I’m Nothing If Not A Hater

it wasn't like you expected him to wait around at midnight to text you, but you thought there'd be something. sighing, you click your phone and start to get out of bed, opting to check again when you had a cup of coffee in you and a shower to wake you up.

6:00am

soon, you'd start the bus ride to the hospital, but for now, you sat on your couch, staring at your phone as you waited for a message from him. nothing was coming through, though, even though he had to be awake by now.

and robby wasn't just a friend or a coworker. you had been dating here and there, a few hookups, some passionate make out sessions, some sleepovers in each other's apartment. it was casual, sure, but serious enough to warrant some emotional investment. you thought it had been the same on his side. you thought that, maybe soon, he'd make it official. or at least put in the effort you had been.

but now, there's not even a birthday message from him. no calls, either. you stood up and tucked the phone into the pocket of your jacket and slung your bag over your shoulder. with a final glance back at your apartment, you shut the door and left, beginning the trek to the emergency department.

7:00am

there were no streamers in the break room and no confetti waiting in your locker, but some of your coworkers greeted you with open arms as you came in to the ed. dr. ellis and shen were wrapping up some of their handovers to the interns when they turned and greeted you with a happy birthday. you smiled, thanked them, and continued on to your patient briefings.

there was nothing too hard, just a burn being monitored before a bed opened up, a mild stroke patient waiting for a neurology consult, and a few triage patients sitting in beds in the hallway. mel delivered your croissant sandwich, trinity and dennis brought over a small gift of a new badge reel, and samira had went out of her way to make you a small cake to have during your lunch break. even frank had wished you a happy birthday, opting for a small card with a coffee shop gift card inside.

coasting in just a few minutes before official shift change, robby came in, a carhatt jacket adorning his scrubs and his attention directed to gloria who seemed to be waiting by the front door for him this morning.

you followed him with your eyes as he floated across the ed, shooting every single one of gloria's snide comments about the way he runs his department down. samira watched your eyes follow him around the room while you conferred on a patient together.

"has he said anything yet?" she asked, eyes down on her chart. she was one of the only few people to know, catching an intimate conversation happening in the break room.

you shook your head. "no, but it's still early in the day. he probably had a long night or something and now gloria's on his ass. i'm not stressed about it." but you were.

he should remember, right? you would've remembered. you would've made him dinner and gotten him a coffee in the morning and a gift to unwrap when you got home. he probably would've just thanked you politely and said that you shouldn't have, but you would've anyway. but maybe you and robby were just different like that. and that was okay.

8:00am

you were in the thick of it now. the first hour went as slow as it always does, but now you have two more patients, both of them geriatric, one of them unresponsive but doing well. robby's been in every patient's room at least twice, having to spend most of his shift so far with a biking accident in trauma 1 that cassie picked up.

just about every nurse and doctor you were familiar with enough for them to know what day it was had already come up to you for the day, including garcia and even a quick text from walsh. javadi had suggested that you wear a birthday pin on your scrubs, or even a crown, but that felt inappropriate in a department that loses people every shift.

besides, you had never been one of those people that really needed everyone to know it was your birthday. even in a restaurant, you keep it quiet and order a dessert. you've never cared.

for a quick moment, you stop in the break room, drinking a styrofoam cup of water and enjoying the second half of the sandwich you were unable to eat earlier. the door creaked open shortly after and dana came in, a smile on her face.

"any plans tonight?" she asked, pouring coffee into another styrofoam cup.

you shrugged. "none right now. i think i'll probably get some takeout or something. maybe watch a movie. take a bath."

"nothing with robby?" she asked, glancing out the window to the chief attending who was fielding questions from a student.

you shrugged again. "nothing right now. at least, he hasn't said anything or mentioned plans. but, i mean, it's not like he's my boyfriend. we're just seeing each other."

dana sighed and leaned against the counter. "has he even wished you happy birthday yet?" she asked, her tone slightly humorous. when you didn't respond with anything, she pulled the cup away from her mouth. "you're joking."

"no," you said. "but he's been really busy and we haven't really ran into each other much. i stopped having to present my findings to him a few months ago and we seem to bounce around each other now. but it's okay. please don't make a big deal about it. i'm sure he knows."

dana finished her cup of coffee and threw the cup away. "fine. it's your choice," she said. "but when my husband and i were still casual, he at least took me out to dinner." with that, she opened up the break room door and left, leaving you to your thoughts.

11:00am

a bad car accident made its way into the ed and you were caught up saving lives for a long time. it was multi-victim, multi-car, high-speed. everything that makes it harder for the doctors to get them to pull through. your sterile gear was completely ruined, sweat running down your back and forehead, but your patient was stable and heading to the or for more treatment.

once you were finally free from the room, you leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. to your left, frank appeared.

"hey, that was great in there," he said, bumping your arm with his. "did you say you read an article about using that spinal technique to fix his temporary paralysis?"

you nodded with a small smile. "yeah. in school, i did a lot of research on paralytics and i just happened to remember one about a doctor trying it in military accident victims. it was risky, but i knew it would work."

"that's awesome," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. the two of you glanced around the room, you deciding where to go to next, him you weren't sure why. "robby's looking at you weird over there, you know?"

you followed where his head was pointing, just to see robby look downward at the tablet in his hand. he had been back and forth between the trauma rooms, and had only caught the tail end of your risky procedure, but said nothing about it. whether that was because he trusted you, or another reason, you weren't sure.

"if he needs me, he can find me," you said, shrugging your shoulders and continuing your rounds on your patients.

12:00pm

robby did finally find you. but it wasn't to wish you a happy birthday, or to commend you for the work you did on the patient, or to even scold you for trying something so new on a residency license, but to give you an update on a patient's ct that came in while you were busy with another.

"everything looks normal," he said, handing you a tablet with a scan capture on the screen. "it's probably just a concussion, nothing else."

you nodded, taking the tablet from his hands to look over it. for a brief moment, your hands touched, but robby didn't seem to think about it too hard as he glanced around the room. "yeah, you're right," you said, handing back his tablet. "sorry for not checking on the results myself. i got caught up."

"it's okay," he said. "keep up the good work."

with that, he walked away, but didn't make it far before immediately being dragged to the left by a visit from javadi's mother.

you bit the inside of your cheek, glancing down at your sneakers on the floor. deep inside your stomach, you could feel a pit widening, but you tried not to let it consume you, opting instead to focus on dana calling out another head trauma coming in by ambulance.

you gloved up, stood by the entrance for a second before the doors slid open and the gurney was pushed in. across the hallway, you could feel robby's eyes on you. if you were to turn around and look, you'd see a squint in them, as if he was trying to figure out why something felt off. but eventually he had to walk away and you had to do a neuro exam on your patient on the bed.

2:00pm

you stared at your phone. hard.

a message had come through while you were already in the bathroom and once you sat down on the toilet, you opened it up.

jack: happy birthday, y/n. i hope it's a really special one. i'm ordering lunch for everyone to the ed for you. i have something for you if i can catch you at the end of your shift. i'm glad to know you. you're a great person.

jack abbott. that asshole. he always had a way of making things more complicated than they had to be. it wasn't like he was trying. it wasn't his fault that he was a gentleman, that he was really painfully charming, that you patched him up in a curtained off exam room while he was shirtless, that you might have kissed at a bar before you and robby started seeing each other.

most of the time, you pushed any and all thoughts of him away. it wasn't worth it to entertain when you were content with robby. jack also came with issues and he wasn't ready then for anything.

but now, you sat on the toilet, leg shaking, tears threatening to push from your eyes at his message while robby hadn't said anything all day now. you were sure, too, that word had to have gotten to him at some point. you don't work with gossips like trinity and dennis without word getting out about a birthday.

you sniffled, finished your business, and tucked your phone back into your pocket. there wasn't enough time in the shift to be thinking about stupid stuff like that. your head trauma patient had just come back from an x-ray and you had just recently taken on a sick baby.

there wasn't time to ponder jack abbott and michael robinavitch. so you pushed it aside again.

3:00pm

the food that jack had ordered for everyone arrived. and, of course, it was your favorite that you had mentioned once offhandedly, not thinking anyone would remember something so niche. but there were pans upon pans of food in the break room, the scent leaking out into the hallways.

when you arrived to the break room, trinity, dennis, mel, and cassie had already picked up a plate of the food.

"hey!" cassie said around a mouthful of a side. "did you order this for everyone?"

you shook your head and picked up a small plate. "no, uh, jack did. actually." you started building a plate, unaware to the eyes everyone was giving each other at the table behind you.

"jack? like jack abbott? the night shift attending?" trinity asked. you nodded and turned around. "hmm."

you raised an eyebrow. "why hmm? he's just nice is all. i'm sure he would've done the same for everyone's birthday," you said, sitting down at the only empty chair at their table.

"he didn't do this for shen's birthday a month ago. he didn't do this for dana's birthday in january. he didn't do it for my birthday in february," dennis pointed out.

"it doesn't mean anything," you said, stuffing your face full with food. but you felt like it did. it had to of.

4:00pm

three hours until shift change. three hours till you could go home. three hours you had till you saw jack and could thank him for the food. three hours left for robby to say happy birthday while you're on the clock.

you were able to thankfully discharge two patients, one of them heading to another hospital for a bed in their specialized pediatrics unit and one heading home with some specific care instructions. another had come in by way of waiting room, an issue that first went missed by triage and then become a big deal when they collapsed on the floor in front of everyone. it was an accidental overdose sparked by mixing some medications together, an easy fix procedure wise but one that needed some consistent monitoring. it had kept you busy for a while, but then they stabled out and opted for a nap in the dimly lit exam room while you tracked their vitals.

your feet were killing you by then and there was really no better time to chart than now, so you sat down at the center station, logging in to one of the computers to take notes on your recent care.

in your pocket, your phone buzzed again.

jack: i hope everyone enjoyed the food.

you glanced around before texting up a quick reply, thanking him endlessly and telling him everyone enjoyed it. he gave the message a like and you put your phone away again. just at that time, dennis and trinity came by and stood in front of the station where the computer was.

"dana told us you have no plans," trinity said, resting her cheek on her hand. "would you want to come out to a bar with us? dennis here will even pay for your drinks."

dennis gave trinity a side eye, but looked back at you with hopeful eyes anyway. "please?"

you gave them a polite smile and tilted your head. "thanks guys, but i'm okay. it's like a wednesday night anyway. i have another shift tomorrow and it's not like there'll be deals on any of the drinks. maybe this weekend i'll take you all up on it, though?"

the two nodded and dennis walked one way, trinity the other. at the desk across the station, robby pulled his glasses up on his head and scratched at his forehead. you glanced back, seeing him sigh before continuing to type on the computer.

at that point, you were past waiting for a word.

6:00pm

leave it to the last hour of the pitt to wholly consume you and send you on your way out with nothing short of a bang.

a drug deal gone wrong a few blocks from the hospital had five people being rushed to the ed in ambulances. you cleared space in the trauma rooms, moving the materials aside to make for two beds in each room while opening up an examination room for the less critical patient. gloved up, glasses on, and scrubs covered in the white paper, you watched as the doors slid open and gurneys carrying bleeding gunshot victims burst through them.

immediately, you sprung into action, taking the first victim with robby on the other side. you questioned the patient, examined their responsiveness, and felt for their pulse while robby carefully lifted the gauze over the wound to check the bleeding.

"he's losing a lot of blood. fast," robby called out. "we gotta hurry. get him in trauma 1." you pushed the gurney into the room, moving to the side for dennis to cut down his t-shirt, revealing the blood underneath.

"shit," you hissed out, examining the work you had before you.

"what do you see?" robby asked, pulling over a cart of surgical supplies and bandages. you called out some descriptors, moving to the right side where the opening was. "okay, what are you doing?" you answered his next question effortlessly, detailing a plan of care that involved removing the bullet, checking internal damages, and sewing him up. "no, you're missing a lot, y/n. he could have internal damages that removing the bullet affect. get it together."

you nodded tightly, breathing in and out deeply. "we have to get him scanned first, then. dennis, care to prep the ultrasound?" dennis nodded and started applying the gel to the stick, then moved the machine around the stomach carefully, showing the bullet sitting dangerously close to the patient's organs.

"see, you would've missed that and went in there blind," robby said.

"but it stopped before getting lodged in the organs. careful work and we can get the bullet out with no issues."

"do you trust yourself to do that?" robby asked.

"yes," you proclaimed. you picked up the small, long silver tweezers on the cart and started to carefully follow through procedure. you watched your work on the screen, ensuring your tools didn't near the careful tissue protecting the patient's organs. suddenly, a loud crash came from the next trauma room, sending a jolt down your spine that shook your hand.

"jesus," robby whispered loudly as the patient groaned despite the heavy painkillers flooding his system. "focus. focus. focus." and so you did. despite the shake in your hands, you gripped the bullet and began pulling it out. soon, you heard the metal clink of the bullet falling into the tray that princess was holding to your left.

"you need to be more careful," robby said, looking you directly in the eye. "crashes and loud sounds and booms shouldn't have you sending tweezers into their spleen."

"i know-"

"what would've happened if you damaged him further? you could've killed him. the malpractice suit that comes from that is something you don't want to deal with. are you going to take this more carefully next time or are you planning on fucking around more?"

you looked at him with an incredulous look on your face. "jesus, robby," you breathed out. despite your best efforts, tears blurred your vision which you quickly blinked away. robby walked away, his back opening up the door to the next trauma room while you worked on stabilizing and stitching up your current patient.

some time passed before you were done and finally, you stepped out of the room, free of your sterile gear. with quick steps, you took yourself to an open exam room on the other side of the hallway and shut the curtain behind you. you were free for a moment, before the door clicked and robby entered.

"you could've killed him and you know that," robby said harshly.

you spun around on your heels, eyes burning slightly. "i know that robby. don't you think i do? i'm not a fucking idiot. i'm a human and i made a mistake."

"mistakes cost us everything here," he said, inching closer. "one loud sound shouldn't fuck you up that much."

you ran a hand through your hair, sighing out a loud breath before turning around. "what about that patient you had last week? the one who had an entire heart attack on the floor without you catching the signs early? i knew he was showing signs of myocardial infarction, but you didn't believe me."

"you don't have to bring up my mistakes to validate yours," he said. "and that risky move you did earlier? don't ever do that again without getting approval from me first. just because you're a resident now doesn't mean my license still isn't on the line."

"since when have you ever cared about your license, robby? you let your interns do stupid procedures all the time. why am i getting chewed out? why am i getting belittled on today of all fucking days?"

"what's so special about today anyway, y/n? you've had everyone up your ass all day long, there was a whole spread in the break room, you've been getting smiles all day. jesus, did i miss something? is it mediocre resident appreciation day?"

7:00pm

that was it. the one. the big one. that one that finally made you break after fifteen minutes of being yelled at and belittled in your workplace by not just your boss, but the man you've been fucking for months.

you bit your lip, trying to keep the tears from coming out. you stormed out of the exam room, leaving him behind. in your rush out of the room, you didn't see the crowd of doctors and nurses who had been standing just a few feet away from the room, pretending to be busy but really listening on robby and your's argument.

when robby came out, he made eye contact with everyone who all seemed to have a sour look in their face. there were even some night shift people, including jack, who was also making the same face. in his hand was a delicately put together gift bag that said happy birthday on the front. he noticed then that the cards he had watched you receive were happy birthday cards. everyone talking to you had been wishing you happy birthday. the lunch in the break room. the colorful change in your undershirt.

he looked to the left to see you rush inside of the single occupancy bathroom and he watched the lock close on the outside. to his right, he looked at jack who simply turned around and took the gift bag to the locker room.

robby followed, seeking some kind of guidance or validation.

"i don't know what's happening in here today, man," he called out. jack didn't turn around and kept walking. "hey! what's going on?"

jack didn't turn around until he made it to the locker room, stuffed his belongings inside his locker, and sat the gift bag down on the bench in the middle of the room. "you're wrong for her, you know?" he said. "i don't think you deserve the energy she gives you. i mean, if it was your birthday, you would've been given breakfast. a gift. dinner, man. and you yell at her?"

robby rubbed his neck with both of his hands. "jesus. it's not like i'm perfect. i can't remember when it someone's birthday all the fucking time."

"you didn't even remember it was her birthday, man?" jack asked, looking up at robby with a serious look. robby shrugged. "jesus." jack maneuvered around robby till he was out of the locker room and heading towards the bathroom you ran into.

he knocked softly. "y/n?"

"please don't," you said on the inside, hearing someone's voice on the outside door.

"it's jack," he said, hoping that might convince you to unlock the door. he was right, smiling a little when he heard the lock click. he let himself in slowly and shut the door behind him. "hey. you okay?"

you looked up at him and nodded. "yeah, i guess," you said, returning to lean against the bathroom wall. "i don't know what happened. i guess i just thought today would go a little different."

"how did you want it to go?" he asked, leaning against the other wall of the bathroom. he was effortlessly charming the way his leg propped up against the wall and he easily sat the gift bag down on the sink next to him.

"i don't know. the same, i guess, but...i thought robby would've been more excited to celebrate with me. but he didn't even wish me a happy birthday and then yells at me like that? i don't know. maybe i'm just being too silly about it all." you leaned up and wiped the tears from your eyes.

"hey, that's not too silly," he said. he pushed himself off the wall and came over to your left. "he should've said something. he shouldn't have yelled at you like that. and he should treat you better. i guess."

"i don't know. it's casual so far and neither of us have confirmed anything, but maybe i'm just putting in more than i needed to. i need to rein myself in a little."

jack bumped his shoulder against yours. "you shouldn't have to rein yourself in, you know? you should be able to love the way you want to. you should be wished happy birthday."

"like someone ordering the entire ed food type of happy birthday?"

jack chuckled. "yeah. like that."

a moment of silence passed over the room. "so what's in the gift bag?" you asked.

"oh!" jack said. he grabbed the bag in a hurry and handed it to you. "it's nothing huge. i just wanted to get you something nice."

you took the bag from his hands and opened it carefully, holding the tissue paper in one hand. slowly, more of the gift revealed as you pulled it out. once you pulled out a long, sleek box, you sat the gift bag down. your fingers opened up the box slowly, revealing a new stethoscope on the inside. it was a new one, one that read heart rates for you and timed them so you wouldn't have to do it again. the color was perfect. and on the neck, your initials were embossed on the leather.

"oh my god. jack." you knew it was an expensive gift. you had eyed the same one for weeks when you were buying your first stethoscope, but it was far out of your price range. "this is way too much. i can't."

"no, i want you to," jack said. "you're a great doctor and you deserve great tools too." tears sprung from your eyes again, but these were more positive than the last. these had joy in them. these had the feeling of being seen. seen more than robby had for weeks.

"thank you," you said genuinely before wrapping jack in a tight hug. he accepted it warmly and wrapped you back just as tightly. his arms held you close to him, so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

slowly, jack pulled back. "why don't you go on home? i'll take on your patients. and here," he paused, pulling his wallet out from his pants pocket. he slipped out some cash and put it in your hand. "buy yourself some dinner and enjoy your night, okay? get out of here. you shouldn't have been scheduled on your birthday anyway."

you smiled and accepted the gesture happily. "thank you, jack. thank you. i mean...i feel so much better. you, um...you know me well."

"maybe i can take you out to dinner this friday night if you're free? i can pick you up from your place. dress up nice. the whole thing?" he asked, rubbing his hands together nervously. smiling, you lifted up on your tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"yes. please." he nodded and smiled at you.

"i'm gonna get out there and start shift change. i'll text you later, yeah? check in on your night?

"i'd love that," you said. you watched as he left the bathroom, leaving you in there alone, your fingers grazing the rich material of your gift.

8:00pm

on the bus ride home, hands clasping your gift bag and your bookbag sat neatly in the seat next to you, you pull your phone from your pocket and pull up robby's contact.

robby: happy birthday. i'm sorry for everything.

you: i don't think this is going to work anymore. we're just not right together. i'm sorry.

Adopt me! Come by the Coronado Police Station this weekend to meet your new best friend!

Bradley pauses as he reads over the text, taking in the place, date, and time. Tomorrow morning, a fifteen-minute drive from his small two-bedroom house. He doesn't know why, but he reaches into his back pocket to take out his phone, snapping a quick picture. Bradley looks over his shoulder, seeing if anyone has caught him in the act. And just as quickly as he had stopped, he was off again.

The drive home should feel like any other; wind in his hair, aviators over his eyes blocking the rays of the setting sun, and soft classic rock from the radio. But Bradley couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

Phoenix went on and on today about how her family is visiting her for the weekend, saying how excited she is to see her parents again. Bradley smiled at her, genuinely happy at the news.

Bob had talked about staying in with his girlfriend this weekend, saying they were going to try out a new recipe of banana bread they saw on the Food Network earlier this week. Bradley had hummed, telling Bob to save him a slice and to bring it in on Monday.

Jake had even told Bradley about the long run he was going on with a few of the newest TOPGUN class recruits, saying he was going to put them through hell this weekend. Bradley just laughed and grimaced at this, thankful his time in the program hadn't been led by someone as ruthless as one of his best friends.

But as the keys hit the small dish on his counter, Bradley couldn't help but tune into the creaks and groans of his house. Nothing else, just the small and quiet sounds. Even as he cooked dinner that night, the boiling of the pasta seemed drowned out by the stillness of the kitchen, of everything that surrounded Bradley. The episode he had seen at least three times now seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Bradley only heard his breathing and the occasional dripping of the faucet.

The hot summer nights were grueling. Not only due to the heat of his sticky skin against the now warm sheet, but also because Bradley could hear every little bug from the window above his bed. Cicadas seemed to chirp, grasshoppers seemed to sing, and if he listened closely, he could even sometimes hear the buzzing of the fireflies. Too quiet, but so loud. Loudness from the wrong sounds, the ones nobody noticed. Loudness from the beating of his heart from underneath his skin. Loudness of the crinkling sheets beneath his grasp. Loudness from the unsteady breath that escaped his lips.

Reaching for his phone, Bradley looked at the most recent picture in his camera roll. Swiping out and clicking the clock icon, he set an alarm for 8 AM sharp.

જ⁀➴

Bradley pulls into the parking lot and takes in the sight around him. Cars are already packed in the lot, despite it only being 5 minutes since the adoption event started. Minivans and SUVs are taking up most of the spots; his Bronco seems out of place among the other cars. The California sun is barely starting to warm up the air, but Bradley knows in an hour he'll be thankful for the loose Hawaiian shirt he wears.

Off to the right side of the building, he can hear children laughing and dogs barking. Tucking his keys in his back pocket, he makes his way towards the noise.

Like he suspected, families are standing around chatting with volunteers in bright pink shirts, the same pink on the poster from the base. Kids are wide-eyed and fascinated with all of the dogs they see. It's not just German shepherds, but smaller dogs too, and all types of breeds. He wonders why his poster only had the proud-looking line-up when there were so many other options.

But like a man on a mission, Bradley peers over the crowd of people and spots K-9 in big black letters near the middle of the scene. Sending small smiles and tapping his left hand anxiously on the side of his thigh, Bradley weaves through the crowd. Taking in the well-behaved group of dogs before him, he settles down a bit. There's only one volunteer over in this area, a woman with her back turned away from him. It only settles him more, giving him the space to really look over the animals. Some of the dogs are panting, as if being out on the grass has somehow exhausted them. Others are playing with each other, rolling around, and showing their bellies. But one dog sits near the woman, curled in on itself, head tucked into her side.

Without meaning to, Bradley watches this dog, missing the way the woman looks at him fondly.

"He's just a little shy, but I promise he's a good boy," your voice snaps him out of his trance.

Bradley doesn't think he's ever thought so hard about what to say next. You have a soft look on your face, eyes darting back and forth between him and the dog that sits so close to you. The morning light is peeking out from beneath the tree branches, golden rays dancing across your skin. Bradley is glad he doesn't have his sunglasses on right now.

"What's his name?" Bradley walks closer to you, and you turn your body towards him. The dog next to you perks up a bit at the movement.

You smile a little before saying it, "Ducky." Seeing the way his brows raise, you laugh a bit. "He's just a bit of an odd pup out, thought the name suited him."

Bradley couldn't help but feel like it was fate. Ducky and Rooster. It was almost laughable.

"You said he's shy," Bradley led on, looking up to you as he sat on his haunches next to the dog.

"Yeah," you hummed. "Definitely my sensitive boy out of the group. These guys are retiring K-9, but Ducky has a bit of a soft side, wasn't trained properly as a puppy." Your voice seemed to waver a bit at the end of your sentence.

Bradley watched as your throat bobbed before you spoke again. He could tell where this conversation was going, but didn't want to interrupt. The look in your eyes was fiercely protective.

"He was abused by his first owner. So he has some PTSD tendencies. Hyper vigilant, can get really avoidant and shy, whines a lot when he's feeling anxious," you tell Bradley, petting the dog softly.

But nothing in your expression tells him that you don't care for this dog, that you think he's broken because of all of these things. It makes his heart beat a little quicker.

"But Ducky's a good boy. You just have to put some work in to see that." As you say his name again, Ducky peeks out from where he's hiding in your side. You smile a bit at this, ruffling his ears. "You wanna say hi to the sweet man?" you ask in a soft voice, like you're talking just to the dog, like Bradley's not right next to you, hearing every word.

He holds his hand out slowly, knowing not to move too fast. "Hey, Ducky. I'm Bradley." As soon as he says it, he feels a bit silly. But the way your smile deepens makes him continue. "Looking for a home, buddy? I got a nice backyard."

"Oh, he'll love that. Runs around like a bunny when he's all riled up," you told him with a smile on your face, now looking only at Bradley.

Bradley smiles at that, only imagining the life this dog could bring to his quiet house.

Finally, Ducky nudges his outstretched hand, sniffing it first, then licking it softly. He hears you gasp lightly at the action, nothing big though, trying not to disrupt the moment.

"He never does that," you offer. Bradley can see your head shaking slowly as Ducky continues to push into the man in front of you.

Bradley feels his heartbeat steady. It's quiet around him. Even with the squealings of the children around him and the barking of the other dogs, Bradley only hears the little laps of Ducky's tongue against the skin on his hand. But this quiet is something he can get used to, something that grounds him.

"It's a 150 dollar adoption fee, right?" Bradley asks, not tearing his eyes away from the dog in front of him. Ducky's big brown eyes seem to bore into his soul, making him ask the question before even thinking about what he's saying.

You bite your lip before speaking, trying to hide the big grin on your face, even though you know Bradley can't see it. "Um, no fee for him. I already took care of it."

Your words confuse Bradley. He looks over to you for an answer but sees clearly why you had paid the fee yourself.

Quickly, a hand comes up to your cheek as you wipe the stray tear away from your face. "I just didn't want anything to deter someone from taking him home." Bradley's heart clenches at this as you offer him a smile and you fan your eyes.

"Well, what do you say, Ducky? Wanna come home with me?" Bradley finds himself talking to the dog again, not feeling as silly this time around.

જ⁀➴

Bradley looks at the large, fluffy cream colored dog bed lying next to his and the brown wicker box overflowing with colorful chew toys with a small smile. Ducky had been a little hesitant to leave your side at first when he realized what was happening, but with some whispered assurance and a kiss on the tip of his wet nose from you, he jumped into Bradley's Bronco, settling in the passenger seat.

Ducky had whined when Bradley peeled out of the parking lot. The man had glanced over at Ducky as he stuck his head out of the window and looked in your direction. His eyes found your figure in the mirror, blue denim, and a sweet pink-colored top catching his eye. He saw the way you brought one hand up to your heart, and as the other wiped at your cheeks. You loved this dog, every bit of your being told him that.

Bradley couldn't help but feel bad as the dog's whines continued throughout shopping for essentials, the drive home, and the arrival at his house.

Ducky had opted to lie in Bradley's brown leather chair as soon as they got into the house, and he decided to take it as a good sign. But as the day continued, Ducky had barely left the spot, and small cries were coming every few minutes.

Opening up the sliding glass door to his backyard, Bradley called Ducky over, beckoning him to come out and play. But the swings of the bright blue and purple rope and the energetic movements from Bradley weren't doing anything to move Ducky from his spot.

Even when making dinner, Ducky had barely budged from his spot on the recliner. With the wafting scent of the food on the stovetop, Bradley was sure that Ducky would appear by his side sooner rather than later. But nothing came of it, even with the temptation of a seared ribeye with Ducky's name on it.

He had tried speaking softly like he had seen you do earlier that day, but Bradley didn't want to push the poor dog more than it seemed like he already did. Instead, he turned on the television and sat in the company of the shy dog.

It wasn't until Bradley was tucked under his sheets that he heard the faint noise of shuffling paws on his hardwood floors. Ducky sat next to the side of the bed, noticeably avoiding lying on the dog bed next to him. Bradley laughed quietly at this, furrowing his brows a bit.

He wasn't quite sure what to do, to be honest. Growing up, he never had dogs or cats or anything of that sort in the house. He figured it was hard enough being a single mother of a toddler; the added stress of an animal just wasn't feasible in his situation.

Sure, his friends growing up had dogs. He recalled throwing around a tennis ball with one of his friends and their black lab in their backyard almost every day during the summer before 7th grade. But Bradley had never lived with a dog. Never had to deal with big brown eyes looking at him as he lay underneath the sheets.

"You okay, buddy?" he asked in the otherwise quiet room.

To this, Ducky started whining.

"Oh, come on. I thought we got over that a few hours ago," Bradley groans, rolling up to sit in his bed now.

Bradley was man enough to admit it was hard to drag Ducky away from you during the adoption this morning. Ducky's whines as you gave him a few last pets and spoke gently to him, did tug on Bradley's heartstrings. Bradley was sure the dog next to him couldn't stop thinking about your kind eyes and sweet disposition; he certainly couldn't.

Bradley's hands were rougher than yours. He felt the softness as you handed the leash to him this morning. You had explained to him a routine that Ducky usually had with the unit, your hands animated as you looked between the pair in front of you with a smile. Occasionally, one would come down to rub the top of his head. Ducky was probably missing that, missing you.

On top of that, when Bradley smiled at the dog next to him, he couldn't help but think of how goofy he looked compared to you. Your smiles were gentle, drawing him and Ducky in from a few feet away. He could tell you had that kind of magnetism, that kind of energy that just took hold of people and didn't let go. Bradley struggled to think of what the dog in front of him thought as he shot him another small smile.

And Bradley couldn't let go of the way you switched from talking to him to Ducky. How you had described Bradley with a soft tone and warm look in your eyes. You didn't even know him. How did you settle on "sweet man" from what Bradley was giving you this morning? It was a little too mind-boggling to think about for too long.

Shaking away the memories of this morning, Bradley was brought back to the dog that sat at his side. With a small sigh, he pointed to the bed next to him. "That's your bed, Ducky. It's time to go to sleep."

This only got him louder whines.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. He felt clueless.

"Do you want to come up here?" he tried, patting the comforter near his feet.

Within seconds, Ducky was jumping onto the bed and taking claim to the opposite side of the bed.

"Unbelievable. I try to get you to listen all day, and this is what you respond to," Bradley laughed as he looked at Ducky with a smile, not able to get mad at the dog as he cuddled up similarly to this morning with you.

The whines had stopped now, replaced with steady breathing and a small huff. The buzzing of the bugs outside his window that seemed so loud yesterday was now quiet. Bradley was only keying in on the ups and downs of Ducky's chest, something more grounding than he realized.

"Alright, Ducky. Time for bed," Bradley spoke again to the dog, stroking the fur on his back gently. Lying his head back down on his pillow and continuing his movements, Bradley was asleep within minutes. Soft snores from both him and Ducky fill the house with a comfortable, peaceful energy.

જ⁀➴

It was a bit daunting at first. That first week with Ducky was definitely a learning curve. Trying to adjust his routine to best suit the dog's needs hadn't been quick or easy.

The first morning, Bradley woke up to licks on his face and playful growling. At first, Bradley thought Ducky wanted attention, some pets, and cuddles. But as soon as he sat up in bed, Ducky was bolting to the front door.

Sitting in front of the door with the green leash in his mouth, Ducky whined as Bradley slowly made his way down the hallway.

Still adorned in his slippers and ratty college football shorts, Bradley closed the front door and took off with Ducky as the sun rose in the distance. After a few minutes of tugging Bradley down the block, Ducky broke out into a trot, urging Bradley to keep up with him.

That's how Bradley ended up running barefoot in his neighborhood at 5 in the morning, slippers in one hand and leash in the other. He had passed Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Nguyen on their morning aerobic walk with a small nod and smile. The older ladies had laughed at the scene, something Bradley couldn't help but join in on.

An hour later, they ended up back at Bradley's house. This time, Ducky barked happily as he opened the sliding glass door out to his backyard, running circles in the yard much like you had said he would. Bradley found himself watching with a disbelieving smile on his face, wishing he could somehow tell you that you were right.

A few weeks later, Bradley runs shirtless, tennis shoes on his feet now, with Ducky on an early May morning. The sun is just starting to peak out from the greenery lining the trail they take every morning. Bradley's grateful for the cool morning air as sweat wicks at his lower back and hairline. A combination of the morning dew and perspiration rolls down the muscles of Bradley's body as he jogs.

Suddenly, Ducky pauses once they reach the familiar park. Bradley looks down at his dog and then up to see what he could possibly be stopping for.

Seeing nothing but the group of older women with small hand weights and crows in the trees, Bradley bends down to Ducky's level. "What's up, buddy? What do you see?"

But as soon as Bradley settles down next to the dog, Ducky's leash is slipping through his fingers. He reaches out to grab onto anything, his dog, his collar, his leash, but ends up grasping at the air instead. Ducky is taking off in a sprint before him.

Rising to his feet and going after him. Bradley swears under his breath and calls out loudly, "Ducky!"

He finds himself weaving through the playground, wood chips kicking up in his wake. But his eyes widen as Ducky zeroes in on a group of women at the edge of the park.

He sees them all stretched down in downward dog as Ducky gets closer and closer. Again, Bradley calls out, "Ducky!"

At this, he sees a few heads turn towards the sound of his voice. But only one woman looks in the direction of the blur of fur coming straight for her. A yelp is heard as Ducky barrels into her, knocking her from her place on the mat. Gasps are heard from the surrounding women, and Bradley's chest heaves as he sprints to catch up to his dog and pull him off the stranger.

But as he gets closer, his heart calms at the sound of laughter. Ducky is lying on top of this poor woman, but at least he's not attacking or barking or anything of that sort. No, he's just licking and nuzzling into the figure on the ground.

"I am so sorry. I don't," Bradley gets out quickly, stuttering a bit as he looks around at the group with an apologetic smile. "He never runs away like that, I'm sorry. Ducky, get over here!"

But the dog stays put, and the laughter doesn't stop. But finally, Ducky is pushed up from the figure on the ground, and Bradley's heart races once more when he sees your face peeking out from behind the ball of fur.

"Oh, it's you." He doesn't know why he says it, but it comes from him like a breath of relief.

You laugh at this, not even taking in the way Bradley scolds himself at the odd behavior.

"And it's you and Ducky!" Your attention is on the dog in front of you, petting him and smiling brightly, only glancing up at Bradley once before returning to the panting dog rather than the panting man.

Bradley kneels down next to you, sweat still rolling down his skin. He doesn't catch the way your cheeks flush as you take in his build. Muscles are a mix of the perfect summer tan and red rosy dusting, no doubt from the sprint he took off on to get here. His arms strain as they go behind him, veins jumping out from his skin. From this position, his tight stomach is also on full display, ridges and divots begging for your attention.

What you don't realize is that Bradley is doing the exact same thing to you, drinking you in fully. You're in flow yoga pants, calves peeking out from the wide-legged flare of the pants. And your top half is barely hidden, only wearing a sports bra, pretty and pink like the top he had seen you in a month ago. The straps dig into your shoulders, and Bradley takes in the swell of your breasts as he follows the scoop of the top.

A bark from Ducky snaps you both back into reality. Some of the women around you laugh.

"You guys seem to be doing well," you spoke softly, voice just as sweet as Bradley remembered.

"Mm, yeah. We've got our routine now, he's been great," Bradley tells you, reaching to pet his dog.

You watch the action fondly, seeing the way Ducky leans into his touch now. The moment is sweet and completely yours, at least that's what it feels like as you and Bradley make eye contact and share small smiles. But a voice clearing is heard as you and Bradley remember where you are.

You turn to a young woman next to you, speaking quicker than Bradley has ever heard before from you. "I'm gonna go with them, I'll be back soon." She nodded at you with a gleaming look in her eye that Bradley didn't quite understand. But you turned quickly towards him, grabbing Ducky's leash and apologizing to the other women around you.

As soon as you had walked away from the group, they resumed their positions, some of them craning their necks to watch the scene a few feet away from them unfold.

"I'm so sorry about that, again," Bradley told you, grimace on his face as you handed him the leash.

But you just shook your head and smiled. "No, no. It was nice seeing you guys again. I was wondering how he was doing with you," you told him. Bradley hoped you didn't catch the way he swallowed hard at your words. Leaning down a bit, your hand came down to Ducky's face. "But you like the sweet man, huh? I knew you would."

Bradley's cheeks flush at the repetition of your description of him, yet again.

The sun paints everything a nice golden color, pinks in the sky still dancing a bit in the distance. But Bradley can't peel his eyes away from you, and it seems like you are having the same problem.

"I should probably get back." Your head is pointing in the direction of the class, now moving through another pose.

"Yes, yeah. Sorry," he doesn't know why he apologizes, but the smile on your face doesn't make him think about it for long.

"Well, bye, Ducky. And bye..." you lead off, looking for him to pick up the end of your sentence.

"Bradley," he says, hoping you say it back to him.

"Bye, Bradley," you tell him, turning away from the pair, but not before sending them one last glance over your shoulder. And Bradley doesn't realize how long he stands there and hangs onto your words, only focusing on the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. It had never sounded better, sounded sweeter from you.

Begrudgingly, he turns, ushering Ducky to follow him.

"I know, Ducky. Come on," he says, starting off in a slow jog as his dog turns back and begins to follow him. But as the day continues, Ducky's whining starts up again, and Bradley can't help but think of you.

જ⁀➴

Pool balls clack up against each other as Bradley misses yet another wide-open shot.

"Jesus, Rooster," Jake laughs loudly. "Missing your dog so much you can't even focus on one little game of pool?"

It was partly true. It was Bradley's first night out since getting Ducky; he had been opting to spend the nights and weekends at home with the dog rather than out drinking with the squad.

But before Bradley could defend himself, mouth already opening to fire back, Bob had cut in, "No, he's definitely distracted because of the girl."

Bob sipped his soda innocently as the group of pilots turned in his direction with peaked interest.

Looking at Bradley, Bob grimaced; he was always a little loose-lipped after his 3rd soda of the night. "Shoot. Sorry, Bradley."

This set off a chain of questions from the group as Bradley's head hung low, hand coming up to the back of his neck to rub harshly at the skin.

Bradley had confessed his feelings to the WSO earlier this week, not being able to get the image of you out of his brain the entire weekend after Ducky had run you down in the park. He just had to tell someone, and Bob seemed like the logical choice. Smart, level-headed, in a stable relationship. But the words from the WSO only sent him into a spiral as he had finished describing you.

"Sounds like your perfect woman."

Bob's voice seemed to be on repeat the entire week. And God, he was right. You were perfect. More importantly, Bradley felt like he was going through withdrawal. Every time he looked at Ducky, he thought of you. He reasoned that getting out of the house and spending some time with his friends would be good for him.

Evidently, his secret being outed wasn't what he had in mind for tonight.

"Idiots, shut it!" Phoenix's voice rang out above the others. The group was now silent, all looking to the woman. "What girl?" she asked hesitantly.

With a sigh, Bradley's shoulders slumped. "The woman who I got Ducky from. I ran into her again last week, doing yoga at the park on one of our morning runs. And I don't know," he says, face twisting, not even sure why he's volunteering this information to his friends. "I just... I can't stop thinking about her."

The group is silent, understanding and hearing the sincerity in Bradley's voice.

Jake lets out a whistle at this. "Let's get you another drink, lover-boy." And at this, the group seems to hum in agreement.

The blonde clamps a hand down on his shoulder, guiding him to the bar.

"And you don't have her number?" Jake asks as they weave through the crowds of people.

"No, man. I mean, I don't even know her name. The adoption paperwork happened quicker than I expected, and I was just standing there like a dumbass the second time," Bradley grumbles, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Yikes. Any chance she's gonna do yoga again this week?" Jake asked as they sat at two open seats.

"I looked, it said the yoga happens the first Saturday of every month. So, I just have to wait," Bradley explained, feeling a little embarrassed at the admission.

"A month?! Good luck, my friend. You've gone crazy after only a week," Jake laughed. Bradley rolled his eyes at this and groaned, knowing Jake's words held some truth to them.

"Hello, gentlemen. I've got a drink here for you, Lieutenant Bradshaw," Penny's voice makes Bradley's head snap up. Her hand is pointing in across the bar, and when he follows it, he can't help but swear.

"Holy shit," Bradley laughs, turning to Jake with a smile and wide eyes.

"Holy shit, that's her?" Jake asked, looking at you and your friend at the opposite side of the bar, taking in the way she poked your sides and laughed.

"That's her," he spoke breathlessly. Penny grinned at the scene unfolding in front of her.

"Go, dumbass. Go!" Jake pushed him off the barstool, both hands guiding him in your direction.

Bradley recognized the girl sitting next to you, the same one at the yoga class the other day; she was probably your best friend if he was guessing. The way you smiled at her, cheeks flushing as she spoke, and sent you a wink made Bradley giddy. She grabbed her purse and hopped off the stool, gesturing for him to come take her spot before squeezing your hand and leaving.

"Hey," he says, sitting next to you, disbelief on his features.

"Hey, you," you tease back. "Are you in the Navy?"

Bradley takes in the way your eyes narrow at him, like you're trying to put pieces together. He nods and smiles, "I am, TOPGUN graduate."

"So you saw the poster I put up? For the K-9 unit?" You were smiling brightly now, like you had guessed correctly.

"I did. The pink's what got me." Bradley's eyes met yours. This conversation seemed different than all the other you had in the past. Before, you were calm and collected, but here you were excitable and giggly.

"I totally thought you were a firefighter," you spoke honestly. "I put the K-9 posters up at the base, the fire station, and places like this," your finger wagged as you spoke, gesturing to the bar.

"Disappointed?" he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

You held your hands up in faux surrender. "No! Not at all. Impressed actually."

He grinned at this, settling into the conversation more and more. "And what do you do? Not a police officer, right?"

"No, vet actually. I just work pro bono with the police department, specifically for the K-9 unit. Those guys are hard workers, and usually get roughed up after big jobs," you told him with a small smile.

Bradley put together some pieces of his own. How you knew so much about Ducky, why you had gotten so close to him. You had probably gotten to see the pup at his lowest.

Bradley nodded, "Now I'm impressed." You smiled wider at this, laughing at his words.

For the first time since sitting with you, Bradley fully took you in. Your denim shorts that rode up just a bit and your white tank top, the V-neck framing your collarbones and chest perfectly. Your cheeks had a slight blush to them; he couldn't tell whether it was from him or from the fruity drink you seemed to be working on.

Again, you did the same thing. This time, though, Bradley was in a tight white T-shirt and jeans that seemed to strain against his thick biceps and thighs. His hair wasn't as windswept as it had been that day in the park; now it was pushed back slightly, a single curl coming down on the left side of his face.

The squad watched as the two of you talked, Jake practically skipping back to the group to tell them the good news. Every time they glanced over, you and Bradley had gotten closer and closer, fully leaning into each other.

You both sported matching smiles and flushed cheeks the entire night, despite letting both of your drinks sit and become lukewarm. The alcohol couldn't be to blame for the way you were acting.

They saw how Bradley's eyes softened as they met yours. How his shoulders relaxed after each laughing fit. How he opened himself completely in front of you.

You had talked about everything. It seemed to flow so easily out of Bradley, even the hard things. When you asked about his family, you must have noticed the way his face dropped slightly, instantly placing a supportive hand on his thigh. He had told you about his family, the squad, about Maverick. It was nice. You asked questions, not the kind that he had an automatic response for, but ones that made him think.

"Who on the squad is most like a sibling to you?"

"What dish instantly brings you back to childhood?"

And his favorite, "What's your favorite story about your dad?"

He asked you about school, and you indulged him in crazy stories from your early days in the profession. How you had worked out on a farm in Wyoming one summer and helped with the births of calves. It had been a lot more physically exhausting than you would've imagined. How you had studied in Australia for an exchange year, learning all about marine wildlife and how to care for them. The way your eyes lit up when you told him about a baby turtle hatching you had witnessed had him giddy.

You had told him about all the adventures you had gone on and all the ones you wanted to do in the future. Swimming in Baja, Mexico, with the Whale Sharks was at the top of your bucket list, and while Bradley was a bit scared of deep waters like that, he had to admit it didn't sound as scary if you were going to be by his side.

In exchange, he told you a few things about his time in the academy. The risks he had to take on missions, the close calls that happened more often than he would like. He saw the pain this job caused his mom, and he didn't want you to go into this without knowing the risks. But the way you bit your lip and told him that you thought what he was doing was so brave made his heart race and a wide grin break out on his face. You had hit his shoulder lightly at this, saying you were serious, but Bradley just smiled wider.

"Is there anything else I can grab you two tonight?" Penny asked, wiping down a glass as she looked at the pair, effectively popping their bubble.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. We stayed way too late," you spoke, digging into your wallet to pull out some bills to give the kind woman.

"Sorry, Penny," Bradley chuckled, handing her a handful of cash before you could even finish fumbling with you wallet. Your eyes met him, mouth about to open to argue, but he just offered you a hand as he hopped off the barstool.

"Goodnight, you two," she called as you both walked out with sheepish smiles.

You hadn't dropped Bradley's hand as you led him through the parking lot to your car. He relished in the warmth and softness; the feeling was vaguely familiar as he recalled the earlier touches from when you had first met.

"This is me," you told him, as moonlight danced across your features. Bradley couldn't help but run his eyes over your face, thinking to himself how beautiful you looked.

"Can I get your number?" he asked brazenly, a tad louder than he needed to. You giggled at this but nodded regardless, hands reaching for his phone as he stared at you.

Despite the cold breeze that came from the ocean just a few meters away from you both, Bradley felt a deep warmth spread in his chest. He opened your car door, closing it softly as you waved through the window. And once you backed out of your spot, Bradley found himself smiling all over again at the paw print stickers on your back window.

જ⁀➴

3 months later...

You and Bradley sprawled out on his couch as the movie finished up in front of you, Ducky sitting by your feet. Lying on Bradley's chest, you couldn't help but listen to his heartbeat beneath you.

These past few months with Bradley had been nothing short of perfect. He had texted you the morning after you had sat at the Hard Deck for hours, asking if you were free for dinner that same night. You remember laughing at his eagerness to yourself, but agreeing nonetheless.

He appeared at your door at 6:30 PM sharp, taking you out to a nice dinner on a beach patio. You teased him about not bringing Ducky, saying you thought they were a package deal, but you quickly paused the teasing after seeing how nervous he was by the way his cheeks flushed brightly.

He asked you about your career out here, only really talking about school last night with you. He said he wanted to learn more about you now. It was more thoughtful than you had expected.

Halfway through the dinner, you moved your chair over to Bradley's side of the table, something that caught a glare from the hostess. But you had to, as you scrolled through pictures and pictures of animals on your phone. You told him each of their names and all the little quirks they had, told him about the family you had worked with, and how much each of these animals meant to people. You hadn't noticed, but he smiled the entire time, not really looking at your phone but instead at the way you lit up when you spoke about the animal you've worked with.

When the date wrapped up, you told him that you'll just have to see his dog another time, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before you closed the door to your apartment. He hadn't seen you peek through the curtains, but you saw the way he pumped his fists like a dork while walking to his car. You couldn't help but fall even harder for the man.

Two days after your first date, Bradley had asked you to meet him in a little coffee shop near your apartment. He had apologized countlessly for the timing, seeing as he had requested 6 AM as the time, saying it was okay if you wanted to wait for the weekend, but his training schedule was just a little hectic at the moment. But you insisted it was okay, saying you had your own share of early mornings too and that you wanted to see him.

As he walked you to your car after a quick coffee and pastry, you smiled at him. Leaning against your car, you tugged him down by the collar of the familiar plain white tee he wore, pulling him in for a kiss. Bradley's hands found purchase on your hips, fingers giddy against your scrubs.

It was the fifth date, and both of you opted for a night in, where he promised to cook for you. It had also been the first time you had been in his apartment, Ducky clinging to your side the entire night.

Bradley had asked you to be his girlfriend before dinner was even finished, too distracted by the way you sat on the countertop to focus on the food simmering around him. You laughed as he flushed from the question and the sound of the smoke alarm going off, but ultimately said yes with a smile as he leaned down, caging you against his firm chest and the cabinets, to capture your lips in a deep kiss before waving a towel in front of the alarm. You couldn't help but laugh as you moved to open the sliding glass door to let the smoke out of the little house and to get some fresh air for yourself, too, after feeling how Bradley's hands rested on your thighs.

Recently, though, you had been having your fair share of sleepovers with the tall aviator. The first time he had slept over, you had shared one too many glasses of wine over sushi takeout from your favorite place downtown. After glancing at the clock and the empty bottle between you, you asked quietly if he wanted to spend the night.

Bradley hadn't ever seen you so shy before, but he figured the rosiness of your cheeks definitely matched his own and said nothing. Instead, he nodded, kissing your forehead sweetly as you further pushed into his hold.

He remembers feeling your soft face up against his bare chest as you dozed off, not being afraid to lean into his side once you had settled under the covers. The smell of your shampoo and lotion was strong, wafting off of you after your shower. Bradley lay there for a few minutes. Not daring to close his eyes, he instead wanted to take you in as you slept on top of him. The combination of your sweet smell and soft skin had the man reeling.

Now you lie on the couch at his apartment, and Bradley sees your eyes blinking away sleep as you curl up to his side. With a kiss pressed to your hair, your eyes widened as Bradley ushered you to the bedroom. Big hands coming up to your sides to support you, strong chest pushed against your back to guide you.

It was the first time you had slept over at his. But after grabbing a quick shower, inspecting all of the hair and body care products he had available, you took your place in bed. Bradley's sheets were softer than yours, and you wondered why it had taken so long to sleep over at his.

But before you were about to call out and ask him, the answer came jumping onto the bed next to you, taking Bradley's spot. You laughed softly as Ducky turned on his back, urging you to rub his tummy.

Getting out of the bathroom, with nothing but a tight towel around his waist, Bradley groaned. You giggled at this, but Bradley shook his head you and Ducky all cuddled up already.

Walking into the small closet on the other side of the room, your eyes tracked Bradley. The way the small towel around his hips was working to show off his deep V-line had you squirming in your spot on the bed. You watched his back muscles push and pull as he rolled his neck and stretched a bit while walking. Maybe you could offer to work out the knots; it'd be a win-win situation for you and your boyfriend.

As he emerged from the closet in nothing but a pair of boxers, you urged yourself to calm down. It wasn't like it was your first time seeing him in this state; you did have sleepovers at your apartment quite often. But it was the first time that you could actually do something about it.

There had been countless times when you and Bradley had been pretty handsy, but all of them seemed to be interrupted. Whether it was an emergency call from the clinic or an alert on Bradley's phone that Ducky had knocked over another vase in the house, something always tore you away in those moments.

You had felt Bradley's frustration, seen it firsthand. The way his jaw ticked each time, and his hands got all grabby before either of you had to leave. You didn't blame him, often finding yourself rubbing your thighs together after your time together was interrupted. Maybe even having a wandering hand shoot down your panties if he was the one who had to go.

But tonight you might have him all to yourself, whether that means deep kisses or holding each other tightly and finding sleep. That was until Ducky refused to move.

"Come on, Ducky, off the bed tonight," Bradley told the dog, standing over him.

"You let him sleep on the bed regularly?" you asked with a playful look on your face. Bradley caught your tone quickly, sending you a lighthearted eye roll.

"Yes, because I love my dog," he spoke, ruffling Ducky's ears.

"But what's the big bed for then?" you questioned again, smile growing bigger with every second.

Bradley wanted to lean over and kiss it off your face. But with the big dog in his way, he just shrugged. "He didn't like it."

You giggled at this, Ducky turning to you at the sound. "Gosh, he's a big softy, huh?" you told Ducky in a sweet tone, something that made Bradley suck his teeth and grin.

But with Ducky's attention elsewhere, Bradley was able to shift the dog to the end of the bed. Getting under the covers, Bradley reached for you automatically. Instead of feeling the cotton of your pajama pants that you usually wear, he instead felt your warm skin.

Seemingly watching the confusion spread across his face, you offered an explanation, "Your sheets are nice. And it's a little hot out."

If nice sheets and 90-degree weather were what it took to get you in the little lacy pink underwear your wore now, Bradley would buy a set in every color and run his heating system even on hot nights like tonight.

But instead, he just hummed, fingers tracing over the lacy trimming of your panties.

On top of this, you wore one of his old Navy shirts. Not expecting to sleep over, you had limited options available. Bradley had never been more thankful.

"Let's go to bed, pretty girl," Bradley told you as he saw the way your eyes started to blink closed again. You nodded sweetly at this and settled under the covers as he turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

Settling under the covers, Bradley's big hands found your stomach, pulling your back into his chest. From this position, sure, his hands could roam all over you, and he could touch anything that begged for his attention. But what stopped him in his tracks was the smell of his body wash on your skin.

It made logical sense. You had showered before getting in bed while he washed up the dishes and straightened the living room, but it didn't hit him until this very moment that you were fully his. The woman he had pined over for a month, not even knowing your name, only remembering your kind eyes and soft touch. Now, you were in his bed, falling asleep next to him in his shirt after washing yourself with his body wash.

What did he do to deserve you? You who cared for animals so much that you made a career out of it. You who held his hand and kissed away his tears when he finally told you about what happened to his father. You, who at every chance were unapologetically yourself, either dancing in the kitchen while making dinner or sobbing your eyes out while watching Marley & Me for the hundredth time.

He loved you. Bradley realized in that moment that he loved you. More than he had ever loved anyone like this before.

At the thought, his hands had squeezed your waist tightly, and you stirred next to him.

"Baby, are you okay?" you asked, voice laced with sleep.

Letting his grip on you loosen, he was quick to come down and kiss your neck in an apology. "Sorry, just thinking about you. Didn't mean to wake you up."

You hum, shifting against him slightly. Your neck is now on full display, and Bradley just couldn't help himself.

Feeling his warm mouth work against your sensitive neck made you squirm against him. Bradley's mouth was relentless, biting and licking underneath your jaw and down the side of your throat. Your breath hitched as he moved a spot near your pulse point, chest rising and falling dramatically.

Bradley's hands wrapped around your stomach once more, but this time, one of his hands snaked underneath your shirt. "Can I touch you like this?" his voice was deep, breath hot against your ear.

"Yes, please," you whispered.

Suddenly, his mouth was back on your throat, and your hips pushed back further into his now hard length. His hand came up to grab your tits. They were in the perfect position for Bradley, who was able to pinch and roll your nipples in between his big fingers.

"Oh gosh, Bradley," you huffed, eyes fully rolled back into your skull as his hand worked against your puffy nipples and he ground his length into your ass.

"Yeah, baby, feels good?" he asked in a cocky coo, watching the way you bit down on your bottom lip and nodded up and down at his words.

Your mouth opened, not quite knowing exactly if you could speak with the way his touch seemed to intensify in mere seconds. But still, you tried, aching for him now, "Touch me, please. Down-"

A loud bark had you jumping out of your skin. Ducky growled at Bradley, starting to shield you protectively.

You laughed at his dog's actions, and Bradley looked at you in disbelief.

"Ducky, down! Off the bed!" Bradley's voice was loud, but it carried no real weight to scare the dog. Ducky instead settled down in between you two, almost pushing Bradley off the bed.

You laughed again.

"This is unbelievable," Bradley scoffed as he threw the covers off his body and got out of bed. From here, you could see the way his length strained under his boxers.

But it wasn't long before Bradley was over at your side of the bed and scooping you up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" you asked, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"Trying to give my girl what she wants. This time uninterrupted," Bradley huffed, sending a glare at Ducky on the bed as he carried you outside the bedroom.

But when Bradley closed the door, Ducky only started scratching and barking even louder. You looked at him with a small smile, pressing a kiss to his temple to calm him.

"I've got an idea," he spoke, something dancing in his eyes. "Go open the door to the patio."

"Bradley, no! You can't leave him out there!" you chastised with a small frown on your face.

He hummed, head falling into your shoulder. But just as quick as it fell, it came back up again.

"Okay, you go outside then. Wait for me," he told you, planting a searing kiss on your lips that made you forget any questions you had. Bradley placed you down softly and watched as you padded over to the back patio, underwear now clinging to your skin in a way that almost looked uncomfortable.

But as soon as he heard the click of the sliding glass door shutting. He opened the bedroom door and let Ducky inspect the living room.

"I don't know where she is, buddy," he told the dog, shoulders shrugging, really trying to sell the bit. Ducky sighed and made his way back into the bedroom after a few sniffs and laps around the couch.

After seeing him settle back into the bed and toss and turn for a few minutes, Bradley crept out the back door, swiping the big, soft blanket you liked so much, on his way.

"What'd you do?" you asked the man as he came up to you and draped the blanket around your shoulders.

"He's sleeping. Do you really think so poorly of me?" he teased, hands once again coming to your waist.

"I never said anything," you shot back, failing to hide the small smile on your face.

Bradley walked backwards until he reached the little love seat on his back patio, pulling you down so you were sitting on his lap. You smiled at the eager look on Bradley's face, giggling to yourself.

"Hi," he said, leaning in to press his lips against yours.

"Hi," you teased back, meeting his lips halfway.

Bradley's mouth moved in a delicate, yet passionate way. His hands were planted firmly on your hips; you could feel his thumbs pressing into your skin as the kisses turned more intense. You gasped as Bradley dragged your core across his hard length, cotton rubbing together to create a dizzying friction.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, Bradley pushed his tongue into your mouth, licking into it with urgency. The noise that came out of your throat at his movements was quiet, but Bradley heard it nonetheless. Groaning into your mouth, Bradley moved your hips once more, going a bit crazy at the feeling of your heat against him.

"Come on, baby. Show me how much you need me, huh?" he broke the kiss to speak, eyes searching yours. But all he saw was the gloss already over them as you nodded quickly and threw your arms over his shoulders.

Bradley kissed down your neck as your hips started to move back and forth against his length. Your pace was slow, but he heard the hitches of your breath and decided not to push you just yet. His hands instead crawled up underneath your shirts and began to toy with your nipples again. At this, you captured your bottom lip between your teeth and nuzzled your head into the crook of Bradley's neck.

"So sensitive for me. Doing so good. You like it when I touch you like this?" he asked, nudging your head out from its hiding place.

With another nod of your head, Bradley grabbed your chin, quickly swiping your bottom lip out of its hold.

"Wanna hear you, please, baby," he begged, kissing your face sweetly. It was the exact opposite of how his other hand moved under your shirt, twisting and rubbing your pebbled nipples like they were his own special toys.

"Feels so good, Bradley," you said breathlessly. At the sound of his name falling from your lips, Bradley's hips jumped to meet the steady rhythm of yours. You yelped as he did so, but he was quick to capture your lips in another deep kiss, keeping his hips pressing harshly into your heat through the cotton of both your underwear.

"You're driving me crazy," he confessed, hand coming up to the hem of the old Navy shirt you were wearing. Looking to you for permission, you nodded wordlessly and felt the shirt being taken off your body.

Bradley threw the shirt across the patio and drove straight into your chest, taking one of your nipples between his lips. He lapped and sucked, feeling your hips roll with more urgency across his length at his ministrations.

"So beautiful, baby," he spoke in a low tone before switching to your other breast. One hand snaked around to hold onto your lower back, helping you with the drag. The other pinched at your now wet nipple softly.

"Bradley," you warned, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the combined feeling of his mouth, hands, and hips. The new pressure from the hand on your back was now pushing your hips in the perfect position, feeling his tip make contact with your clit through the cotton.

The man watched as you became consumed with pleasure, lip wobbling as your hips moved back and forth. He felt your fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, surely leaving marks.

His mouth popped off your nipple and made its way up to your open mouth, licking into it once again.

"Gonna come for me, baby? It's okay, I wanna feel you come. I'm right here," he spoke softly to you, watching your brows furrow and face twist.

The words and the intense look in Bradley's eyes made the tension in your tummy snap, hips moving fast to chase your high. You tried collapsing into your boyfriend, but with a firm hand that stayed on your jaw, you were forced upright, looking straight at Bradley as you came on his lap.

Your bare chest heaved as you came down from your high, pressing into Bradley's warm figure. His hand traveled from your lower back up to your hair, stroking it sweetly while placing soft kisses on your hairline.

"Can I feel you?" Bradley asked, fingers now toying with the lace on your underwear again.

"Yeah, but I wanna feel you too," you told him with a small smile on your face, bringing your fingers down to the waistband of his boxers. He chuckled at your actions, but still brought you into a sweet kiss.

Your hands pushed down his waistband and grasped his length in your hands. He was heavy in your hold, twitching as you rubbed a finger down the side of his member, tracing a prominent vein.

"So big," you whispered, more so to yourself, but the way Bradley's fingers moved to push into the front of your underwear made you think he must have heard you, too.

You felt one hand plant firmly on your waist while the other cupped your heat softly. His middle finger circled your entrance, rubbing little circles and spreading the wetness around, something that had you squirming in his hold. Bradley's thumb rubbed similar circles on your clit as you hunched over into his hold.

Your hands worked to rub at his tip, one hand coming up to your mouth to collect some spit, making the movements more fluid. Bradley shuddered as you found a steady pace, feeling your fingers continuously working over his sensitive head.

A finger pressed into your entrance, stretching you in an unfamiliar way. You whined into Bradley's neck at the feeling, tensing up for a moment. But he was quick to keep rubbing little circles against your nub, relaxing your muscles.

The finger pumped in and out of you at the same pace as your hand. Bradley's lips find your neck once more, now breathing heavier and lapping at more of your skin. As you ground down on him further, he moved to push another finger inside your wet entrance.

"Jesus, baby. Feel so fucking good around my fingers. Can't wait to have you on my dick," he groaned, feeling you clench and squeeze around his fingers. You moaned at his words, pushing further into him to rub your breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. Your nipples rubbed harshly against him as you moved your hand more quickly to keep up with the rhythm of his fingers.

"Need you, please, Bradley. Now," you gasped, feeling your stomach wind up again. He nodded at your words, pulling his fingers from your entrance and instead picking you up off his hips, pushing you up against the wood railing of the patio.

"This okay, baby? You okay with me taking you like this?" Bradley asked, referring to your back meeting his chest, taking you from behind. Your stomach jumped at his words as you braced your hands against the railing.

"Yes, please, Bradley." The words were barely off the tip of your tongue when you felt Bradley tug down your underwear, leaving you completely bare in the warm summer breeze. He quickly did the same with his own underwear, fully allowing his member to spring free and rub on your ass.

One of his large hands came to wrap around your hips while the other guided his cock into your entrance. Feeling your breathing pick up, Bradley placed sweet kisses on your neck before whispering, "Breathe for me, baby. I got you."

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled as Bradley pushed into you. It was only his tip at first, but the way you pushed your hips back at the feeling of him drove his hips further, pushing in fully.

Gasping at the stretch, your head lay back on Bradley's broad chest as he snuck his other hand around to toy with your tits. Your nipples were still sensitive from his actions earlier, so this only caused you to push further into his hold.

"Can I move? Are you okay? Need to hear you, talk to me, baby," Bradley told you, kissing the top of your head softly.

"Feels really good, please, Bradley. Need you to move," you complied, as he nodded, pressing his hips into you before drawing out and pushing in again.

You whine as he sets a steady pace. His hands roam all over your body, trying to grab onto every part of you. Your tits, your thighs, your throat. You feel your eyes cross once his thumb lands on your clit once more, squirming and crying out in a nonsensical plea.

Bradley watches as you start to fall apart on him. His hips are moving to piston his hard length into your warm heat, finding it hard not to fully bend you over the railing and have his way with you. Instead, setting a pace that had you crying out every few seconds, mouth open, and eyes closing at his deep movements.

The crude sounds of his hips meeting your ass were filthy and the loudest thing in contrast to the otherwise quiet night. The extra squelching sounds surely come from the previous orgasm you had. Bradley wondered what you tasted like, but he'd have to save it for next time.

"So good, feels so good. My pretty girl," Bradley groaned, head dropping to kiss along your exposed jaw line, hand pushing your tummy to arch you even further into his hold.

You moaned in response, feeling him deeper, feeling more pressure. "For you, only you, Bradley," you told him, head turning to capture his lips in a kiss.

Bradley felt a surge of energy at your words. His thumb worked in tighter circles against your clit, the kind that had you shaking earlier on the loveseat.

"Yeah? This is my pussy, baby? Gonna let me fill you up?" he asked, spit mixing with yours as he bit harshly on your bottom lip.

"Mhm, please. All yours," you cried out as his other hand came to hold across your hips, helping him push you to the edge by bending your frame even more than it already was. Your back arched away from Bradley as your hips and head pushed back to meet his solid body.

"Fuck, baby. Can't say shit like that," he scolded, but his hips kept pounding into you.

Bradley's filthy mouth was somewhat shocking to you. The only other time he had cursed around you was when he had stubbed his toes on the corner of your bed 3 weeks ago. So his words sent a chill down your spine despite the heat of the summer air.

Bradley's thumb stayed in its spot, working your clit and making you twitch and begin to thrash in his hold. But his other arm thrown around your hips made sure that you still felt his deep thrusts.

"Bradley," you breathed out, head tilting back to look at the man. Sweat dripped from his hairline, but he still moved to swoop down and catch you in a searing kiss.

"I got you, I got you. Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my dick." His words pushed you over the edge as he licked into your mouth once more after speaking. The constant rub from his thumb and deep thrusts had you shaking as you worked through your high with him.

Seeing the way your body tensed, your tits bouncing with every movement, and your thighs shaking, had Bradley releasing in you with a low groan. His hips canted into you, slowing down slightly with each thrust, only moving to help you both work through your respective highs.

He had neglected to turn on any porch lights to not alert any neighbors or even Ducky, but the way the moonlight streamed through the trees and painted your features was something Bradley wished he could remember forever. Your lips were still parted, taking labored breaths. Your eyes were glossy, like you were trying to focus and come back into your body. Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of rosy pink than he had ever seen on you before.

You were beautiful.

Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek, and he felt you smile against his lips.

"Feeling okay, that wasn't too much, pretty baby?" he asked, genuine concern making his brows furrow.

You moved a thumb up to smooth the creases, kissing him softly on the nose with a small giggle. "Felt really good, Bradley. Gonna need some help walking, for sure though."

He chuckled at this, kissing your lips this time, deep and slow.

"I can help with that," he told you as he pulled out, both of you wincing at the loss. He quickly picked you up bridal style and carried you into the house, only letting your feet touch the ground as he set you down on the edge of the guest room bathtub.

Bradley moved to start the water, running his fingers under it to make sure it wasn't too warm or too cold before plugging the tub.

His big hands came down to frame your face, fingers a little wet, but you leaned into his touch regardless. "Gonna go grab our stuff outside and start a pot of tea and come back, okay?" he asked, searching your eyes. You smiled at him, and he leaned down once more to capture your soft lips between his own, the brush of his mustache making you giggle into the kiss.

"I love you, Bradley," you told him, lip now pulled between your teeth as you looked sheepishly at him.

But the man smiled wider than you had ever seen as he began to pepper kisses all over your face and head. You giggled at this, hands coming up to hold his which still framed your face.

"I love you so much," he told you, coming down to peck your lips once more, but the sound of the whine made you and Bradley turn towards the entrance of the bathroom.

Ducky huffed, lying on the cool hardwood, making you and Bradley laugh.

Part 1: The Joke That Should’ve Stayed a Joke

It began with a prank.

Like most terrible, brilliant ideas in Fred Weasley’s life, it started with laughter and ended in chaos.

“C’mon,” Lee whispered to George behind the broom shed, glancing down at the tiny vial of Veritaserum pinched between his fingers. “Just a drop or two. He’s been far too smug lately.”

George snorted. “You mean he’s been rubbing in the fact that he beat you at Strip Exploding Snap.”

“I wasn’t that naked.”

“You were down to socks.”

Lee scowled. “He cheated.”

“He always cheats.”

Which was exactly why they felt this was justified. A little dose in Fred’s butterbeer at dinner, a few cheeky questions, and maybe a public confession or two about how he once wet the bed in second year. Easy fun. Harmless.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t realize.

Fred Weasley was harbouring filth. Deep, obsessive, terrifyingly horny filth—and every single thought centred around you.

⸻

Dinner was uneventful at first.

You sat across the table from Fred, laughing with Ginny and Hermione, unaware that two mischievous bastards had slipped your longtime friend a potion designed to bypass every filter he had.

He was already three sips in when he locked eyes with you.

And then the spiral began.

She’s so fucking fit. That skirt should be illegal. Merlin’s saggy left nut, her lips look like heaven. I wonder if she knows I’d crawl through the Forbidden Forest just to lick her neck.

Fred’s face went pink.

“Fred?” you asked, noticing his expression.

He blinked, shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Fine. I’m fine. Dandy. Peachy.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You look like you swallowed a Niffler.”

“Probably deserves it,” Lee muttered, nudging George.

Then George, grinning wide, leaned in across the table. “Hey Fred, who would you say has the best… assets in Gryffindor?”

Fred’s mouth opened. “Y/N’s tits could end wars.”

Silence.

You choked on your pumpkin juice. Ron dropped a fork. Hermione’s mouth fell open.

Fred blinked, then smacked his own forehead. “Oh bollocks.”

Lee’s expression morphed into horror. “That was… not what I expected.”

George grabbed Fred by the arm. “We’re leaving.”

“I’d let her ride my face for hours,” Fred added as he was yanked from the bench.

“FRED!” Hermione shrieked.

You sat frozen in place, mouth slightly open, cheeks burning red.

What the actual fuck was that?

⸻

Part 2: The Escape Plan

“WHAT were you thinking?” Fred hissed in the dorm later that night, pacing like a man possessed. “Truth serum? Veritaserum?! On me?! Have you met me?”

“To be fair,” George said, trying not to laugh, “we thought we’d get you to admit to stealing Lee’s Quidditch socks. Not…”

“That I wank to the sound of her voice?!”

Lee winced. “Yeah, that was… vivid.”

Fred dragged a hand through his hair. “She’s never going to look at me again.”

“Well, she did look at you. Her face was redder than a tomato.”

“She probably thinks I’m a creep!”

“You are a creep,” George muttered. “But a very charming one.”

Fred groaned. “I need to avoid her.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I see her again, I’ll say something worse. You don’t know what I think about.”

Lee raised an eyebrow. “Worse than wanting to be her human furniture?”

Fred gave them a haunted look. “So much worse.”

⸻

Part 3: The First Confrontation

You tried to corner him two days later.

He was fleeing the Great Hall like a man on fire.

“Fred!” you called, jogging after him. “Oi! Slow down!”

Fred turned a corner and ran straight into Peeves.

“Bugger,” he muttered.

That gave you time to catch up. You grabbed his sleeve. “Are you seriously avoiding me?”

“I—no—yes—I mean—don’t take it personally!”

“I am taking it personally!”

Fred backed into the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “It’s the serum. I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“But you did say it.”

“I didn’t want to!”

“But you meant it.”

Fred whimpered. “Merlin, yes, I meant it! Have you seen yourself?! Your legs go on forever and I’ve literally written poems about your arse in Divination!”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I once dropped a book on purpose just to watch you bend over,” Fred said helplessly. “You moaned when you picked it up and I nearly fainted.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Just then, George appeared.

“There you are!” he said loudly, grabbing Fred’s arm. “Come on, we’ve got detention, remember?”

Fred practically leapt away from you.

“I’LL WRITE YOU A LETTER!” he shouted over his shoulder as George dragged him off.

⸻

Part 4: The Confessions Escalate

By the fourth time, you weren’t even surprised.

You found Fred alone in the Astronomy Tower, hiding behind a tapestry.

He looked up at you with a guilty expression. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find me.”

“I always find you.”

He sighed. “I know. You smell like ink and sugar quills. It’s—ugh—it’s delicious.”

You bit your lip.

He stood slowly. “I’ve imagined you riding me in that chair in McGonagall’s classroom.”

“Fred.”

“In the library. Up against the restricted section. I’d lift your skirt and—fuck, I need to shut up.”

Your legs went weak.

“I can’t stop, Y/N. Every time I see you, my brain goes straight to filth. You make me feel like I’m thirteen again and discovering what a hard-on is.”

You opened your mouth—just as Lee’s voice echoed from below.

“Fred, come on! You said five minutes!”

Fred sighed in relief. “Saved by the bastard.”

You grabbed his sleeve. “One day, they won’t be around to save you.”

Fred’s expression changed. “And on that day, I’m going to ruin you.”

Fred avoided you for another week.

You couldn’t so much as glance at him without George or Lee flanking him like Aurors on guard duty. If you sat down beside him, one of them magically needed him somewhere else. Every time he opened his mouth, one of them interrupted.

And yet… the things he did manage to say?

They haunted you.

“You make me feel like I’m thirteen again and discovering what a hard-on is.”

“I’ve imagined you riding me in that chair in McGonagall’s classroom.”

“You moaned and I nearly fainted.”

You replayed them in bed. At breakfast. During bloody Charms. And worst of all: Fred knew it.

Because every time your eyes met across the Great Hall or a corridor, he’d flush deep red and mutter something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch.

And you were getting impatient.

Dangerously so.

⸻

The Breaking Point

It was late.

The Gryffindor common room had thinned out to just a few scattered students dozing near the fire. You were curled up in an armchair with a Transfiguration book you weren’t really reading.

And then Fred walked in.

Alone.

Your heart nearly exploded.

He froze when he saw you.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Sit down.”

Fred looked torn between bolting or throwing himself into the fire.

“Fred.”

He gave in with a heavy sigh and slumped onto the sofa across from you. His legs spread wide, one hand gripping the back of his neck.

“George and Lee aren’t here to save you this time,” you said.

“I noticed,” he muttered.

You closed your book. “Then tell me.”

Fred stared into the flames for a long moment, jaw tight, lips parted like he was catching his breath.

And then—

“I think about fucking you more than I think about food.”

Your entire body went still.

Fred didn’t stop.

“I wake up hard. Every morning. From dreams about you. Last week I came in my pants because I dreamed you were sitting on my face.”

Your legs pressed together instinctively.

Fred’s voice dropped, ragged and low. “You were begging. Grinding down on me. Your thighs shaking. I could taste you in the dream.”

You swallowed hard.

Fred ran a hand over his face. “Every time you wear that little skirt—the grey one—I imagine you bent over a desk. I’d lift it, pull your knickers to the side, and fuck you so hard the books fall off.”

Your thighs clenched.

“I want you to make those little sounds I’ve only ever imagined. I want to bury my face between your legs and not come up for air. I want your fingers in my hair while I make you fall apart.”

“Fred…” you whispered.

“I want to ruin every surface in this bloody castle with you. I want your nails down my back, your voice hoarse from screaming my name.”

Your breath hitched. “Jesus.”

“And it’s not just sex,” he went on, words speeding up like they were desperate to escape. “It’s you. It’s your laugh. The way you make me feel like I’m flying when you look at me. I love you. I’m completely, helplessly, humiliatingly in love with you.”

Silence.

Fred stared at you, chest rising and falling hard, like he’d just run a marathon. “And I wasn’t supposed to say any of that. I was supposed to keep pretending I was fine.”

You were on your feet before your brain could catch up.

You crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him.

It was fire. Messy. Desperate. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping your hips like he’d die if he let go.

He moaned against your mouth, and it shot straight through your core.

You pulled back just enough to speak. “Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“Still under the serum?”

“Wearing off,” he whispered. “But I’d say it anyway.”

You kissed him again, harder.

Fred groaned, pulling you into his lap without warning, and you straddled him without hesitation. His hands dragged up your thighs, pushing your skirt up until his palms were hot against your bare skin.

“You’re even better than the dreams,” he mumbled, lips brushing your neck.

“Then make new ones,” you breathed. “With me.”

You were supposed to be working on your Charms essay, but all you could think about was the small feeling nagging at the back of your mind. You were so absorbed with the thought that you didn't realize you were biting the tip of you quill until Fred pulled your hand away from you, propping his feet up on your lap.

"What's with the face, Faucett? Need help with your Charms essay?" Fred asked, pouting dramatically when you snapped out of your trance and pushed his feet off your lap. "You hate me."

You scoff and roll up your parchment, placing it away on the side table. "I do not hate you, Fred."

“You do.” He teased and angled you to face him, pulling your legs to lay over his lap instead. He watched you rest your head against the cushions of the couch, making him tap your knee in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You huff and play with the threads of you sweater that Molly had made you this past Christmas, meeting his eyes that were filled with more emotion than you could place. “Nothings wrong with me, but it feels like something in this room is, you know?”

Fred looked over at the other people in the room. There were hardly any people in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday evenings. Everyone was out either making use of the last few hours of freedom they had before classes started the next day or in their dorms, trying to cram for any surprise quizzes.

The only people that were in the Common Room were a group of first years comparing notes, some fourth years playing exploding snap, and a pair of third years conversing quietly in a corner, tucked away from prying eyes and voices—such as Fred Weasley himself.

Fred raised a brow at the two boys who looked away quite quickly when they met the older boy's gaze. He turned back to you for a quick second, replying quietly to your previous comment. “Maybe…”

You crease your brows and look over at the pair of boys as well, “What—?”

“Oi!” Fred hollered at the two third years, making the entire room snap their heads over at the sudden boom of a voice. You blew a piece of hair away from your face in exasperation, giving the other students apologetic looks for the commotion.

“What are you blokes whispering about?” He called out, making the third year on the left burn bright red.

You poke Fred's arm when you saw the poor boy's face, not deterred by all his muscles underneath his own sweater. “Fred, stop bothering them."

The same boy looked away from you two, swallowing thickly while his friend pursed his lips in an effort to not laugh at the current situation. While the rest of the room went back to what they were doing, Fred continued to watch the pair, waiting for a response from either one of them.

Finally, after the two boys whispered back and forth—for Godric only knows how long—one of them spoke up, making the red-head beside you perk up instantly.

“Nothing important.” The teen on the right said for the sake of his friend, waving a dismissive hand in your general direction. “Just trying to figure out how to ask this girl out."

The second you both heard those words come out of the boy's mouth, you looked over at Fred who was already looking back at you with a grin that could only be described as smug.

You sighed, knowing you couldn't do much to stop whatever Fred planned on doing. “Freddie, don’t—“

He stood from his spot on the couch, hands placed on his hips like he suddenly knew the answers to everything in the universe. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right man—“

“—Boy—“ You quipped from his side as you followed him to ensure he wouldn't do or say anything stupid.

“Shut up.” Fred half-heartedly pushed you to the side, still catching you when you stumbled over your feet. He stuck his thumb in the other teen’s direction, “Anyway, who does he fancy?”

You roll your eyes at his antics and give them a warm, reassuring smile, hoping it would take their minds off whatever foolishness Fred has in plan. “First, what are your names?”

“I’m Oliver, and he’s James.” The boy on the right said tentatively, the one on the left—which you both now knew was James—nodding in agreement.

Fred clasped his hands together and nodded mindlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the boys. “Alright, I’m Fred and she’s the pain in my arse—“

“Can you focus?” You groan and shove him to the side, laughing loudly when he threw you over his shoulder to get you to stop interrupting—although the two of you knew it was hopeless.

“Oliver, who does James fancy?” Fred asked, ignoring your calls and protests.

You continued to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, huffing when he held onto you tighter. At that point, the rest of the Common Room gave you odd looks, making you flush a bright pink in slight embarrassment.

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, hesitantly as he stared at you and Fred in concern and confusion, unsure what to do in the situation. “Uhm… He fancies this girl in Hufflepuff named Lila—“

You gasped and hit Fred hard in between his shoulder blades, earning a groan as he dropped you from his arms. You spun around and gave James a soft look, knowing exactly who Lila was. You had tutored her last year in Potions—and based on your five minute interaction with James—the would be the perfect pair.

“She’s really bright and gifted in Herbology.” James says softly, making your heart ache at how he spoke about Lila in adoration.

“Have you tried to ask her out before?” You ask and watch him fidget with his hair.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away from your face toward the ground. “I’m too nervous.”

After recovering from you sudden attack, Fred clapped his hand on James’ back, ruffling his hair when the boy looked up at him. “Don’t be, you look handsome and clearly you’ve got the brains for it.”

In an instant, you saw an increase of confidence in the thirteen year old, making you grin at the sight. Maybe Fred being nosy in other students’ conversations wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

You watched for another second before murmuring something to Fred about finally finishing your Charms essay, giving the two boys one last smile. Before you left for the couch, Fred subconsciously pressed a kiss to the top of your head, knowing you were leaving even though he barely listened to you as he continued to speak to the younger students.

“Ask her out to a picnic by the lake or in one of the outdoor gardens—Not Hagrid’s, of course. That would be a nightmare.” Fred clarified with a small smirk decorating his face, leaning back on one of the armchairs behind him as the boys listened intently.

“Thanks, I’ll ask her tomorrow after class.” James replied with a new found determination in his voice.

Finally snapping out of his small trance, Oliver switched his gaze from Fred to your spot on the couch, tilting his head with a raised brow. “How did you ask your girlfriend out?”

Fred copied his facial expression, turning his head to follow the boy’s eye line when they landed on you. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue before clearing his throat, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Oh, we’re not dating.”

“Sure seems like it.” Oliver crossed his arms and raised both brows this time, judging Fred like he was a liar. “You can’t give out advice about dating without having a girlfriend yourself.”

“My advice is fool proof!” Fred blurted, almost baffled that a thirteen year old accused him of spreading false information—though he has done that multiple times before to everyone he knew

“Then how come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Fred opened his mouth and shut it, putting his index finger up toward the boys before turning and walking over to you. He stood in front of you with his hands in his front pockets, waiting until you finished your thoughts on the essay before speaking.

“Did you know people think we’re dating?” He said quietly, earning a wide-eye look from you. Based on your reaction, you probably didn’t know either. “Yeah, weird. Those two boys thought we were dating.”

“That’s the weird feeling I was getting in this room.” You say as you twirl your golden charm necklace between your fingers, looking over at the two boys who suddenly looked guilty and mischievous at the same time. You raise a brow and look back at Fred with a small smirk, making him grin back.

“Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they believed it took you two seconds to land a girlfriend?”

Fred bent over by the waist, lips mere centimeters from yours. “And what do you have in mind, Faucett?”

Your smirk widens before you pull him in by the collar of his sweater, lips meeting his faster than anyone could have expected it. As if someone flipped a switch in Fred’s mind, he quickly reciprocated, hands coming up to cup the back of your neck and cheek.

For a second, the two of you were completely immersed in each other that you didn’t realize that—once more—the Gryffindor Common Room stared. This time, they stared only for a brief moment before looking away. It seemed like everyone expected it since the moment you both walked into the Common Room together on any Sunday evening.

You separate after the kiss that lasted longer than you both thought it would last, the two of you slightly out of breath, but still wearing eat-shitting grins at fooling the two third years in their small corner. Fred glanced at them from the corner of his eye, winking at Oliver specifically when he stared with a gaped mouth.

“That’ll be the best piece of advice they’ll ever get.” You laugh quietly as Fred plops down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your abdomen, warm against your skin under the sweater. “You’re not going back to those two boys?”

“Nah, it’ll ruin the fun.” He drawled and looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder unexpectedly. You looked down at him and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation from the one Weasley you liked a little more than the others.

“So, you? Me? Next weekend? Hogsmeade?” He asked with a confident smile, twirling a piece of your hair in between his index and thumb.

You bite back a smile and pat his cheek, his own smile never wavering. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Weasley.”

“Is that a yes?” He questioned, looking between your eyes.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” You say as you go back to finishing your essay, not caring for the blush that rose to your cheeks.

You and Fred have been friends since first year, but it never crossed your mind that you could ever be in the relationship everyone assumed you were in. Not until this year. It felt like you clung to every single word he spoke to you this time, and it felt so different.

All the pranks he would plan with Lee and George was always relayed to you, every gift he planned to give to his family members went through you—you were practically his without officially being his.

“I plan for many things, Faucett.” Fred moved to sit properly and dragged your legs back on top of his lap, messing with the embroidery on your jeans. “But I never planned on someone like you kissing me just to mess with two thirteen year olds.”

“You went along with it.” You clarify, knowing damn well that he also wanted to prank the two teens. Besides, it’s not like it was your first time kissing Fred. Not at all.

Your gaze meets his, “So what, you actually want to take me out on a date now?”

“Yep.” He continued to grin and trace the embroidery.

You carefully tuck away your Charms essay once more, continuing to hide the smile that came with the thought of going out with Fred Weasley. “I guess I’ll go on a date with you.”

Fred didn’t even know his grin could get bigger, but it did. He pulled you as close to him as he could, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he tilted his chin down to meet your eyes. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You are bad news.” You laugh and melt into him when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You raised a brow at him, “Never planned huh?”

“Nope.” He popped his syllables with a smile so bright you swore the sun would shake in it’s presence. “Never planned.”

The tapping on your bedroom window came at 10pm, like clockwork.

You could see Steve’s goofy smile through the glass, waving to you from where he was crouched in the bushes outside. You couldn’t help but laugh as you climbed off your bed, making your way over and lifting the window.

Steve climbed inside with a little less grace than he had when he was 16 sneaking into girls’ rooms after their parents had gone to bed. His ass hit the ground with a low thud before he lifted himself, brushing off his jeans and pushing up the sleeves of his pullover.

“Kind of crazy I still have to climb through your window like we’re a couple of teenagers,” Steve said quietly, resting his hands on your hips and pulling you close.

“Yeah, well,” you said, plucking a twig from his hair before brushing your fingers through it. His eyes fell closed at the feeling, smiling contentedly. “My parents still think I’m a child.”

And no one even knew you and Steve were together yet.

After years of being best friends - strictly platonic - no one thought twice about how close you and Steve were. Everyone knew Steve had harbored feelings for Nancy for years, and thought he still did. It got to the point where Steve and Jonathan argued constantly because he thought Steve was trying to win Nancy back.

Truthfully, that was just Steve. He was a bit of a show-off.

When things between you and Steve had turned into more a few months ago, it hadn’t exactly been your intention to keep it a secret. But with the end of the world scenario Hawkins was currently living, no one was paying that much attention to what the two of you were doing.

And it was kind of nice. Like your own little world.

Steve pulled you closer until your body was pressed against his, his large hands sliding around to grip your ass over the tiny shorts you were wearing. He bent down, his breath fanning across your cheek, making you shiver. He pressed his lips to your neck, and without even thinking about it you tilted your head to the side, giving him more access.

“It’s kind of exciting, though,” he mumbled against the skin of your neck. Your breaths came a little harder, your eyes closing. “Sneaking around…” His fingertips danced up the backs of your thighs, pushing up the hem of your shorts until they grazed the curve of your ass, the edge of your panties. “Having to stay quiet when I fuck you.”

“Steve…” you breathed, hands coming up to rest on his chest. You still weren’t used to the way he made you feel now. The way he made your head spin, your lungs ache, the throbbing between your thighs when he spoke to you like this. There was nothing friendly about the things he did to you.

He murmured your name back in return, and it sent a shiver up your spine. His teeth grazed the skin of your neck, and you drew in a gasp, hands tightening into fists in his shirt.

Steve moved, walking you back towards your bed. When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, you fell down onto it, bouncing softly on the plush material. Your room hadn’t changed much since you were younger, despite your 20th birthday having just passed. You still had the same white frilly pillowcases and fluffy pink duvet. You had been embarrassed about it the first time Steve came over, but there was something he liked about taking you apart piece by piece on that stupid bed.

You moved back to lay on the pillows while Steve kicked his sneakers off. He didn’t take his eyes off you, crawling onto the edge of the bed, running his hand slowly from your ankle up to your thigh. He squeezed the plush of your thigh, pushing your legs apart and crawling between them.

The rough denim of his jeans rubbed against the backs of your thighs as he settled there. He leaned over your body, hand moving up to your hip, then beneath your t-shirt, tracing over the skin of your stomach with an unexpected reverence. His calloused fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin of your sides next, and you exhaled a shaky breath, the sensation like ice through your veins.

“You’re so pretty,” Steve murmured, and you weren’t sure if he was telling you or just noting it to himself. He pushed your t-shirt up just to the bottom of your breasts, pressing featherlight kisses against your stomach. His lips trailed higher, smirking as he felt how hard you were breathing. He pulled back, looking down at you - how did you look so wrecked already?

Disappointed by the loss of his touch, you opened your eyes. “Why’d you stop?” you asked, the pout on your pretty lips making Steve’s own pull into that cocky smirk you knew all too well.

“You’re needy tonight,” he observed, thumb tracing circles over your hip. You could tell it was boosting his ego, which he really didn’t need. “I’ve barely even touched you yet.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, although even Steve could see how weak the protest was. Even though Steve was your boyfriend now - you were still getting used to that - you often fell into that playful bickering from years of friendship. “You’re not that good.”

Steve planted a hand by your shoulder, leaning back over your body. Any teasing died on your lips the second his body pressed into yours, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped when you felt his hot tongue against your neck, right over your pulse point. Your hand shot up to grasp at his bicep, clinging to him tightly.

You could feel the smirk against your skin. “I bet you’re already so wet,” he murmured. He pressed his lips to your neck, nuzzling his nose against the curve between your neck and shoulder. “I bet if I touch you right now, I’ll see just how good I am at getting you worked up.”

“Christ, Steve,” you breathed. As much as you wanted to tease him, to make him work for it, you couldn’t hide what he was doing to you. Your body was reacting to every touch, every word, to an almost embarrassing level. 

His free hand slid back down your side until he reached the waistband of your shorts. He relished in the little gasp you let out when he slipped his hand beneath, into the lace panties you had put on specifically for him, his thick fingers gently tracing through your folds.

“Oh,” he groaned, feeling the proof of everything you’d tried to deny. “God, baby, you’re soaked.” He pulled back to look down at you, his hazel eyes burning into yours with an intensity that hadn’t been there minutes before. “Just for me, huh?”

He pressed his fingers against your clit, already swollen and throbbing with need, and there was no way you could have denied it even if you wanted to.

“Uh huh,” you moaned, looking up at him with every ounce of desire written clear across your face. It nearly took Steve’s breath away, how perfect you looked. He was straining against his jeans so hard it was starting to hurt, desperate to free himself and fuck you already. 

“You make me so hard,” he muttered, his hand moving down until his index finger was pressed against your entrance. Your body thrummed with anticipation, craving to be filled by him in some way, any way, and you could see on his face that he was going to give you exactly what you wanted—

The phone rang, shrill and startling in the charged atmosphere of your bedroom.

“Shit,” you cursed, letting out a deep sigh. Steve pulled his hand from your shorts, sitting back on his knees with a huff and the disappointed look of someone who had just dropped his whole ice cream cone on the ground.

You leaned over the bed to your nightstand, lifting the phone from the receiver. You and Steve exchanged a look before you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

Your name came through the other end of the line in an exasperated breath. “God, it’s been a day.”

You sat up a little, leaning back against the pillows. “Hey, Nance,” you said, meeting Steve’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows, staying silent. “What’s up?”

“I am just so tired of guys, to be honest with you,” Nancy said, letting out what she’d clearly been holding in for a while. “I swear Jonathan just turns into this…this caveman when Steve is around! It’s like the smart, sensitive guy I fell for is just gone, and all he cares about is winning me, like I’m some…object.”

The speaker on the phone was loud, letting Steve hear every word she said. He chuckled quietly, and you rolled your eyes, kicking his thigh lightly. You didn’t understand the rivalry Steve had with Jonathan. It seemed like Steve just thought it was funny to piss him off.

“Yeah, it’s stupid,” you agreed, trying to give Nancy your attention even while Steve was being as annoying as possible, tickling your feet. You kicked at him again, and he laughed, dodging out of the way. He moved in to kiss your cheek, flopping down on the pillows next to you. “Um…” You tried to tune Steve out, because he was being incredibly distracting. “Have you talked to him about it?”

A sigh. “Of course. But you know he won’t admit anything. He won’t admit he’s jealous of Steve.”

Steve looked way too smug for his own good. You ignored him, holding a hand up to block out his face. He snatched your hand, placing a kiss against your palm. “Of course he won’t. He’s a man.” You glanced over at Steve, who looked mock offended at that.

“And don’t even get me started on Steve.”

You froze at that. Steve raised his eyebrows at you, looking even more amused by the turn the conversation was taking.

“Oh, yeah,” you said weakly, because you weren’t really sure what else to say.

“I know he’s your best friend,” Nancy said, as if she hadn’t talked to you about Steve countless times before. “But I wish he would just move on. We dated years ago, and it didn’t work out. I just wish he would…I don’t know…get over me.”

You and Steve exchanged amused smiles at that - because she had no idea how much Steve had already moved on. “Maybe he just needs to meet someone,” you said, fighting back the giggle as Steve’s lips began brushing over your neck again, down to your collarbone. You swatted at his arm half-heartedly, although you didn’t really want him to stop.

“I’m starting to worry he never will,” Nancy said. “And I care about Steve, I hate to break his heart, but it’s just not going to happen.”

Your breath hitched as Steve’s lips trailed down your body again. As he reached your stomach, pushing your shirt up again and kissing above the waistband of your shorts, you looked down at him with furrowed brows. The mischief gleaming in those hazel eyes was familiar, but rarely a good thing.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice more breathy than you intended when Steve spread your legs, his lips pressing against your inner thigh. Your jaw dropped when his teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, your head falling back on the pillows. Was he fucking insane?

If Nancy noticed how distracted you were, she didn’t say anything. “I mean, he’s a great guy and all,” she went on, “You know that. I’m sure he’s gonna make some girl very happy one day.”

You looked down, making eye contact with Steve as he smirked up at you, slipping his fingers beneath the top of your shorts and sliding them down your legs. A flush crept onto your skin, the room all of a sudden feeling much hotter. Steve placed another kiss on your thigh before he leaned forward, pressing his lips against your clit through the lace of your panties. Your free hand tightened in the sheets. “Y-Yeah, for sure.”

“He’s handsome, funny, sweet, romantic. He loves his grand gestures.”

Steve looked far too smug as he listened to her praises, but he was focused on his mission. He stuck out his tongue, licking your folds through the already soaked material of your panties. You drew in a sharp breath, fighting back the urge to groan. “Yeah, he’s…he’s great.”

“But he can also just be a total…meathead!”

You looked down at Steve then, holding back a laugh. “Oh, yeah, for sure.” It was his turn to roll his eyes at you, but all thoughts of teasing vanished from your brain as he slipped the lace off your body, leaving you bare for him. The cool air against your wet pussy had you clenching your thighs together, but Steve spread them again, looking down at you like he was starving and ready to absolutely devour you.

“I mean, honestly,” she went on as Steve nuzzled against your core, his nose brushing against your clit in a way that made your whole body jolt. “Everything has to be a competition for my attention. It was so stupid, him and Jonathan racing each other up the radio tower. They could have gotten hurt, but all they cared about was showing off for me, like I’m going to pick the ‘strongest man’, or whatever they think women want.”

Listening to Nancy talk about Steve trying to impress her almost made you giggle. Steve loved to show off, that was for sure, but Nancy was definitely getting the wrong idea. You bit back a grin at the memory of how Steve had fucked you from behind in the WSQK supply closet after, hard and fast with the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“So stupid,” you agreed. You had to slap your hand over your mouth when you felt Steve’s tongue finally delving between your folds, greedily tasting every inch of you, how sweet and wet you were. His fingers dug tightly into your thighs, fighting back his own groan of pleasure.

“Like a couple of neanderthals,” Nancy sighed. “And it’s making Jonathan into a total pain. He’s just moody all the time now, and it’s because Steve keeps provoking him. I mean, I know you’re close, but don’t you think Steve can be such a…a total ass?”

“Oh yeah, a total ass,” you said. Steve quickly wiped the playful grin off your face when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking, his fingers sliding between your folds again. The whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you bit down on your hand hard enough to leave a mark when he pressed a long finger inside of you.

Your hips lifted off the bed, grinding against his face and hand like you were desperate for more of whatever he’d give you. He groaned so quietly you could barely hear it, but the vibrations against your aching clit had your thighs trembling. He slowly grinded his hips against the bed while he lapped at your cunt, a second finger sliding into you and curling deep inside.

Your hand with the phone dropped out to your side, Nancy’s voice still somehow audible as she continued on with her rant. You grabbed one of your pillows, holding it over your face and burying your moan in the stupid frilly pillowcase, heat coiling low in your belly. God, he was going to make you cum so hard with that stupid mouth of his.

Steve flicked his tongue over your clit again, fucking his fingers in deep until he was hitting that spot over and over again with a level of precision that only came with experience. It almost pissed you off, how quickly and perfectly Steve could make you fall apart.

Your orgasm was building fast. Your back was arching, body writhing on the bed, breaths coming in hot and heavy. Your thighs trembled around his head, and you let go of the phone to tangle your fingers in his messy hair, giving a sharp tug that made him groan even louder this time.

The vibrations from his moaning, his tongue working over your sensitive clit, and his thick fingers fucking you hard and deep were bringing you to the edge faster than you cared to admit, but it was the whimper he let out as he grinded his cock down hard against the bed that was your undoing.

You let go of his hair, both hands gripping the pillow and holding it tight over your face as you let out the most desperate, needy moans, loud enough that the whole house would have heard you. Steve worked you through it, making sure he drew out every last bit of pleasure, every tremor from your body, tongue working slowly now as he brought you back to earth.

The phone call had gone completely forgotten, until you heard Nancy calling your name over the line.

You pushed the pillow away, grabbing the handset and bringing it back to your ear. “Sorry, my mom needed something,” you said quickly, praying Nancy hadn’t heard any of the noises you had just made.

“Oh, it’s fine, I have to get going anyways. But I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You tried to catch your breath as relief flooded your body. “Yeah, of course. Goodnight, Nance.”

“Night!”

The line went dead, and your body visibly relaxed. Thank god she hadn’t noticed anything weird. Steve was still kissing your thighs, his hazel eyes looking up at you from between your legs with an intensity that made your heart thud hard against the wall of your chest.

The second the phone was back on the receiver, Steve crashed his lips to yours like he couldn’t take it for another second. You could taste yourself on his tongue when he licked into your mouth, kissing you in the most filthy, needy way. He bit at your bottom lip and you moaned, fingers digging into his biceps. He rutted his hips against your thigh as he kissed you, and you could feel every inch of him through the tight denim.

He pulled back from your body, lips and chin still wet with your release and his eyes glazed over with lust. He took in the sight of you, so wrecked and beautiful, laying there in nothing but the loose t-shirt you had stolen from his closet at some point.

“God, look at you,” he muttered. His fingertips traced over your skin with the kind of reverence reserved for something holy. “Jesus. You’re unreal.”

You wanted to scold him for the stunt he’d pulled while you were on the phone, wanted to tell him that was risky and stupid and would have been so embarrassing if Nancy had figured it out, but those thoughts quickly disappeared when he grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to your bedroom floor. You almost moaned as your eyes shamelessly raked over his chest, all lean muscle covered by that thick, dark hair you were way more into than you ever expected to be.

“See something you like?” he teased, calloused palm pushing your t-shirt up your body until your tits were exposed. Your nipples hardened in the air and he brushed his fingers over the stiff peaks of them, making you shudder.

“Steve…” you said, breathing his name like a plea. 

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, eyes never leaving your chest. He gripped your breast in his left hand, squeezing it - fit so perfectly in his hand, he thought - his thumb rubbing over your nipple.

“I need you,” you admitted in a whine. You hated letting him see how badly he affected you, because it always went straight to his big head, but you couldn’t help it. You pushed your hips down, grinding against his thigh, desperate for his touch even though he’d just made you cum on his tongue and fingers minutes ago.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back from you as if he’d been burned. His hands moved to his jeans at lightning speed, the clink of his belt buckle loud in the quiet of the bedroom as he undid it as fast as he could. “I can’t- shit, I need to fuck you right now.”

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one go, groaning as his thick, aching cock was finally freed. He kicked his pants off to the floor, wrapping a hand around himself and giving his cock a few quick strokes as he stared down at your body. He was so worked up from what you’d done, his tip flushed red and a drop of precum beading at his slit that made your mouth water.

Steve leaned over your body, leaning his weight on one strong arm planted above your shoulder while his other dragged the head of his cock through your folds. “I bet you liked that, didn’t you?” he said, his voice a low growl in your ear.

It took you a minute to realize he’d asked you a question, too busy focusing on the feeling of his cock pressing against your entrance, wishing he would just take you already. When he didn’t give you what you wanted, you opened your eyes, looking up at him. “What?”

“I said, I bet you liked that,” Steve murmured, pushing his cock inside just barely, not even a full inch, making you whimper as he pulled back out, “I bet you liked having to stay quiet so Nancy wouldn’t know what I was doing to you.” He dragged himself back up through your wetness, pressing against your clit. You drew in a gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders.

“Steve—“ you said, as firmly as you could manage when every nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire. “You shouldn’t have done that, it was risky—“

“Your body doesn’t lie,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss along your collarbone, his tongue teasing your skin before sucking a mark onto the delicate flesh. “You were soaking my fingers, baby. I could feel you clenching around me every time you had to stay quiet.”

You shuddered beneath him, like his words sent a chill through you. All you could do was let out a quick exhale as you felt him at your tight hole again, and he gently rubbed his nose against your jawline, breathing in the scent of your body wash combined with the smell of sex.

“No one knows how fuckin’ filthy you are,” he groaned, his low voice rumbling against your skin. “No one knows how much you love getting fucked. No one but me.”

He moved his hips forward in a slow roll, his cock sinking into you inch by agonizing inch. You keened at the feeling, his cock stretching you out — more like splitting you open — and Steve groaned low in his throat, your tight heat enveloping his length like fucking heaven.

“Oh, fuck,” you rasped once he was fully seated inside you. Your thighs were shaking, and Steve gripped the plush skin, hiking your leg around his waist. His forehead dropped against yours, both breathing heavily as he rolled his hips against you, setting a pace that was slow but deep, punching the air from your lungs with each press.

Steve kissed you, only sweet for a moment before it turned hungry, bruising, massaging his tongue against yours and sucking your lower lip into his mouth. You whimpered, and Steve’s hips bucked forward, grunting against your lips as he lost his rhythm already.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back to admire your body as he fucked into you. He couldn’t hold back anymore, hips rutting hard and fast against yours, watching your tits bounce with every thrust. Your bed creaked beneath the movements, joining the sound of the breathy moans you exchanged, his skin meeting yours. “You’re so fucking tight and hot — the best pussy I’ve ever had, baby, I swear to god—“

Your head dropped back, crying out as you felt that delicious drag of Steve’s thick cock in your velvety walls. Every ridge and vein of him, the way he was so big and curved just right, and he always knew the angle to fuck you at to hit that spot every single time.

“Yeah,” he gasped. “Oh, shit. Fuck, that turned you on, didn’t it baby?” His voice was a low rasp, and he grabbed your wrists with his free hand, pinning them above your head. The way it stretched your body pushed your tits out, and Steve groaned at the sight, momentarily distracted. “I think you like the idea of getting caught with me. I’ve never felt you so fuckin’ wet, Christ.”

As much as you wanted to deny his words, your body reacted on its own, pussy throbbing around his cock, making his pace falter and a choked moan break from his lungs.

“You don’t even have to tell me,” he grunted, wearing his best cocky smirk, although the flush on his cheeks and the way his features kept twisting into pleasure gave away how weak he was for you, too. “You’re— oh, shit—“

He let go of your wrists to grab your thigh and hold you open wider, sinking somehow deeper. You bit down on your lip so hard you tasted blood, trying not to be loud enough for your parents to come knocking. Steve’s tongue darted out to lick his lips as he looked down at you, the sweat shining on your skin, your furrowed brows and parted lips, the tiny little moans he was pulling from you with every movement.

“You are so fucking hot,” he groaned, almost to himself. “So beautiful. Fucking perfect. Made for me.”

“Yours,” you agreed, and the word had barely left your mouth before he was crashing his lips back onto yours, both moaning into the kiss, breathing each other’s air until your head spun.

You raked your nails down his back, long red scratches blooming against his freckled skin. Steve moaned raggedly, hips stuttering as he cursed out a breathy “Fuck,” against your lips.

Steve leaned back on his knees, his hands sliding down your sides before reaching your hips, holding onto you with a bruising grip. He pulled your hips down against his thrusts, using your body to chase his own pleasure, the muscles in his neck and chest tightening as he felt that familiar electricity crackling up his spine.

“Say my name, baby,” He rasped. He was so close. “I wanna know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Steve,” you moaned, reaching up and grabbing onto your pillows, desperate for some kind of leverage as you felt yourself about to fall over the edge. “Oh, god— fuck— Steve!”

Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head as it hit you like a wave, pleasure washing over your body like you’d never felt before. You buried your face in the pillow, muffling the scream you let out as your body tightened around him, squeezing his cock tight within your walls.

“Oh, sh- fuck!”

Steve’s body pitched forward with the intensity of his orgasm, catching himself on his right arm, his left hand gripping so tightly onto your thigh you knew there would be bruises. His hips stuttered against you, his cock pulsing inside your tight walls, filling you with every drop of his cum until he had nothing left.

He stayed buried in you, relishing in the feeling, before he finally pulled out, laying on the bed next to you. He was breathing hard as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his sweaty chest.

You looked up at him, carding your hand through his messy hair. He hummed, leaning into your touch. He grabbed your wrist as you went to pull away, pulling you closer and kissing you with a surprising amount of tenderness after what you’d just done.

He pulled back enough to look you in the eyes with that grin that just screamed Steve and emotion clear as day in his hazel eyes. “I love you.”

Your heart raced, the way he was looking at you sending heat through your veins in a whole different way from before. “I love you too, Steve.”

His hand rested on your hip, tracing slow circles on your skin. “Maybe we should tell people. About us.”

“Yeah?” you asked, hand trailing through the hair on his chest. “You want that?”

“I do,” he said, leaning forward to place a kiss against your forehead. “We probably shouldn’t let Nancy keep thinking I’m obsessed with her when I’m doing this with you.”

You laughed, the memory of the phone call with Nancy making your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Okay,” you agreed. “We’ll tell people.”

The idea of going public with Steve, everyone knowing you were much more than friends after years of insisting and proving otherwise, was a little scary. But more than that, you were excited. You wanted to be able to be affectionate with Steve in front of your friends. To kiss him, to hold his hand, to let everyone know how much you loved him.

“Does that mean you’re finally gonna leave Jonathan alone now that he knows you’re not after Nancy?” you asked with a teasing smile.

He looked down at you, his brows furrowed with the level of sass only Steve Harrington could achieve. “Now, I never said that.”

as always, comments and reblogs are so so appreciated!

tag list (join here)

You must have done something evil in a past life because your landlord had decided to sell his place with no notice, which left you and other roommates with two weeks to find a new place to live before he evicted all of you. You remember spending countless sleepless nights scouring the internet, meeting random people, seeing random apartments. 

That’s how you met Jack and Michael.

It was another roommate interview; they seemed nice, both in med school or something so they wouldn’t be home much, they said. Their apartment was scarily clean for two guys, but Jack assured you that he was a self proclaimed clean freak and it was always like this. Michael just said not to go into his room and you would be fine, which you didn’t really want to think about further. 

They used to have a third roommate, they explained, but he wasn’t really taking to residency all that well and moved back home. Although the way Michael told the story seemed casual, the implication was glaring. You could read between the lines. They needed someone to take over his lease, and fast.

Considering the fact that the last two girls you met said your chakras were misaligned and that they could fix that if you paid them, coupled with the fact that you were about three days out from being homeless, you decided to take a chance on Jack and Michael. How bad could living with two guys be? 

That was months ago. Now?

You wish you paid those girls to realign your chakras and moved into their apartment. Sure, the boys’ apartment was nice. It wasn’t living with boys that was the issue. They were telling the truth; Jack really always kept it clean and the pair of them were always at the hospital, so they were barely around.

It’s when they were around that was the issue. 

Or, more specifically, when Jack was around. Robby, as he told you to call him a few weeks into you living there, was nice enough. He was polite and funny, humor just dry enough to be endearing. He always had a few girls coming in and out when he wasn’t working or knocked out from his shift, but that was neither here nor there for you.

Jack, on the other hand, was driving you up the wall. Your niceties had fizzled out in exactly two weeks, ending when you got into an argument about something so small, you can’t even remember it now. 

And that was that. After that fight, you were always butting heads whenever you were together, always about the dumbest things. It’s reached the point where you two can barely be in a room together without getting into it. You know Robby had been trying to mediate over the past few months, but to no avail. Nowadays, he just tries his best to not pull his hair out.

Like today.

“How many times have I asked you to stop slamming doors?” Jack snaps as you exit your room. He’s seated next to Robby at the bar, who’s tucking into his bowl of cereal and looking like he's praying that no one drags him into this conversation. They're both still in their pyjamas, Jack’s curls still mussed from sleep. 

“Well, good morning to you too, Jack,” You sigh, not even looking in his direction as you make your way into the kitchen on the opposite side of the bar. Pulling open the fridge, you ponder making a smoothie just to see if it’ll piss him off some more. “Glad to see a full night of rest hasn't removed the stick from your ass.”

You can see Robby white knuckling his spoon out of the corner of your eye, but he remains silent. Jack scoffs, using his fork to angrily gesture in the direction of your bedroom.

“Last I remembered, there was only one of us here not working twelve hour shifts at a hospital. I’d like a little sleep before I have to listen to you talk all day.” He looks to his right, presumably to have Robby to back him up, but he’s already left his bowl in the sink and is slinking away from the conversation.

“Tsk, tsk, Doctor Abbot. Someone needs to work on their bedside manner,” Shaking your head at him, you can tell that he’s already annoyed, face twisted up as your words. You decide, yeah, the blender probably will piss Jack off, and start pulling out some fruit. “Don’t they teach you that in medical school?”

“I’ve got one of the highest patient satisfaction ratings of the department,” He shoots back, a barely concealed brag. Not that it mattered that much to you, but he was clearly proud of the fact anyways. “I just save it for people that actually listen to the words that come out of my mouth. You-”

It seems comical, the timing, really. You toss the last of the fruit into the blender and switch it on, effectively cutting him off and punctuating his point. You watch his eyes furrow and you were totally right, the blender absolutely does piss him off. You mime something about not being able to hear him, sorry! and he rolls his eyes, conceding. Jack always did, if it was before eleven in the morning. Still too tired from his shift to get under your skin properly, you assumed. He grabs his plate and his coffee mug in a huff, heading into Robby’s room, no doubt to complain about you behind your back.

You shut the blender off once he leaves, the loud whirring slowing to a stop. You remember a time that you imagined yourself getting along with both of them, falling into your place at the apartment like their missing puzzle piece. But there was just something about Jack that just pushed all your buttons. He was just a pain in the ass.

A really handsome, really annoying, cherub-faced pain in the ass.

—

Robby likes to think of himself as a patient man.

The emergency room teaches you that. Taking a step back. Pausing, being objective. Being able to make the decisions that need to be made.

And right now, a decision definitely needed to be made. Robby was living in a psychological warzone.

He remembers when he and Jack were deliberating on who to choose to take over their spare room. It was between you and some guy who looked like he ate cigarettes for every meal; Robby can’t even remember his name now. Jack had said that they should pick you — even said you were cute.

This was one of the few instances in the time that he had known Jack that he had regretted listening to him.

“And she just-” Jack’s got his plate teetering on his knee, coffee mug still in his hand as he gestures angrily for no reason in particular. You’ve really worked him up this morning and now Robby is dealing with the consequences.

“Geez, man,” Robby can’t help but snap, cutting him off. Lately it’s been endless, Jack’s complaining. It feels like he starts and ends every day listening to Jack bitch and moan about their roommate, and it’s driving him up the wall. “You ever think about cooling it a little? Maybe extending an olive branch or something?”

“An olive branch? For what? I didn’t do anything.” His comment has clearly caught Jack off guard, eyes falling to his plate as he pushes the remaining remnants of his breakfast around. 

“It’s not about you doing something. It’s about you two getting along,” Robby explains with a sigh. He knows that Jack knows better than this, but there was just something about the situation that made him see red. Something about you. “A little peace around here would be nice, you know?”

“You should tell her that.” Jack gives up pretending to eat and sets his plate aside. Robby can feel the anxious energy radiating off of him; his leg shaking the bed, the angry tap, tap, tap of his nails against the ceramic of his coffee mug. He reaches out and places a hand on his thigh to steady him. The shaking stops instantly.

“You gotta figure this shit out,” Robby says, attempting to toe the line between stern and empathetic. He thinks it might just be coming off as tired, though. “Whatever issue you guys have, you guys need to solve that shit.”

Jack stiffens under his touch when the words leave his mouth and Robby kicks himself. For some reason, he keeps forgetting just how stubborn his best friend is.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Jack replies flatly. That kills the conversation and he collects his things and leaves Robby’s room, leaving him alone in some well needed silence.

Robby decides needs a new approach.

He tries his best to stick it out for the next few days, waiting until his next off day rolls around. Jack, on the other hand, is working that day which presents the perfect opportunity for Robby to appeal to your better nature instead.

He’s leaning on the counter, watching you put your groceries in the fridge. Over the time that you’ve been living together, you and Robby have learned to grow comfortable in the silence in the apartment. You’ll sit together on the couch, reading a book while he studies without saying a word. It’s grounding for him, like a familiar blanket. At least, that’s when Jack isn’t around.

Robby is finally pulled out of his thoughts when he notices you staring at him, hand on your hip. You’ve got an eyebrow raised, like you just asked him a question that he took far too long to reply to.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Robby shakes his head, trying to focus on you once more. “I was, uh, zoned out.”

“I just said you’ve been looking at me all weird,” You reply, hand dropping from your hip. You approach him slowly, laying a hand on his arm. You seemed concerned, which was sweet. He’s always wondered where the part of you that got Jack all riled up went when he wasn’t around. “Are you okay?”

“No, not really,” He says with a sigh, taking a step back out of your space. He takes a deep breath, wondering how exactly to explain this to you. He doesn’t want to misstep like he did with Jack; then he’d really be screwed. “It’s about you and Jack.”

“What about us?” Your curiosity is piqued but Robby can see that you’ve stiffened just at the mention of his name.

“Look, I get that you and Jack hate each other or whatever,” He runs a hand through his hair, deciding that the best course of action was to just be honest. Whatever happens after that is out of his hands. “But the arguing is driving me insane. Would you be able to maybe take it down a notch when I’m around? And when I’m not, you can kill him for all I care.”

“I think you would definitely care if I murdered Jack,” You say with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. You two stand in silence for a moment. Tense, not the comfortable kind that Robby is used to. He can see your eyes flicking around as you think, taking in his words. And then your posture softens. “But you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Oh great,” He heaves a sigh of relief, taking a seat at the bar. You watch him, the curious look in your eye replaced with something that might even resemble sympathy. “I asked Jack the same thing and he nearly bit my head off.”

“You thought I would react worse than Jack?” You look at him sadly, hand splayed over your heart in mock hurt. “I’m wounded, Michael.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re back in the kitchen, bent over and rustling through the fridge. He watches you gather ingredients, pushing around and looking for the things that you need. He taps his finger on the counter, suspicious. 

“Is that really it?” He asks and you turn around, arms full. You shrug as you start placing things on the counter, gesturing for Robby to help you with a nod of your head. He quickly stands up, setting down whatever remained.

“I could make more of a scene, if you like,” You pull out the cutting board and knife from below the counter, shooting him a look from the corner of your eye. “But I thought I’d make you an ‘I’m-sorry-I-get-into-fights-with-your-best-friend’ dinner instead.”

Robby lights up at that. He and Jack always cook for themselves, but your food always looks a million times better than theirs. Probably because once they get home from their shifts they only have the energy to make boxed mac and cheese before falling asleep on the couch, bowls still in their laps. 

So yes, Robby will jump at the chance to eat some food that doesn’t come out of a box and doesn’t involve any powdered cheese.

You’re standing side by side when Jack walks in; Robby is chopping vegetables and you’re throwing everything together in a pot. Your shoulders are brushing —the kitchen you share is too small not to, especially at Robby’s size.

Robby glances up from the cutting board, ready to greet Jack, when he sees the look on his face. It’s twisted up in something… something Robby can’t really place. He’s frowning, eyes scanning the scene in front of him. Before he can open his mouth to say hello, Jack stomps off to his room, hand clutching the strap of his go-bag tightly. The door slams behind him and Robby finally looks in your direction. You’re looking equally as confused as he feels.

“What the hell is up with him?” You ask, going back to what you were doing before Jack’s abrupt arrival. He guesses that you were used to this kind of behaviour; Jack being all prickly towards you. Robby however, was not. He sneaks another glance at Jack’s closed door, brows furrowed.

“Bad shift, maybe?” He tries to supply. You just shrug in response.

He knows that it’s something else.

—

After that dinner the fighting only gets worse.

You’ve been making Robby a lot of I’m sorry dinners, which is a plus. But the hostile living situation is definitely a negative. 

He knows you’ve been trying to keep it down but it seems like you can’t even enter a room without Jack getting irritated with you these days. He’s tried to talk to him about it a grand total of once, and Jack snarls at him to ‘just leave it’ in a tone he’s never heard before, so he has.

But it’s driving Robby insane. He wants to eat a meal, sit on the couch, and study in peace. It’s reaching the point where he’s wondering if he’s going to have to physically separate you. The fights have been escalating; you two have been crowding each other’s space, all gnashing teeth and pointed jabs to the chest. 

Right now he’s laying in bed, listening to you two argue through the wall. He doesn’t even know what it’s about. In fact, he never really knows what they’re about. They always start off about something insignificant and then escalate into the grudges that you two are holding against each other. It seems like the fights never end, one of you always storming out before you ever come to a resolution.

Robby is sure that you could probably talk out your differences if you bothered to actually have a conversation about it without one of you stomping away. In fact, he’d put money on it.

He listens to a few more shouts and a particularly loud door slam and something in him finally breaks. 

He decides to put his money where his mouth is.

—

You’re enjoying a rare moment to yourself, curled up on the couch under a blanket with a book in hand when Robby’s voice rings through the living room. 

“The sink in the bathroom is doing that weird thing again.”

Motherfucker.

You tilt your head back with a groan, slamming your book shut. The sink in the bathroom had been crapping out on you guys for as long as you remember and for some reason, you were the only person who could jiggle the handle just right to get it working again.

“Can’t a girl get a moment to herself here?” You sigh, pulling off the blanket dramatically. Robby just shrugs, eyeing you as you put your book down. There’s something in his gaze you can’t place, a bit distant. It’s easy to assume it’s all the fighting with Jack. 

You promised to try to be nicer to him, but he just keeps goading you into petty arguments. It’s not hard to tell that it’s driving a wedge between the three of you. Tensions have been high in the apartment lately and you’ve noticed that Robby has elected to spend more time away, presumably with one of his many girlfriends.

Robby turns around wordlessly, not even checking to see if you’re following. It unnerves you a bit; he’s usually always down to rib with you and he never ignores you. Worrying your lip, you drop the nonchalant act and trail behind him in the direction of your bathroom. He pauses at the doorframe, waiting for you to catch up.

You approach him, wanting to ask if everything is okay, when he grabs you by the arm. It’s not rough and you wouldn’t expect it to be; Robby would never hurt you. However, his grip and the element of surprise are enough to allow him to haul you into the bathroom. You barely get a word out before the door shuts behind you.

You blink in shock, taking a moment to realize what exactly is happening to you.

Jack is standing in front of you, the same look of shock mirrored on his face. The sight of him has you whirling on your heels, grabbing the door handle. It doesn’t give —something is jamming the handle, effectively locking you in the bathroom. The bathroom you share, that’s about the size of a closet. Locked in with the guy that makes your blood boil.

For more reason than one.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” You hear Jack’s gruff voice from behind you but you deign to ignore it, choosing to bang against the door instead.

“Robby!” You shout, still rapping your fist against the door. You know that he can hear you; the walls and doors in this place are paper thin. Jack’s gaze is hot on your back and you can imagine his arms are crossed, ready to see what you’ll do next. “Let us out!”

“No,” You can hear his voice loud and clear through the wood. He must be standing right in front of the door on the other side, staring at the chipped white paint. His voice is serious, flat in a way you’ve never heard before. “You guys aren’t coming out until you’re best friends. I can’t deal with the bickering anymore. Either figure it out, or enjoy living in the bathroom together. Forever.”

Then you hear his footsteps, the sound of them peetering away. Which means you really are stuck in here for the time being.

You turn to face Jack with a deep sigh. You were right; his arms are crossed over his chest, looking as cool and collected as he always does before he starts pushing all your buttons. You two just look at each other for a moment, soaking everything in. He breaks the silence first. “How did he lure you in here?”

“He told me the sink was broken again.” You mutter, shifting uncomfortably in place and leaning your back against the door. The two of you stand at opposite ends of the bathroom, but the distance doesn’t feel nearly far enough.

You know that Robby is right. The two of you are constantly at each other’s throats for no reason. You run a hand over your face, annoyed that you’ve found yourself in a situation as dumb as this. As tragic as it is, you realize that this is probably the longest the two of you have gone without arguing in a long time.

“Robby is right. We need to stop.” Jack says, as if he can read your mind. You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. That’s rich coming from him. He’s the one constantly provoking you, pushing you until you’re the one who’s fuming when he walks into the room.

“You’re one to talk,” You reply, deciding to confront him. It’s what Robby wanted, right? For you to talk it out? You weren’t sure it would lead anywhere but it didn’t really seem like your third roommate was letting you out anytime soon. “Robby told me that he already asked you to stop and you chewed him out for it.”

“I did not chew him out,” Jack denies, shaking his head in disbelief. You can already feel anger bubbling up just from his dismissive tone. “You and Robby are best friends now, huh?”

“Yeah, that's kind of what happens when your third roommate is a gigantic asshole.” You spit back. So much for not arguing. It's getting hard to keep your annoyance under wraps, especially with the wounds of your last million fights still raw.

“Oh, please. I was his friend first, way before you came along,” Jack takes a step forward like he wants to pace but quickly realizes he doesn't have enough room without getting closer to you and pauses. He opts for rocking back on his heels instead. “It’s your fault we’re even in this situation in the first place.”

“My fault? Are you listening to yourself?” You laugh incredulously, dropping all pretenses that this could even be a normal conversation anymore. “You sound like a child. I’ve tried my best to be nice to you! How is this my fault?”

“Yeah, it’s your fucking fault!” This time he’s brave enough to take a step forward, probably more out of frustration than anything else. “You call that being nice? Getting into fights with me? Getting all friendly with Robby?”

“Is this what this is about?” You’ve caught him in a weird spot and he knows it, running a hand through his auburn curls. His brow furrows but you cut him off before he can shoot back a response. “Robby? Is that why you’ve been acting extra annoying since that night you saw us making dinner a few weeks ago?”

“It's not about him,” He grunts, jaw tensing. You can see that he’s holding back whatever he wants to say by his taut shoulders as he speaks. “It's about you.”

“About me? I don't understand what your problem with me is, or why you think this is my fault-”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” Jack cuts you off, and the room goes dead silent. You two are close now, like both of you were taking subconscious steps towards each other as you fought. It was always like that —when you had these fights it always ended up with you crowding each other's spaces. This time was no exception. 

But the size of the bathroom makes it feel different. You can almost feel his breath from the quick rise and fall of his chest, pulse racing from the argument. Your breath matches his, coming out in short huffs. You’ve got each other all riled up and you can see something flash in his eyes.

Then it clicks.

“You want to fuck me, don't you?” You can see from his reaction that you’ve got it right on the nose. He takes a step back, the bluntness of your statement pulling him out of the stupor of anger he was in.

“What?” He recoils like the thought of it is physically repulsive. You try not to take too much offense from that, especially because you know that it’s all for show. The heat of the tension between you two has shattered and you give a smug smirk, teeth almost bared.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You’re taunting him now, but after everything that he put you through it only seems fair. You can’t help but laugh out loud as you continue. “Little Jackie’s got a crush on me? That’s why he’s pushing me on the playground?” 

“Don’t call me that.” The timbre of his voice is low, egging you along. “You wish. I hate you.”

“Oh, yeah? How much?” You press. Jack’s gained more confidence and he’s back in your space. Even though you’re holding the cards, taunting him with a crush, you still feel like prey. He’s circling you like a shark without even moving. His eyes are on you as he backs you up against the door.

He still hasn’t answered your empty threat. You can feel his body heat even through your clothes and it makes your breath catch. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jack, and you see a whisper of a smile on his lips. Any proverbial cards you had in your hands just moments before have fluttered to the ground. Jack has caught you and you both notice, and the idea of that has Jack looking at you like the cat who got the cream.

You’re fully pressed against the door now, almost forehead to forehead. His hands hover between the two of you, like he’s unsure of if he’s actually allowed to touch you or not. You finally grow the courage to look up at him and meet his eyes, your noses brushing as you do. He takes that as permission and moves his hands towards you, resting loose at your waist.

It’s hard to breathe, much less think. You can smell Jack’s body wash from this distance and it has your brain short circuiting. He’s close enough to see every reaction and he drags a hand up your side slowly, fingertips skimming. 

It travels up the expanse of your body and pauses at your neck, his fingers tightening for a moment. His grip isn’t firm but it’s enough to make your eyes flutter. Jack rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest and his hand continues it’s journey upwards, thumb settling on your bottom lip. He swipes across it slowly and it makes your heart stutter.

Fuck it.

Your mouth parts slowly and you take his digit into your mouth, lips closing around it. Jack presses even closer to you, chest to chest. His eyes have been locked on yours the entire time and they stay that way, even as his other hand moves to slip into your sleep shorts.

He’s got his hand cupped over your panties but you know he can feel how wet you are, even through the fabric. He finally lets the smirk take over his face, pressing his thumb into your mouth further. His fingers trail across the dampness of your underwear, sickly slow.

“This all for me?” He asks, cocky, and it’s pretty annoying when the shoe is on the other foot. “You get wet when I tell you I hate you? When we fight?”

His fingers are still moving slowly, making your mind foggy. Or maybe that’s just your excuse for when you look up at him dumbly, nodding. He seems satisfied with that answer, dipping in past the lacy waistband of your panties. His breath hitches when gets a finger between your folds and feels that you’re absolutely dripping in anticipation. You’ve got half a mind to tease him about it, but he pushes a finger in and the thought suddenly vanishes from your mind. 

The finger on your lips moves down again, landing on your throat once more. He’s only a knuckle deep when he pauses, cocking his head. The hand around your neck gives a small squeeze, and your pussy flutters around nothing at the sensation. You let out a small moan, heat rushing up to your face in both arousal and embarrassment. “Think I didn’t notice, huh? How much you liked it?” 

Before you can answer he slides in the rest of the way, leaving you speechless. The pace he sets is slow and deep, making your knees buckle. You’re gripping onto his annoyingly thick arms and his breath is ghosting your face. You can tell he’s holding back, eyes flickering from your lips to the hand down your shorts.

You don’t wait for him to make up his mind. Surging upwards, you catch his lips in yours, pulling him close by his shirt. The moment breaks the dam —all the months of pent up frustration and fights seared into a bruising kiss. He wastes no time, licking desperately into your mouth as he works you open with his hand. You’re mewling, sliding your lips against his as you whimper, slick with spit.

He’s got his leg slotted between your thighs and you can feel how hard he is, even through the layer of his denim jeans. He groans quietly under his breath, grinding against you as he fucks you with his fingers. The noise is obscene —you’re so wet that the sound of it reverberates through the bathroom every time his digits enter you.

It’s embarrassing, really, the way that you’re basically riding his fingers. Your hips are chasing the sensation and he gives another groan at the sight. He’s still got his hand wrapped around your throat and his brow is furrowed with pleasure, obsessed with the way he has you just falling apart for him.

The look on his face is getting you close, like he’s pissed that he gave into you but he wants to take you apart so damn bad he just can’t resist. He tightens his grip and hits that spot inside you just right and you can’t help the strangled whine that leaves your mouth as you tighten around him, cumming on his hand way too loudly for you two to keep what you’re doing a secret.

He’a got his hand out of your shorts now and he’s moved them both to pull your tank top down, exposing your chest. His breathing picks up and runs his hands up your body, rough skin on your sensitive nipples as he grabs at you, rough. Jack leans in for another bruising kiss, but you only get a short moment to savour it before he's got you by the hair, twisting you around and bending you over the counter.

The force of it has everything on the counter rattle, the tall bottle of lotion you keep in the bathroom toppling over. You recover and stumble to push yourself to your elbows, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look absolutely fucked out, hair disheveled, lips pink and swollen, looking at yourself all glassy eyed. Then your eyes flick back to take a look at Jack, who’s rutting his bulge into the clothed heat of your cunt.

The sight almost makes you cum again on the spot. His lids are hooded, mouth hanging half open in pleasure as he moves against you. He’s still got a hand woven into your hair and his eyes flutter open in a way you can only describe as pretty as he takes in your state through the mirror. His grip disappears and he pulls off his shirt, the piece of clothing landing on the ridge of the bathtub behind you as he tosses it. You can’t even get out a quip before he’s yanking your shorts down, taking your panties down with them.

Even though he just had his fingers in you moments ago, you still feel embarrassed with how exposed you are for him. If he notices the way you get shy, he doesn’t comment, hands drifting to undo his belt buckle instead. You mewl as he steps out of his jeans, hard cock slapping against his stomach. You’re almost drooling to get your mouth around it and he laughs at the look on your face.

“Yeah? Are you sure you’re not the one that wants to fuck me? ‘Cause it seems like you’re a minute away from begging for it.” He pumps his length loosely with one hand, lips curled into a smirk as his fingertips of the other skid up the side of your thigh. The touch has your pussy fluttering, and you’re hoping that he can’t see the way your legs are shaking. You can see the glimmer of precome gathered at his tip and you lick your lips.

“Fuck you.” You say through gritted teeth, although it comes off much less intimidating as you would like since you’re bent over and at his mercy. He lets out another laugh at your expense, not bothering to say anything else while he lines himself up at your entrance. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” You’re already slick from his fingers, so he pushes in rough and fast, both of you groaning as he sheathes himself fully inside of you. It pushes you to your toes, punching a breath from your chest. You can tell that this is going to be quick and dirty, and you brace your hands on the counter in anticipation. 

You were right. He pulls out slowly and you shiver at the sensation, then he slams back into you so hard that you can’t help but yelp. You spare a glance up at his face and you can tell that he fucking loved that, so he keeps that pace, rough and slow.

“Fuck, Jack…” You sound strung out as you moan his name, hips bucking as you try to get him to speed up, go deeper, anything. You’ve already come to terms with the fact that you’ve definitely lost this argument but then one of his big hands presses into your back, pressing you against the counter and you can’t really bring yourself to care. The other grips your shoulder and it’s like he can read your mind.

Jack starts fucking into you without abandon, chasing his high. It’s rough and the slap of skin on skin bounces off the tile, which only serves to make you even more wet. You’re pretty sure you’re just mumbling nonsense now, too focused on how deep Jack is inside of you to put together a coherent sentence. Jack’s getting loud too, the hand on your back snaking down to grab at your hip, pulling you back into him as he thrusts.

“Would’ve done this a lot earlier if I knew how easily I could shut you up.” He manages to get out, in between low groans and short breaths. You want to defend yourself, you really do, but he pulls you back on him and plunges in particularly deep, making your eyes cross, and your voice dies in your throat. Jack’s fucking you brainless, that much you can’t deny. You’re whining as the heat in your stomach spreads, cunt tightening as Jack fucks into you even rougher.

You know he feels it when he lets out a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously close to your name, hips stuttering. Then you feel a tight yank on your scalp, forcing your head upwards. You can barely keep still as Jack continues to move, head bobbing even with his grip on your hair. 

“Look at me.” He says, gruff and deep, and you clench around him at the sound. It takes way too much effort to open your eyes, motions slow like molasses. You clearly take far too long for Jack’s liking, pulling harder on your hair as he repeats himself. Finally, your eyes flutter open, and you’re so close to the mirror that your breath fogs the glass. Your mouth is wide open in a silent moan, eyes almost crossed. Another rough tug reminds you what he asked for, and you drag your gaze up to meet Jack’s.

His hazel eyes are dark with lust, hair stamped to his forehead in sweat. A smirk spreads across his face when he notices that you’ve obeyed, finally looking at him. The way he has your hair in an iron grip has your back arching and his cock is hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. You can tell that he’s approaching his high just as fast as you are; his thrusts are growing sloppy and you almost can’t hear your small mewls over all the noise he’s making.

“Look at me when you cum.” He growls as he notices your eyes drifting as your orgasm approaches. It’s not a question. It’s a demand. Your eyes snap back to his and he’s already looking at you, eyes watching your face contort in pleasure. Locking eyes, he slides a hand in between your legs to work your clit, already slick from just how turned on you are by the whole ordeal. He’s rubbing tight circles around it and everything comes crashing down.

You cum so hard around his cock that you can’t even tell if you kept the eye contact he asked for, your vision going white. You’re also pretty sure your knees give out, but Jack keeps you steady with a hand around your waist as he keeps his pace going. You whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm, nerves alight, when he pulls out with a loud groan. He gives a few rough pumps, made easy with your cum practically dripping off of his dick, and you have the pleasure of watching him come undone, coating your ass with ropes of cum.

Jack braces his hand on the counter, knuckles tightening with one last shudder of his body. You two stay that way for a moment, catching your breath. The silence is deafening as you try to think through the synchronised pants that you two share. You’re not sure how many minutes pass until he straightens up, grabbing a towel hanging off the back of the door. He begins to clean you off, gentle in a way that you didn’t expect from him, and you decide that this probably isn’t the best time to tell him that he’s using Robby’s towel.

Once he’s done, he tosses it into the laundry bin in the corner and pulls up his briefs and jeans. You turn around as he approaches you once more, worrying your lip. You’re trying to think of something to say when Jack bends down, pulling your shorts and panties back up to your waist. He fiddles with the waistband of your shorts for a second before moving onto your tank, tugging the straps back up your shoulders and covering your chest once more.

You two are close again, but this time it lacks any of the anger and heat that it did before. Jack’s still got a finger tangled in your tank top strap, leaning closer into your space, noses brushing once more. You think he opens his mouth to say something, but the door swings open and interrupts him before he can start.

Because you couldn’t even blame him.

Samira was incredible. Unstoppable. Undeniable. She worked harder than anyone, carried too much, deserved a break. Deserved to get laid. Deserved someone steady and sharp and kind enough to see all of her.

Deserved someone like Jack Abbot.

You were… you.

Good. Solid. Dependable. You earned your place quietly and honestly – came early, stayed late, never complained, never overreached.

You knew when to lead and when to defer.

Hopeful, not green. That was something you and Samira shared. Eagerness.

But eagerness wasn’t magnetic.

Jack Abbot was.

Oh, you noticed it.

You noticed everything.

The way Jack leaned just a little closer to Samira while she scrubbed in. How his voice softened when he asked her questions he already knew the answers to. The way his laugh came easier around her, like the weight he carried through the ER finally let him set it down.

And God, how could it not?

Samira moved like she belonged everywhere at once, like the hospital itself had learned her rhythm. Attendings tripped over themselves trying to keep up with her train of thought.

Jack never tripped. He matched her stride.

So you swallowed it. Choked it down. Told yourself he didn’t even see you like that, so why get upset at all?

You smiled when you caught them talking after hours. You joked about it with Samira like it didn’t lodge itself under your ribs every time Jack’s eyes followed her across the room.

You told yourself you were happy for her.

And you were, mostly.

It was just… sometimes Jack looked at you, too.

Asked for your input during a code. Backed you up when a consult pushed back. Remembered how you took your coffee without asking.

Those moments were the worst.

Because they felt like something.

The misunderstanding came quietly.

You walked into the locker room late one night, exhaustion clinging to you, and heard Samira’s voice through the half-open door. You were about to announce yourself when– 

“…I don’t know, Jack,” she said. “I don’t want to mess things up between us.”

You froze.

Jack’s voice followed, low and earnest. “It's not wrong to want more.” and you swore you heard emphasis on that word:

More.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t hear the rest. You couldn’t. You backed out silently before they could see you, heart pounding like you’d just run a code.

That was it, then.

So you pulled back. Not dramatically. Not angrily. Just enough.

You deferred more. Kept things light. Left the bar early – or stopped going altogether. You stopped lingering in Jack’s orbit.

Stopped hoping for something you’d clearly misunderstood.

You told yourself you were being professional.

But you were also colder than usual.

Jack noticed.

He cornered you during a rare lull at the nurses’ station, charts half-done, fluorescent lights buzzing.

“You okay?” he asked.

You smiled automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” he said, brows knitting – not angry. Worried.

You shrugged. “One of those weeks.”

He studied you like a problem he couldn’t solve. “Did I do something?”

Your heart raced, but you kept your voice even. “No, Dr. Abbot. Of course not.”

The title made his jaw tighten.

But he didn’t push. That was his way.

Which somehow made it worse.

Everything cracked open during a late-night trauma – alarms blaring, blood everywhere, adrenaline singing. You moved on instinct, seamless, in tune with him like you always were. When it was over – when the patient stabilized and the room exhaled – you smiled brightly.

And then you caught Jack watching you.

Not professionally.

Not distantly.

Something in your face must have slipped, because his expression shifted immediately.

Afterward, he stopped you in the hallway.

“Hey,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“Now?” you asked.

“Now.”

He didn’t take you to an office.

He took you to the supply closet.

The one where everyone makes out– Your brain says before you can stop it.

But you had learned hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like you..

The door shut behind you with a soft, definitive click.

Jack dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled hard.

“I don’t know what I did,” he said, voice low and wrecked, “but it’s fucking killing me. You’re fuckin’ killing me. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t,” you said quietly. “I just… wanted to give you and Samira space.”

He blinked. “Mohan?”

The disbelief was immediate – and sharp.

“Yes,” you said, suddenly unsure of everything. “I heard you two talking and I thought—”

“Wait–,” he interrupted softly. “So you started disappearing because–”

“I didn’t want to be in the way,” you finish, and move to angle yourself toward the door... out of here. Anywhere else other than under his intense gaze.

Suddenly the supply closet is too small.

Too narrow, too close, shelves stacked high with gauze and saline and things that smell faintly like antiseptic and latex. Jack doesn’t move toward you right away, and somehow that’s worse. He stands there, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

Oh my God, he's angry. You think, mortified beyond words.

“Say it again,” he says quietly.

You had never felt so small.

You blink away tears. “Say what?”

“Why you pulled away.” He grits, and you swear he's shaking now.

You swallow. “I didn’t want to make things awkward. Or unprofessional. Or–” You gesture vaguely. “Be in the way.”

Something in Jack breaks.

He closes the distance in two steps, not rough but decisive, palms bracketing your hips like he’s anchoring you in place. Not trapping – never that – but making it impossible to pretend there’s any space left between you.

“In the way,” he repeats, disbelieving. “You think you were in the way?”

You nod, because this is the thing you’re good at: assuming you misread everything.

Jack exhales sharply and leans in until his forehead rests against yours. You're so confused, you let a tear slip.

You can feel the heat of him, the tension humming just under his skin.

“I have been walking around this hospital,” he says, voice low and wrecked, “trying not to do exactly this.”

Your breath catches. “Do what?”

His grip tightens – just a fraction. “Touch you. Be here, with you, always.”

That’s all it takes.

He kisses you like he’s done pretending. It’s messy and desperate and God it’s real, mouths colliding instead of aligning perfectly, like he needs to feel you now or he might lose his mind. You gasp, fingers instinctively grabbing at his scrub top, and Jack makes a sound – low adn rough – that goes straight to your spine.

One of his hands slides up your back, flattening you gently against the metal shelving. Gauze boxes rattle. Something clatters to the floor. Neither of you even flinches.

“Jesus,” he mutters against your mouth. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve replayed this?”

You pull back just enough to breathe. “You– what?”

His eyes are dark. Focused. Gone.

“Every time you walk past me like I don’t matter to you,” he says. “Every time you left this week. Every time you look at me like you’re bracing for disappointment.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper. Controlled heat layered over urgency. His hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing bare skin where your scrubs gape just slightly.

“You don’t get to decide for me,” he murmurs. “You don’t get to choose yourself last.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can feel it.

“I just–” you admit, breathless, “I thought you wanted her.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression fierce and unmistakably certain.

“I wanted you,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to convince you I wasn’t imagining it.”

His mouth drops to your jaw, then your neck, not rushing but not gentle either – like he’s making up for lost time. Your fingers slide into his hair before you even realize what you’re doing, and Jack groans softly, forehead pressing into your shoulder like that did something dangerous to his self-control.

“You’re not second,” he says against your skin. “You were never second. You just never realized you were already chosen.”

The door rattles faintly – someone passing by. Jack stills for half a second, breath hot against your neck.

Then he smiles. Wicked. Unapologetic.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

You don’t.

He kisses you again, slower now but no less intense, hands steady, certain. Like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

And later, when your scrubs are wrinkled, and your pulse is still racing, and Jack’s thumb is brushing lazy circles at your hip, he presses his forehead to yours and exhales.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m done pretending.”

You smile, dazed. “Good.”

Outside the closet, the ER hums on like nothing happened.

But you walk back in together.

John Carter had never experienced true affection, not even as a young boy. His childhood was overseen primarily by nannies and boarding school dorm parents. His sister was uninterested in him, his brother took out his anger on him, and their family was never the same after his passing. 

The only person he really felt connected to was his Gamma, although she was still a woman of class. She’d hug him stiffly, kiss his cheek in greeting, but that was the extent. She wasn’t overly warm, or snuggly, like some grandmas were. As a kid, he’d see his friends get picked up from school, or at their baseball games with their parents cheering them on in the stands. Forehead smooches were wiped away in disgust, hugs shrugged off in embarrassment. And John couldn’t understand exactly why those sights always left him feeling just a bit hollow.

He’d never had affection, so he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Until you.

When he met you, it was head over heels. Love at first sight. Ironic, seeing as you didn’t believe in those things, but he did. He knew they did because it had happened to him.

You were a paramedic, newly trained, and brought onto the scene as Riley’s partner when Shep moved out of the county. You knew there was history between Shep and Carol, who you became fast friends with. You didn’t prod. But Carter could feel Carol relax as you proved yourself time and time again to be the opposite of what Shep was. You were kind, steady, and always willing to help. You could take someone down if you needed to, but only then, and you were wonderful at getting through to the patients reluctant to ask for help.

And you were gorgeous. It always baffled Carter how you could look so ethereal after spending hours running around, sweating in the heat. Your uniform was drab, but on you? Carter loved to see it. Though, he’d love to see you in a potato sack, for all he cared. The look of concentration that fell over your face while working drove him nuts, and he’d been distracted by it more than once. Then you’d yell at him to focus up, and he’d get his head together.

See, you were witty and not afraid to make a joke, but when you had a patient in front of you, that was the priority. There was no pulling you from someone in need. While Carter certainly admired you for that, it made it difficult for him to find a natural time to talk to you, get to know you, and ultimately, confess his undying love for you in a relaxed, breezy type of way.

Because Carter was sure about you. You met on one of the first true spring days of the season, with an open ankle fracture and Benton breathing down your neck. Just four or five months of inane stuttering and acute fits of idiocy in your presence, and Carter finally summoned the courage to ask you out on a real date, and the rest was history.

A few months in, Carter was proving to be the sweetest boyfriend you could have hoped for. Attentive, loving, considerate, he regularly went out of his way just to make your life the tiniest bit easier. He saved your favorite recipes to cook, picked up the book you mentioned weeks ago on his day off, brought you little gifts just because they reminded him of you. But you noticed one thing he seemed to struggle with.

Touch.

Now, in the bedroom, all was good and well. In fact, a little better than that. But despite what he did in the sheets, he still asked to hold your hand. Still apologized if your legs brushed sitting next to each other on the couch. Still slid over to his side of the bed when you spent the night, allowing at least a foot of room between you.

The strangest thing was, he seemed to like touch. When you did hold his hand, he lit up like a Christmas tree, and if you scratched his head, he’d close his eyes and lean into you. He just seemed hesitant to initiate it, as if he was afraid of bothering you, or scaring you off. You tried to be patient, let him go at his own pace, but sometimes you just wanted to cuddle your boyfriend after a hard shift.

So one day, you decided to clear the air, for good measure.

“You know,” you said lightly, one night, over chinese takeout and Jeopardy. “You don’t have to ask to hold my hand. You can just hold it.”

He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, setting your chopsticks down, growing smile on your face. “I mean, it’s very polite. I appreciate it. But… I like it when you hold my hand. I’ll never say no.”

He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinting pink, and he looked down at his noodles. You scootched over a bit closer to him, and ran a finger over his brow fondly.

“I just don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable,” he said, eyes still down.

“That’s sweet,” you said, heart burning for the softness in his voice. “But consider this a standing acceptance to hand holding. Or anything. If I’m not in the mood, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He nodded timidly, and you kissed his cheek and picked up your chopsticks again. You let your attention turn back to Alex Trebek. Sometimes the contestants were so stupid, they made you want to try and get on the show. But as you shouted out answers, you felt Carter’s warm, slightly clammy hand inching up under your arm. You let your hand fall away from your box of food and he threaded his fingers through yours.

You didn’t look at each other, just grasped each other's hands tight and watched your show.

That was the start. Hand holding. At first, he was still a little nervous. Still working to accept what you said as true, that you wouldn’t be mad, or annoyed, or disgusted by his spontaneous touch.

After the third or fourth time, it was like a dam broke. At every turn, there he was grabbing your hand. He would wake up early on his days off just so he could hold it as he walked you to work. In bed, on the couch, on dates, even at work sometimes, you could always find his hands linked with yours. Even just pinkies crooked together under a table if there were people around. 

Eventually, as much as you hated it, you couldn’t keep holding things up for it. You couldn’t stop cooking, or reading, or fixing the showerhead to hold hands with him. So he expanded. He started keeping a hand on your lower back, or linking your arm through his, or running his hands up and down your sides. He’d dig his fingers in if he wanted to hear your laugh.

Soon enough, there was a constant point of contact between the two of you. Arms hooked, heads on shoulders, legs wound together. You found yourself with less of a boyfriend, and more of a koala. He’d cling to you like his life depended on it, headbutting you until you ran your hands through his hair.

You complained. But you didn’t mean it.

“John,” you said, as he nuzzled into your neck. “I’m trying — Johnny!”

He just hummed, hands running all along your body, your thighs, your butt, your tummy, your boobs, your armpits — any spot he could find. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, which really undercut your stern tone.

“I’m trying to read this article!”

“Then read,” he drawled, and you could feel his grin against your skin. “I’m not stopping you.”

You huffed, amused, and playfully pushed his head away. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it appeared to work, as he pulled back. But as you craned your head to see him at the foot of the bed, he began tugging on the bottom of your hoodie. You squealed as his cool cheeks pressed against your bare stomach, as he shoved his head right underneath the oversized sweater. You let your paper fall to the side as he pulled himself through and rested his head on your chest, eyes just barely peaking out from the collar. His arms followed, and his hands went right to your chest too.

You sighed.

“This is your sweatshirt, you know,” you said, pretending to be indignant. “So if you stretch it out —!”

“Worth it,” he mumbled, nosing your clavicular notch.

You wrapped your arms and legs around his sleepy weight and let yourself relax. He was warm, and soft, and grounding. It didn’t take long for his snores to lull you into a slumber of your own.

It was an amazing thing to Carter that he could feel such comfort whenever he wanted. That not only did he find an amazing woman to fall in love with, she loved him back. And you did. Every time you gave him a scalp massage, or kissed a pout off of his lips, or gave his bum a waggish squeeze as he made dinner, he could feel his heart swell.

Although to date you had never turned down his touch, whether loving, teasing, scandalous, or comforting, there were of course external factors to consider. Too many times would your lovely face distract Carter from work. He’d think about wrapping all his limbs around you, feeling you everywhere, senses completely filled by you. It was an intoxicating daydream.

“Carter!” Benton would yell. “Get your ass up and make yourself useful!”

Carter would mutter an embarrassed apology and rush off, not before catching the mirthful glint in your eye.

Carter spent most of his time at your apartment by the time you reached the six month mark. It wasn’t bigger than his, the heating and air conditioning went out at less than convenient times, and the washer and dryer were five floors down in a creepy basement. But it was homey, with tokens of your treasured memories adorning every possible surface, the fridge plastered with photos under souvenir magnets from all the places you’d visited. Home knit blankets, mismatched mugs, and movie posters painted the dingy apartment into something comforting.

He never wanted to leave. He loved knowing that you were never more than 15 steps away from him. Your sheets smelled like you. He used your lotion just to keep part of you with him throughout the day. You scolded him for it, but after hard days you’d smooth your most expensive face masks on him in the tub, and let him use as much of that lotion as he wanted.

One Saturday, the last free night you had together before some back to back shifts, he was getting ready for bed, and realized — the two of you had built a happy home. It was welcoming, and warm, everything his childhood home wasn’t. Yours was full of love and laughter, dancing in the glow of the refrigerator, and shopping together in pajamas. It was everything he never dared to let himself dream of.

And he didn’t ever want to live without it.

He turned to you, where you sat under the covers, reading an Agatha Christie book you’d read a million times before, eye mask ready on your head, hair up, a spot of zit cream on your face, and he could feel it in his whole body.

His eyes never left you as he crawled under the comforter on his designated side of the bed. He didn’t need to look to know his watch, tattered book, and vitamins were on the nightstand, and he knew his blue toothbrush was sitting next to your green one in the bathroom. As he settled down, you set Agatha aside and grabbed vaseline from your table.

It had become a sort of night time ritual, you moisturizing his hands with vaseline. You knew he never did it himself, just kept using hand sanitizer and antibacterial soap on his poor hands, which were already strained pushing meds, lifting patients, and suturing. You rubbed the vaseline into his cracked skin with such gentle care, and right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your tired ones met his, and you smiled suspiciously.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just —” he sighed, eyes wide as saucers, in awe of you, of the privilege it was to see you like this. “Let’s live together.”

You froze, mouth parting a bit. “What?”

He scooted closer to you, removing his hands from your grip to cradle your waist. He was nervous, but smiling like an idiot.

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he said. “And whenever I go back to my place, I — I feel so homesick. I can’t live when you’re not around.”

You just stared at him.

“You’re crazy,” you said, but it came out mushy.

“I don’t care,” he said, pulling you fully into his lap. “I really don’t. I just want you. More than anything.”

You couldn’t control your smile as he kissed your face.

“We’ve only been going out, what — six months?”

“And seventeen days,” he said, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. “Look, I totally understand if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’m ready,” you breathed. “But are you sure you want to move in here? I wasn’t sure I was gonna renew the lease, and —”

He didn’t even wait for you to finish before he pulled you into a heated kiss. One hand roved under the almost ten year old high school softball tee you wore, while the other teased the edge of your granny panties, the cute ones with the polka dots. He knew you were always self conscious in them, but he might have preferred them to the white lacy pair you wore on Valentines Day.

He pulled back just to take a breath and pant, “We can move into a new place.”

You were smiling almost as wide as he was.

“With both our salaries combined we could probably get a bigger place,” he said. “Maybe even with a washer and dryer in the apartment.”

You giggled.

“Closer to work, too,” you said, as John began kissing down your neck. “Oh, and pet friendly! I’ve always wanted a cat.”

He resurfaced to raise a brow.

“Can’t we get a dog?”

You scoffed.

“When would we have the time to take care of a dog?” you snorted. “Besides, you’re a cat person, you just don’t know it yet. I had a cat growing up. She was my best friend. And she lived for like twenty years, too!”

“Thelma,” he nodded with a smirk. “I remember.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and he leaned back against the headboard, one hand still exploring under your top, in a domestic, familiar way, somehow.

“I promise you’ll love our cat,” you said, rubbing your nose against his freshly shaven cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, absorbing your touch. “I’ll give you a cat. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Three months later, you sat on the mattress of your partially furnished apartment. It was so close to work you could hear the L echoing in the distance, which Carter was worried about, but you loved. Your “bed” wasn’t really a “bed” yet, as you were still missing a frame. It was flat on the floor for now. 

The couch was up, which Doug and Mark were only too happy to complain about as they helped Carter lug it up the steps. Apparently, according to Carter, you were too pretty to do grunt work on a hot summer day. You were inclined to agree, so you worked on building some shelves for the living room.

There were still pizza boxes on the floor, and clothes in piles in laundry baskets, but you didn’t care. You were tangled up together in bed, compensating for the body heat with three fans pointed at you and no sheets; and between you lay a little sleeping kitten. Louise, Carter had named her.

You watched smugly as your Johnny gently stroked the kitty between the eyes, watching her with pure adoration. You were fairly certain he was minutes away from tears of joy.

“I told you,” you whispered sleepily, but proudly. “You love her.”

Without ceasing his petting, lest Louise protest, he squished his face right next to yours.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I love you more.”

---