for him to have a break from his six children. He was half asleep, and you didn't have the heart to wake him. You stood, wading into the water and letting the silk fall away from your body. Baelor nudged Maekar awake, and soon your Uncles joined you in the water, their hands all over your bare body.

Maekar's mouth wrapped around a nipple while Baelor's cock nudged between your thighs. You paid no mind to the sun's dimming overhead; Vermithor and Meleys lingered nearby, and their wingspans were wide enough to cast a shadow over it. Besides, you were too lost in the full feeling of your Uncles stretching you wide with their cocks, legs wrapped around Maekar's thick waist. Baelor's furry chest tickled your slick back, his large hands supporting your arse. It wasn't until you heard the soft, familiar chortle of a melody you knew by heart that you cast your gaze up toward the sky.

Your finger's tangled in Maekar's white hair, Baelor's mouth hot on your neck, then your shoulder. You were so close, but you couldn't pull your gaze from the dragon looming overhead. The dragon that was neither Vermithor nor Meleys. The dragon that was mimicking the lullaby. You clung to Maekar, reaching a hand behind you to squeeze Baelor's hip as a sweet release washed over you as the shimmering sea lapped at your uncles' ankles.

"I…I have to go to her," you whimpered.

"What?" Maekar huffed against the swells of your breasts, teeth grazing over your delicate flesh.

"Look up," you whispered, tugging on his hair to lift his gaze, then nudged Baelor's chest with your elbow.

Their gazes turned to the sky and saw the dragon overhead, her body blending in almost seamlessly with the sky, but you could see the delicate, pale pink membranes.

"Seven Hells," Baelor whispered against your neck, carefully withdrawing his cock, his seed leaking down your thighs. "Maekar, put her down."

Maekar grumbled, but did so. You waded farther into the sea, washing between your thighs before making your way up the golden sands. The dragon began to swoop lower just as you finished drying off and draping the green silk around you. She was smaller than your Uncles' dragons, closer in size to Egg's Stormcloud. She crawled toward you using her back feet, chortling the song once more.

"Perzyro udrȳssi. Ezīmptos laehossi. Hārossa letagon. Aōt vāedan (With words of flame. With clear eyes to bind the three. To you I sing.) She brayed as you sang, moving until she stood in front of you and gently nudged your chest with her periwinkle muzzle. You gently grasped her warm maw, smoothing your thumbs down the concave of her snout. "Hae mērot gierūli: Se hāros bartossi. Prūmȳsa sōvīli. Gevī dāerī (As one we gather: And with three heads. We shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely.) Her lilting chortle matched your pitch, and you finished the song together.

"Rytas, I have been waiting for you," you smiled. Aelora's words played through your mind once again. You knew Silverwing made home in Dorne from time to time and most likely laid a clutch or two. This must be one of her hatchlings. Upon closer inspection, you could see silvery scales intermingled with the pale periwinkle ones. Her muzzle bumped your cheek before she lowered her long, elegant neck and stretched out a wing, tipping it toward you.

Mayhaps it was a bit foolish to climb onto her in silks and bare feet, her scales hot against your skin and the spikes rough against your palms, but you pushed through the pain until you were on her back. You had come too far to let yourself be deterred. Once you were settled, she lifted into the air and flew around the perimeter of the Summer Sea. Baelor and Maekar looked like mere specks on the sand beneath. After a few laps, she descended onto the beach once again, and you slipped down her wing, rushing into your uncles' outstretched arms, letting them hug you between their sun-warmed bodies.

"Well done, sweet girl," Baelor whispered, kissing your temple before lifting your palms to inspect the sore skin from gripping the dragon's spikes.

"Without a saddle, most impressive," Maekar murmured, nuzzling the spot just below your ear. "But hardly surprising, it is in your veins."

"We should have a feast tonight at Sunspear to celebrate," you beamed.

"I could think of a better way," Maekar smirked, his hand curling around your hip.

You had to admit that claiming a dragon had gotten your blood pumping, so you let them ravage you once more, after returning to the Water Gardens. You wished to be splayed over cushions instead of the sand.

"She needs a name," Baelor murmured, stroking your back as you rested against his chest. Maekar's head rested between the curve of your arse and thigh, his teeth marks embedded in the tender skin.

"Vāedra, a play on the word for song," you smiled, reaching down to stroke Maekar's hair.

"Very beautiful," Baelor said.

You celebrated again with your Uncles late into the night. Dornish sour rolling down your breasts in ruby rivulets, gathering and splashing onto their eager tongues. Baelor held your thighs back, pink scrapes marring them from climbing Vāedra earlier, while Maekar's cock sank deep inside, so deep that your legs turned to jelly in Baelor's hands. Maekar's thick, pearly seed seeped from your swollen cunt, his flushed mouth and skilled tongue lapping and suckling it down. The two switched positions, Baelor fucking your tender cunt next, sinking just as deep as Maekar's had, making you mewl and whimper. But you were helpless under Maekar's strong grasp, knees nearly bent to your shoulders. Baelor's seed filled you, thick, dripping, and strong.

Once you regained your strength and your limbs felt slightly more solid, you took turns pleasuring their cocks. Your Uncles stretched on the bed, side by side, as your mouth alternated sliding over their velvety, stiff shafts, feeling their veins pulse against your tongue. Pearly seed filled your mouth, and you swallowed it down greedily, like a famished creature. Opalescent remnants clung to the corners of your lips, which your Uncles kissed away.

"Our dragon princess," Baelor smiled, massaging your legs to help you fully regain feeling in them.

Maekar stood, naked, on the balcony, glancing up at the moonlit sky as he drained a cup of red wine. The three dragons circled close to the beaming, silvery moon.

"Is it wrong that I yearn to see the sour look on Aerion's face when we return to the city?" you smiled.

Maekar scoffed. "He has been relentless in his teasing. You deserve to gloat."

"I would say it is well earned," Baelor hummed, usually one to take the high road, but he had hated Aerion's harshness toward you.

"The children depart tomorrow, so they'll arrive at the Red Keep before we do. We'll keep it tight-lipped until then," Maekar said, returned to the bed with you and Baelor.

"I will cherish the few days we have left here. It's like being in a private paradise."

"Mmm, but we must face reality sooner than we would like," Baelor said, smiling as he kissed your fingertips while Maekar tucked his long, warm body against your back.

Outside the palace, the dragon mimicked a similar position on the beach; the three wrapped around one another.

Luckily, you had your riding leathers with you, which made for a more comfortable flight back to King's Landing. Maekar had helped braid your hair that morning. Vāedra would be fitted for a saddle and reins by the keepers, but you had found an agreeable enough position on her back, and your gloves made it easier to grip her spikes. She seemed to sense all this, keeping her flight smooth and easy. She landed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, shaking the ground and letting out a loud bray before you slipped down her wing, tugging your gloves off with your teeth.

"Well done! I knew you would find your mount," your grandfather chuckled, and you rushed into his arms to hug him.

Happy tears shone in your mother's eyes before she tenderly embraced you. "Well done, my darling."

"What say you now, cousin?" Matarys teased Aerion before clapping you on the back.

Aerion scowled, face red as the Targaryen sigil, before storming off.

Aelora kissed your cheek. "The daughter is found." Her words were not lost on you this time.

Your younger cousins gathered around, eager to meet your dragon. You introduced each one to Vāedra, letting her get used to their scent and touch.

"Oh, she's so pretty," Rhae beamed.

"She is," you agreed.

You glanced over your shoulder, watching Baelor and Maekar walk off with your grandparents and parents. It gave your belly a nervous twist, but you agreed to let your Uncles handle that matter. Part of you wished to be Maekar's wife only because you had no desire to be queen one day, but you would happily accept either as your husband. However, you couldn't bear the thought of Baelor taking a second wife and losing him. You shook such thoughts from your head and stroked Vāedra's neck. You only hoped the decision would not be left to you. How could you choose between the men you loved?

In the end, you received what you wished. Your grandparents and parents agreed to marry you to Maekar. Just in time, it seemed. Vāedra had woken you early three days after the betrothal announcement to fly you around Dragonstone before venturing into a cave to show you the clutch she had lain. Her proud bray made your eyes water. Then your eyes widened as you pressed a hand to your stomach after her muzzle gently pressed there.

"Oh, fuck," you whispered before laughing softly and nuzzling the scarly space between her eyes.

You returned to the Keep, summoned your Uncles to your chambers in the Holdfast, and told them the news.

"Are you certain?" Baelor asked, pressing his hand agaisnt your stomach.

"I would need a maester or midwife to confirm, but one who is discreet," you replied.

"You do not wish for moon tea?" Maekar asked curiously.

"If we are wed within two months, it will be of no concern," you reasoned.

"I will find a discreet midwife then, I only trust the maesters so much," Baelor said before kissing you.

Maekar walked over and captured your mouth after Baelor finished. "One more mouth for me to feed," he teased you.

"We could kick Aerion out, then it would even out," you said cheekily.

"The babe will be well loved and well cared for," Baelor smiled.

"Indeed," Maekar agreed, and you snuggled between them.

It seemed the Targaryen line would never lack for dragons nor descendants.

You chuckle as you watch his frantic hand gestures as he explains his tangent. As if he's heard you, his eyes find yours across the room, "Love!" He calls out, pushing past a taller man in a suit to get to the stairs. You recognise him as Aaron Hotchner, the man Spencer brought to witness your tiny courthouse wedding.

"Love?" A small blonde woman asks, her wide eyes looking to what you can assume is Spencer's team.

"Does... Does Pretty Boy have a..." The bald-man looks to you in confusion, "a pregnant girlfriend?"

"She has rings on her hand. She's married!" A black haired woman counters.

You ignore them all as Spencer has finally reached you, his hand going to your belly as the other wraps around to your back to pull you close. His lips soft and gentle as always as he kisses you.

A loud voice breaks through, from Aaron, "That's Reid's wife." He says your name to the team, then again once more trying to catch your attention. "Reid? Are you going to introduce her to everyone? Or shall I continue on what little I know?"

"Sorry, Hotch." Spencer's says, almost shyly. He flushes, pulling you beside him to meet the team he spends so much time with. They had walked down the stairs to meet you both and Aaron was the first to greet you.

"Its nice to see you again." He hugs you, smiling softly. He didn't seem to be the hardass that Spencer had explained that he was, "Congratulations. Reid hasn't stopped talking about how excited he is to be a dad." You laugh at the reactions of the team behind Hotch, they all seem to disagree with him. A bubbly blonde steps forward, engulfing you into a hug, much to Reid's horror.

"Gently, Garcia!" He exclaims, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh hush!" She says back, pulling away from you slightly, her hands hovering above your bump, "Can I? Pretty please?" As soon as you consent, her hands are resting just above the spot where your baby likes to kick, "Oh hi little one! I'm Penelope, by the way," She says to you, smiling widely. "Dr and Mrs Reid plus baby-genius! I love it!" She squeals almost deafening. You're grateful as the bald man steps forward, easing her away, introducing himself as Derek Morgan.

"Okay. I'm not gonna lie. I didn't even know Pretty Boy was seeing anyone. Let alone married or about to be a dad." Morgan comments, pulling a face. The black haired and small blonde women seem to agree with him.

"I would've remembered Reid mentioning a wife, surely?" Emily says after introducing herself and JJ, both women giving you a gentle hug.

A greying man shakes his head, "He mentions her constantly. Have you not seen the amount of baby books he's been reading lately?" He gives you a small kiss on both cheeks before asking permission to touch your bump. He smiles gently as the baby kicks his touch, "And they call themselves profilers." He mutters to you, making you giggle. "David Rossi."

"It's lovely to meet you all. I've heard many many things about you guys. And its nice to see you again, Aaron." You smile, Spencer's hand goes to your bump as you tuck yourself into his side, stomach rumbling, "Bean needs some food. I've been waiting for you to take us to lunch all day."