fanfic recommendations

almost home

Jack should’ve been asleep.

He’d left PTMC nearly an hour ago after Robby took over the trauma they’d worked through shift change. You’d stayed behind to finish the note, update the family and wait on a consultant who’d stopped answering at the exact point everyone needed him.

Twenty minutes, you’d told Jack.

He checked the time again.

Fifty-one had passed.

Jack lay against the pillows shirtless, wearing loose pyjama pants, his prosthetic resting beside the bed. He’d showered, set his alarm and done everything he usually did after nights. His body was tired enough for sleep. His head wasn’t interested.

Your side of the bed was empty.

It wasn’t really yours. This was still his apartment, though you stayed often enough for the distinction to matter less than it used to. A few of your things had found places there, and Jack liked having them around. Waking with your knee across his thigh and your hand tucked under his shirt had become familiar. So had your weight beside him after work, warm enough for his body to settle.

He reached across the mattress and rested his palm where your waist usually ended up. The sheets were cool. “Come home, baby,” he muttered.

His phone was charging on the nightstand. Jack unplugged it and opened your messages.

Your last text sat at the bottom of the thread.

you: twenty minutes. swear. 🙏

He’d reacted with a thumbs-down.

You hadn’t answered since.

jack: Still there?

The message delivered without a reply.

Jack leaned back and scrolled upward instead. Most of the thread was ordinary. Groceries. Shift changes. A photo of a takeout menu with three items circled and pick one before I lose the will to live written beneath it. 

Farther back was a picture of you asleep on his couch in his black sweater. He’d taken it after trying twice to wake you for bed. Your cheek was pressed into the cushion, one sleeve pulled over your hand and your legs tucked under you.

You’d accused him the next morning of keeping evidence. He’d told you it was insurance.

The next photo was from dinner a few weeks ago. You sat across from him with your chin resting in your palm, looking over the rim of your wineglass. He remembered your foot pressed against his beneath the table and the way you’d caught him staring.

“What do you want?” you’d asked.

“Nothing.”

You hadn’t believed him.

He hadn’t been lying. He already had you. Your things mixed with his. Your voice in his apartment after years of coming home to silence and pretending he preferred it. Sometimes Jack still looked at you and couldn’t quite believe how easily you’d become part of his life.

Then came the photos meant only for him.

The first showed the hem of your dress lifted over your thighs. The next was taken in his shower, one hand covering your breast while water ran down your stomach. Another showed your thighs spread across his sheets with your underwear pulled aside.

Jack shifted against the pillows.

His cock had started thickening beneath his pants, though the wanting had begun before that. It had been there when he reached across the bed and found cold sheets. There when he saw the photo of you asleep in his sweater and remembered carrying you from the couch because you’d refused to wake properly.

He opened another photo.

You were kneeling between his thighs, looking up at him with your lips swollen and wet. Jack had taken the photo himself, one hand tangled in your hair while his thumb rested along your jaw. The lower half of his cock was visible beside your cheek.

He remembered the heat of your mouth. The slow drag of your tongue beneath him and the way your fingers tightened around the base of his cock when he pushed deeper. You’d watched his face while you took him, pleased whenever his control slipped enough for you to hear it.

His cock pressed harder against the fabric.

“Jesus, sweetheart.”

Jack lowered his phone and rubbed his palm over himself through his pants. The pressure helped for two slow strokes before it made the ache sharper.

His phone buzzed against his stomach.

you: still here 😭

Another message followed.

you: finishing my last note

jack: You said twenty minutes.

you: i was young and optimistic

jack: Come home.

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared and returned.

you: miss me? 😉

Jack looked at the photo still open on his screen.

jack: You know I do.

He sent the photo back to you.

Jack could picture you at the workstation with your phone held low beneath the desk, smiling down at his answer while pretending to finish your note.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

you: dr. abbot…

jack: Still works.

Jack slipped his hand beneath his waistband. His fingers closed around his cock, fully hard now and already damp at the tip.

He stroked himself slowly, thumb spreading the moisture over the head before drawing down again. His eyes stayed on the photo. Your mouth near his cock. Your face turned up towards him. The trust in the way you knelt between his legs and let him hold your hair.

Your next message arrived with a picture.

Jack opened it.

You were in an empty call room, scrub top lifted enough to show your stomach and the lower edge of your bra. Your scrub pants were loosened, your hand visibly inside your underwear.

His grip tightened.

“Fuck.”

jack: Take another one.

you: greedy 😈

jack: Show me.

The next photo showed more. Your fingers disappeared beneath your underwear, wrist angled between your thighs. He could see the pressure of your hand against yourself beneath the fabric.

Jack pushed his pants lower over his hips. His cock rested thick against his stomach, flushed darker towards the head. He wrapped his hand around himself again and stroked slowly enough to feel each drag of his palm.

you: what are you doing?

Jack glanced down at his fist.

jack: Thinking about you.

you: what about me?

His hand moved from base to tip, firmer now. He could’ve given you something brief and made you wait until you came home. He was tired, hard and alone in a bed where he’d grown used to having you within reach.

He wanted you to know.

jack: Your legs around me.

He sent another before you replied.

jack: How you taste after I’ve already made you come.

His grip tightened at the head of his cock.

jack: How tight your pussy gets when I’m all the way inside you.

The typing bubble disappeared.

Jack closed his eyes and pictured you underneath him with your thighs spread around his hips, hands gripping his shoulders while he pushed inside you. He knew the first tight hold of your body around him and how you softened once he kissed you and gave you time to take him.

He knew how his cock looked inside you.

He’d watched himself draw back, wet from you, before pushing deep again until his hips pressed against yours. He’d held your thighs open and watched your pussy stretch around him. He knew the tight clench he felt whenever his thumb found your clit and how much stronger it became once you got close.

His phone buzzed.

you: I want you inside me when I get home

Jack read it twice.

His hips lifted into his hand.

jack: Yeah?

you: want you to fuck me until I’m screaming your name

jack: You will be.

Jack liked you loud.

He could hear it too easily. Your voice filling the bedroom while he fucked you harder, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your thigh. You’d beg him not to stop once he had you close. Your nails would drag over his back while your pussy squeezed his cock, trying to hold every inch.

you: promise? 😏

Jack slowed his hand. The thought of you reading his answer with your fingers still between your thighs made his cock pulse against his palm.

jack: Come home and find out, sweetheart.

you: tell me what you’d do

Jack let his head rest against the pillow. His control had already started to go. He could feel it in the uneven pull of his hand and the tension building low in his stomach.

The thought of getting his mouth on you made his cock throb in his fist.

Jack loved opening you with his thumbs and seeing how wet you’d already become for him. He’d drag his tongue slowly through your pussy first, tasting you before his lips closed around your clit.

“Fuck, baby…”

His hand tightened as he pictured sucking you gently, then harder when your hips started moving beneath him. You never stayed still for long. Your fingers would slide into his hair and your body would chase each pull of his mouth, hips lifting as he kept your clit between his lips.

He liked how quickly you stopped trying to control it. The small movements becoming needier, your pussy pressing against his mouth while he held your thighs open and took everything you gave him.

Jack would push his tongue inside you and feel your body tighten around it. You’d roll your hips against his face, chasing the pressure while your hand pulled at his hair.

He’d go back to your clit before you could say anything, sucking until your thighs trembled against his shoulders. Hearing you come for him made him harder, but tasting it got to him just as badly. The first rush against his tongue. Your hips pushing into his mouth. Your voice breaking around his name.

He’d keep licking you through it, slower once you became sensitive, until you tried to pull away.

Jack wanted inside you. He wanted the stretch of your pussy around his cock and the way you clenched when he fucked you deep.

He wanted his mouth on you just as badly. Your body open beneath him. Your hips moving against his tongue. Your taste still on his lips when he climbed over you.

He typed with his free hand.

jack: I’d put my mouth on you until you came.

you: jack…

jack: Then I’d make you come again on my cock.

Your reply came quickly.

you: i need you so bad

His mouth pulled faintly at one corner.

jack: Go finish your note.

you: you started this 😒

jack: And I’ll finish it when you get here.

He opened your photo again, his eyes returning to your hand inside your underwear. You were still at work, touching yourself because he’d asked what you were doing and refused to let the conversation stay innocent.

He imagined you walking into the bedroom already wet from everything he’d said, impatient and flushed from the drive. He’d get you onto your back before you finished telling him how badly you needed him.

His hand moved faster, the muscles in his stomach tightening as his hips began meeting his fist. He pictured your taste still on his tongue when he climbed over you and pushed inside.

His strokes grew rougher. He saw your face beneath him, lips parted while his cock filled you. He’d watch himself disappear into your pussy, then draw back slowly enough for both of you to feel it before driving deep again.

Your legs would be tight around his waist while he fucked you harder, your voice breaking every time he pushed deep. He imagined his thumb on your clit and the first hard clench of your pussy around him when you came, your body pulling him deeper while he kept moving through it.

Jack’s rhythm broke. “Fuck…”

He thought about coming inside you.

The first thick pulse filling you while he held himself deep. Another following as your pussy tightened around his cock. He’d stay buried inside you through the last of it, forehead pressed against yours while your hands held onto his shoulders.

Then he’d move again.

Slow, shallow thrusts while his come gathered around his cock. He’d watch it slip out whenever he pulled back, then push into you again while more ran down between your thighs.

His fist tightened as he imagined his cock coated in you and his come, disappearing inside you again while your thighs stayed open for him.

“Gonna fill you,” Jack muttered. His voice broke around the next curse. “Fuck… sweetheart.”

His hips drove into his fist as he came, the first streak spilling hot over his hand and stomach. Jack kept stroking himself through it, jaw tight while your name left him in a rough, low sound. Another pulse followed, then another, his cock twitching in his palm as his pace finally slowed.

He stayed against the pillows with his eyes closed, chest rising hard.

His phone buzzed near his hip.

you: leaving now 🥳

Jack looked down at the mess across his stomach and reached for the tissues on the nightstand. He cleaned himself, pulled his pants back over his hips and plugged his phone into the charger.

jack: Drive safe, baby.

You sent a heart.

He stared at it with his thumb hovering over the screen.

jack: Come straight to the bedroom when you get here.

you: thought you were going to sleep

jack: Changed my mind.

Your drive took twenty-three minutes when traffic was light.

Jack knew because he checked the time twice, then gave up pretending he wasn’t waiting. His body felt heavy from the shift, but every time he pictured you coming through the door in the same scrubs from the photo, his cock stirred again.

The front door opened, followed by your footsteps through the apartment. You appeared in the bedroom doorway with your bag over one shoulder, hair still pulled back from work. You looked exhausted until you found him awake against the pillows.

Your eyes moved over the messy sheets. “Thought you took care of yourself.”

Jack pulled the blankets back. “Come here.”

You dropped your bag near the door and climbed onto the mattress. He caught your waist before you could settle beside him and pulled you across his lap, kissing you hard enough to make you brace a hand against his chest.

You smiled against his mouth when you felt him hardening beneath you. “Already?”

His hand slipped beneath your top and closed around your breast through your bra. Your hips shifted over him, and Jack’s jaw tightened. “You touched yourself before you left,” he said.

“So did you.”

“Wasn’t the same.”

“No?”

Jack brought your mouth back to his, tongue pushing between your lips while he held you at the hip. When he broke the kiss, he kept you close enough for your mouth to brush his when you spoke.

“Spent half the wait thinking about my mouth on you,” he said.

“And the other half?”

“Fucking you.”

Your hand moved down and pressed over his cock through his pants. Jack groaned under his breath. Your fingers caught the hem of your top, but Jack stopped you and took hold of it himself. “Let me.”

He pulled it over your head, dropped it beside the bed and brought your mouth back to his. You smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You really missed me.”

Jack ran his hand slowly over your side, palm settling at your waist where it belonged. “Sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.”

His eyes lowered to your pants as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband.

“Now, take these off.”

your nails dig into the back of his neck as you let out a pitiful little whine and then a sharp gasp as he suddenly pulls the entire thing out in one go, a slick popping noise as your hole reluctantly releases its tight grip.

he spits on the thick head and starts to slide it back inside.

‘ah! too big, too big,’ you protest, panting, your head thrown back against the pillow beneath you.

‘aw,’ jack coos, ‘but look how much she wants it, baby.’

he grinds the toy deep, palm butting up against the base until the head kisses your cervix. you choke on your own spit, going a little cross-eyed at the pleasure-pain. jack pulls it out slow, about halfway, shaft dragging before abruptly pushing it back in, pussy wet enough to hear the slide.

‘this greedy cunt always needs something inside her, isn’t that right?’ he says.

you whimper and moan as jack speeds up his hand. the ‘shlick shlick shlick’ sounds of your pussy getting stuffed filling up the space between you.

‘i—oh,’ you say, catching jack’s eyes as your breathing grows ragged.

he’s watching you with such intensity and desire, like he wants to eat you, swallow you right up. it makes you a little dizzy.

‘your pussy feel good, princess? nice and full of cock?’

‘mmn—,’ you moan, teeth biting into your bottom lip. you give him a small nod.

‘yeah, ‘course she does,’ jack says, ‘daddy always knows what his girls need.’

he leans down and breathes you in, holding you close, his forearm flexing as he pumps your cunt full of the silicone toy.

‘and what they need right now is a good little fucking before bedtime. so they can be all relaxed and have sweet dreams while daddy goes off to work.’

the next time the toy’s pressed deep, he rubs his thumb against your swollen clit. you moan, squeezing tight around the toy, pleasure shooting electric.

‘mm, there we go,’ jack murmurs, circling your clit as you spasm, ‘can’t forget about her too, now can we, princess?’

he doesn’t stay there for long, abandoning your clit to start sliding the toy in and out again, ignoring the way you grasp at the short curls on the back of his neck.

‘oh, fuck, wait, please,’ you say, your voice high and breathy, needing his attention back there, more than desperate for it.

‘shh,’ jack says, ‘just relax and take what daddy gives you. be a good little hole for me.’

he’s fucking you hard with the toy now, your stomach tensing each time it slides home, your leg shaking where jack has it pressed up against your chest.

‘but—,’ you try and say, but jack just shakes his head, giving you a knowing look that has your mouth snapping shut.

‘no more talking, baby. holes don’t talk, okay? holes get used.’

the sound you let out is so pathetic it mortifies you, heat spreading from the center of your forehead out, down, past your cheeks and your neck, into your chest. suffusing until you feel like you might actually start glowing from the warmth.

jack presses a kiss to your forehead, humming.

together, the two of you watch as the toy in his hand splits you open again, head catching against your opening before your pussy sucks it deep inside, back where it belongs.

relaxing in his hold, all control released, you let your boyfriend pump you full of fake cock for as long as he wants, until he decides you’ve had enough, your eyes wet with desperate tears and your lips gone swollen from your gnawing teeth.

‘does my little girl want to come?’ jack finally asks, his voice sweet and coddling.

you nod frantically, looking up at him, pleading with your whole face.

‘she can come,’ jack says, pressing the toy deep, a featherlight touch of his thumb on your clit.

but it’s all you need, sitting on the edge as you have been, and you shake apart, mouth dropped open to whisper a repeated, ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ to jack, eyes locked onto his own, his pupils blown wide, devouring you.

he kisses you when you’re done, wet and filthy, full of tongue like he’s trying to taste how grateful you are.

‘good girl,’ he praises you, sucking on your bottom lip.

he slides the toy out careful and slow, letting your knee lower down to the bed.

you let out a quiet whimper when you’re left empty, feeling sensitive and open. bereft, your pussy clenching down around nothing. but jack doesn’t leave you empty any longer than he has to, slipping three thick fingers inside, curling them up against your pubic bone.

‘shh, don’t worry, baby. daddy’s got you,’ jack says, nuzzling his nose against yours. ‘daddy’s always got you.’

he stays like that, fingers pressed deep, plugging you full, until you fall asleep, sated, in your shared bed.

*

“Now, now,” Slughorn drew the attention of students just walking in with barely concealed excitement. “A special lesson, just in time for the season of romance! Today, we’ll be studying the most powerful love potion—,” a ripple of giggles spread across the room, “—in existence,” he finished with a grin.

“Purely academic, of course,” Slughorn had declared, lip twitching along with his mustache in delight as he presented the shimmering contents of his cauldron he had prepared himself before the beginning of class. “One must understand the theory of such things in order to defend against them. Amortentia, my dears — the most powerful love potion in existence. Banned to distribute in Hogwarts, naturally, but perfectly permissible to brew under supervision according to the curriculum.”

As if that was a plausible excuse.

The potion glimmered like liquid mother-of-pearl on the wooden workbench, spirals rising from it in hypnotic coils. One by one, the students (mostly consisting of girls) leaned over to inhale, unable to help but be pulled in — as was the nature of the brew. Amortentia carried a different scent to each person. You watched some of your classmates continue to crowd around it eagerly, faces flushing, expressions turning curious. Some laughed whilst some went oddly quiet in consideration.

You didn’t think much of it personally, staying in your seat, wafts of clean linen and chocolate drifting in your direction. Love potions were rather grotesque things — manufactured obsession masquerading as affection. There was something fundamentally wrong about them, no matter how pretty they looked or how good they smelled. You still felt it was wrong that they weren’t outlawed, or that they were sold in shops at all, making them accessible to the public.

Knowing how reckless some teenagers were and how insidious the minds of some worked, it made itself an easy solution in order to prey on the vulnerable. It was — “naturally” — a recipe for disaster.

Completely and utterly barbaric, in your opinion.

Now, the classroom buzzed with chatter and the scrape of ladles against cauldrons as students got to work. Your peers talked over one another, arguing over measurements or comparing notes in low voices.

The potions professor wandered around the room, observing each student at work and complimenting a few on his way through. His waistcoat strained over his stomach as he waddled between tables. “Observe the pearlescent sheen — yes, exactly! That’s what we’re aiming for. And the steam should rise in spirals. Spirals, Mister Avery, not— oh dear.”

You wiped your hands on a cloth and leaned over your own brew. The cauldron in front of you shimmered faintly, the surface of the Amortentia swirling with a soft, luminous glow. It was beautiful in a way that made your skin crawl. You leaned in closer despite yourself. The steam brushed your face, warm and sweet with notes you were very pleased with.

Decadent and creamy white chocolate, the scent of cleanliness, your favorite perfume, sugar, and obviously more sugar. Your mouth curved slightly, both in satisfaction at your successful potion making skills and amusement at the predictability. You liked simple comforts. You liked things that made you feel safe.

You swallowed and straightened at the insidious prospect of that.

“I bet you smell a candy shop,” your best friend, Cadence, murmured from where she stood beside you, leaning over your shoulder.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m saying,” she smirked, “that anyone who ends up giving you sweets may have a chance,” she sang.

“Or they could try a conversation,” you shot back lightly, throwing Cadence an unimpressed look and an arch of the brow.

“Ah, yes. Conversation. How revolutionary.”

You rolled your eyes. Around you, students were murmuring and nudging one another. Giggles broke out near the Hufflepuffs. A Ravenclaw boy turned pink to the ears as he stirred quietly. Even a few Slytherins were smirking more than usual as they hovered close near their cauldrons, unable to resist the temptations. No one seemed particularly concerned about the fact that what they were brewing was so dangerous that it was prohibited to use inside of these walls. There were different types of love potions, but Amortentia was the most potent.

“Honestly,” muttered a flushed Gryffindor, stubbornly, in hearing range. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she peered into her cauldron, “what possessed him to teach this now? It’s practically Valentine’s.”

What possessed him indeed. Slughorn was clearly having way too much fun with this lesson, doing rounds and asking each student what they smelled, smiling knowingly at the flustered ones who stumbled over their words as if this all had been a ploy, a gentle nudge to some to confront their feelings for a special someone right before the holiday of love — which he would deny and deem it was for research purposes only, of course.

“I think it’s romantic,” the Gryffindor girl’s seat mate sighed almost dreamily.

You almost snorted. Romantic wasn’t the word you would’ve chosen. Your potion reached completion faster than you expected. You glanced up, searching for Slughorn to signal that you were finished. The man was currently bent over another station, fussing over someone’s “almost adequate” consistency before going to the next batch, circling like a pleased bee.

Your gaze wandered mindlessly now that you were done with your brew, and you knew it’d be a while before Slughorn made his way over here. So, you slowly dragged your eyes over the students around you before they collided directly with another’s.

Across the room, through rising steam and flickering torchlight, a boy stood at his station. His sleeves were neatly rolled to his forearms, revealing pale skin and long, steady fingers guiding the ladle through his potion. His Slytherin tie was perfectly knotted, robes immaculate as always. There wasn’t a single fleck of ingredient out of place near him. Even here, in the damp heat of the dungeon, he looked composed — untouched by the chaos around him.

And he was staring at you.

Tom Riddle was staring at you.

His expression was calm, almost blank, a void that sent shivers down your spine. It was unlike any expression you’ve ever seen him make, completely unnatural on a face as handsome as his — not that you’ve watched him much. His eyes did not falter even when you met his unblinking gaze, not flustered whatsoever at being caught gawking so noticeably.

Riddle didn’t look away. The steam rose between you like a thin veil and still — he held your gaze.

The noise of the classroom seemed to dull, your pulse stuttering. For a moment, you forget to breathe, his dead stare like a hand on your throat.

This look wasn’t one of interest in the way other boys sometimes looked at girls. There was something unnerving there unlike the easy charm he wore so well, the one that he showed professors and students alike.

This felt almost… predatory.

Creepy.

Your fingers tightened and whitened around the edge of your desk, body frozen from the uneasiness that washed over you. Then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked away. Riddle adjusted the flame beneath his cauldron with a smooth, unwavering movement as if he’d merely been lost in thought, face now taut in concentration.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, though you weren’t sure why.

He probably zoned out, you told yourself. People stare without realizing it. It doesn’t mean anything, right? Why would he be looking at you? It was easy to drift in a class like this. And you had never spoken more than a passing word to him. You weren’t one of the girls vying for his attention. You didn’t trail after him in corridors or sigh when he walked into a room.

If anything, you made a point not to. You barely paid him mind beyond the general awareness everyone had of him. It was impossible not to at least notice someone like him. Riddle was top of every class. Professors adored him. Students either worshipped him or resented him for numerous reasons.

And yes — he was handsome. Painfully so. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. But admiration from afar was one thing; interest was another. You preferred to know someone before you decided how you felt about them.

Even if he had dark hair that fell just slightly yet perfectly over his forehead. Blessed with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones and tiny beauty marks on pale skin that added to his devilish looks. Pink lips that seemed permanently on the verge of a polite, measured smirk that made girls swoon. Riddle was the kind of boy that had them whispering and preening and inventing foolish excuses just to brush arms with him in corridors.

But at that moment, he looked like he was out for your blood. Like you were nothing more than an animal in the wild and he was the hunter, pinning his sights on you.

You had better things to think about. So, you forced your attention back to your station, exhaling slowly and capping the flame beneath your cauldron. You willed your shoulders to relax with the release of breath before you frowned faintly to yourself.

You wondered, annoyingly, how long he had been staring before you had even noticed.

Across the room, Professor Slughorn beamed, hovering near Riddle like always.

“Splendid, Tom! Simply splendid. Textbook perfection. A natural talent, as always. Twenty points to Slytherin!”

Different reactions swept the room — admiration and heart eyes from some, irritation and jealousy from others. Riddle only inclined his head modestly, unbothered by all the attention. “Thank you, sir.”

His voice was smooth, distinct from everyone and anyone else’s, and positively heart throbbing in itself. You risked another glance at Riddle, just to reassure yourself that you’d been mistaken.

He was no longer looking at you, thankfully. Slughorn stood at his side while Riddle wore that soft smile that made people melt. He nodded his head at precisely the right moments, listening attentively as the professor praised the clarity of his brew of Amortentia, how it was the perfect viscosity and shade. He didn’t even seem all that delighted, more so expectant like he was used to it and confidently knew he would’ve had the best one in the room before walking in; like clockwork.

Nothing about his demeanor suggested he had just been staring at you like he wanted to devour you alive. You felt faintly foolish for thinking like that. Perhaps, you hadn’t seen him properly? After all, the abundant amount of steam in the room did make it rather difficult.

Lost in your thoughts, you briefly think about what Riddle must have smelled. Tom Riddle had never shown any interest in dating anyone in all his time at Hogwarts, much to the dismay of many pretty girls. Maybe he had a muggle girlfriend outside of school?

You remembered, faintly, a memory from a few months ago.

A girl you knew, Wendy, had asked him out and like always, he politely let her down. He had declined each and every love confession he had ever received with courtesy. And yet, people still had the audacity to be slighted, as if they were entitled to him and his feelings.

She had regaled to you and a few other girls the story in the library. You were all supposed to be studying, but the topic eventually drifted, like always — to boys.

“And then he said, “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m occupied.” Occupied with what?!” Wendy scoffed, clearly hurt that she decided it’d be better to gossip badly about Riddle, red in the face.

“Honestly, he acts like he’s above everyone. It’s exhausting. And not natural.” Then, her eyes widened in realization. “You don’t think he’s… you know?”

It had bothered you, what she said.

You don’t know why to this day. Maybe it’s because you imagined a boy talking about you like that just because you didn’t feel the same way, and how it wouldn’t sit right with you, how it wouldn’t be fair for them to speculate. That you shouldn’t be forced to like specific people because that’s what was socially acceptable.

So, you defended him without thought.

“Or maybe he just doesn’t want to go out with you specifically,” you mutter, flipping a page.

Three heads turned toward you.

“That’s not the point,” Wendy scoffed, offended by your words but trying not to show it. “It’s rude. He acts like no one’s good enough for him.”

“Or,” you started, “he isn’t obligated to entertain you.”

“You defending Riddle now?” A familiar voice asked in an amused tone after a moment of silence — your best friend, you realized, when looking up from your book at last.

“I’m just saying, you can’t call someone arrogant for having boundaries.”

“We’re just talking,” another one of them snapped, some girl you didn’t know the name of to this day.

“So talk,” you replied calmly. “Just don’t act like he owes you his attention.”

A few of them exchanged glances. One shrugged. Then, the conversation shifted.

You shook your head faintly, dismissing your thoughts. It wasn’t your concern.

The bell chimed faintly in the corridor beyond the door just in time — five minutes to the end of class. Slughorn clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Time, my dears! Cap your potions, label them, and leave them on this table right here. And remember — no sneaking a sample. I’ll know.”

That resulted in a few groans and bits of laughter.

Students began tidying their stations, including you — corking bottles and wiping spills. Slughorn’s back turned as he hurried to inspect a few remaining students brews of the love potion. In the chaos — with robes swishing, chairs scraping against the floor, chatter rising — no one paid attention to Tom Riddle.

His back was angled toward the class, body shielding his cauldron from view. Slughorn was still preoccupied, none the wiser.

Tom moved with hurried precision, covered by the ruckus and cluster of students. One hand slipped into the inner pocket of his robes. The other lifted his ladle. A small, glass vial appeared between his deft fingers. He tilted the utensil ever so slightly and a thin ribbon of pearlescent liquid slid into the container. Not enough to be obvious and change the level in the cauldron, the right amount for him to take.

He corked it carefully and quietly before it vanished into his robes. By the time Slughorn turned back around, Tom busied himself with packing up his things unhurriedly; entirely innocent. He gathered his books neatly, cleaned up his area with a flick of his yew wand, and stood waiting for dismissal like the exemplary student everyone believed him to be — even bidding a polite farewell to the Professor like he does at the end of every class, receiving an oblivious smile from the man in return.

Slughorn clearly did not know.

Soon enough, you’re next to step out into the corridor with your friends.

As you walked with them, curling a strand of hair behind your ear whilst complaining about your next class — behind you, footsteps followed at a distance.

Tom Riddle was staring at you again.

And you walked away, unaware.

Valentine’s Day arrived like a fever spreading inside Hogwarts.

The dormitory had been awake before dawn. You awoke to whispers around you and the rustle of tissue paper. The sharp, sweet scent of perfume clouded the air. Ribbons were tied, taken down, and then retied into hair to perfection. Girls were already sitting cross-legged on their beds in silk nightgowns and perfectly brushed hair, opening velvet boxes and parcels tied in satin ribbon. One girl squealed while another flushed and tried to pretend she hadn’t been waiting for this day all week when opening her package. Someone even shrieked when an owl tapped the window with a parcel of sugared candies.

You rolled onto your back with a sigh, lying still for a moment, staring up at the canopy above your bed as you listened to the excitement around you.

It wasn’t that you cared about today or longed for a boy. It was your decision, countless times, to not have a boyfriend. And you wouldn’t want just any boy approaching you today with trembling hands and a rehearsed declaration of love. In fact, the thought of a public decree made your stomach tighten since you would have to gently decline — and that was humiliating enough for one party. You had no desire in entertaining feelings you did not share like some of your acquaintances.

Still.

It would have been… nice. To be chosen.

You smiled when appropriate as other girls showed off their Valentine’s gifts; a small, traitorous pang in your chest. Ridiculous. You weren’t interested in anyone. You shook it off, rising from the mattress to wash up in the restroom and get dressed for classes that day.

Your uniform was pristine like always, white blouse pressed and colored tie straightened. You smoothed your skirt over your thighs, stockings reaching just below the knee, shoes polished. You brushed your hair until it shone and left it down before fastening your cloak. You dabbed a faint touch of your everyday perfume on your wrists because for you, it was just another day.

When you made your way into the common room, you saw girls clutching bouquets of all different types of colors and chocolates wrapped in boxes.

The corridors were no different, buzzing like a beehive. And by the time you reached the staircases, the castle was alive more than it has ever been — even during the Christmas holidays. Enchanted cupids flitted about and abundant laughter echoed against the stone walls of the castle.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel and eventually met up with your friends at your usual spot, walking towards the Great Hall together, their chatter echoing around you about the latest drama: who got what and from who or who hadn’t gotten anything and ended up splitting on today of all days. You tuned them out until a different name cut through the noise.

“Did you see him?” a pair of Slytherin girls hissed in hushed excitement as you passed. “With a whole bouquet of flowers, I swear! And chocolates too — the expensive kind.”

“Who?”

“Tom Riddle.”

Your steps faltered before you could stop yourself.

The other girl gasped. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not! He was coming up from the dungeons. He had them transfigured so it wasn’t obvious, but I know what I saw.”

You didn’t turn your head. You kept walking before you could linger too long and appear obvious. You had no right to be curious. You barely spoke to him. And you most certainly were not one of the girls who trailed after him like moths to a flame.

Tom Riddle with roses.

With chocolates.

It was almost absurd.

It sounded absurd.

You truly hadn’t meant to listen, truly. Riddle had never shown interest in anyone publicly. He seemed the private type and further more, was single to the point he had never even been rumored to have dated anyone because everyone would know it to be untrue in a heartbeat. But, perhaps he did have someone this entire time. Someone worth keeping a secret of.

You found, to your irritation, that you were curious. It must be someone in school, then.

But who? Who had finally stolen his heart and had the Tom Riddle so enamored?

The Great Hall doors opened to an alive spectacle of owls swooping low through the high windows and dropping parcels into waiting hands, charmed doves fluttering between floating hearts that drifted lazily beneath the enchanted ceiling which had been charmed to a pale pink sunrise with pearly light despite the real one outside being dull and grey like it had been for the last few days, anticipating a storm.

The House tables were louder than usual, scattered with unwrapped sweets and floral arrangements that clashed with everything else in a nearby vicinity.

You scanned the Slytherin table without meaning to.

Riddle wasn’t there.

You exhaled harshly through your nose, annoyed with yourself for searching.

You took your usual place at your table — the same bit of bench you had claimed since first year with your friend group, the same place anyone could find you in the mornings. Predictable. Safe. Like everything you choose. You spooned whipped cream onto your waffles, adding sliced strawberries and a drizzle of syrup on them.

Cadence lightly nudged you with her elbow, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “If someone asks you to be their Valentine today — hypothetically — you’re saying yes, aren’t you?”

“I would hypothetically decline,” you retort dryly, cutting through your waffle.

“How cruel you are to every boy who would be lucky to have you.”

You lifted an unimpressed brow. “I have standards.”

She laughed. “You’ll end up alone at this rate.”

“I’m not afraid of being alone.”

That much was true.

You were about to take your first bite when a shadow fell across your plate.

You looked up, pulse jumping.

A Slytherin boy stood there. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him before. Cute, but not your type. And he looked… nervous. His fingers flexed at his sides with a kind of strained urgency. For a fleeting, mortifying second, you imagined him clearing his throat and announcing — loudly — that he would be honored if you would accompany him today. In front of all these people.

Your heart gave one uncomfortable thud.

Please don’t let him do this here.

“Yes?” you asked slowly, lips drawn in a tight line, already preparing the polite apology on your tongue.

He swallowed. “Er— sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you said, your fork hovering midair, frozen like a statue as you wait for the inevitable.

“Professor Slughorn would like to see you.”

Relief washed over you instantly, your features softening and shoulders relaxing. Thankfully, it wasn’t a love confession. Still, your brows knit together. “Now?”

“Yes. In the courtyard.”

You glanced instinctively towards the staff table. Slughorn wasn’t there. Though, a flicker of doubt continued to brush against your mind.

“What for?” you asked, turning your head back to the boy.

He hesitated. “I-I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Your friend chimed in. “That’s odd.”

You agreed.

Still, there was no obvious reason to refuse. You hadn’t done anything wrong. And if it were truly important, you couldn’t very well ignore it. Maybe it was about schoolwork. You set your fork down with visible reluctance, eyeing your plate with mild mourning and a pout. The whipped cream was already softening into the waffle, syrup pooling at the edges.

A waste.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, eat that,” you told your friend, gesturing with a tilt of your chin.

“So selfless,” one of them replied solemnly.

“I know.”

You rose, smoothing your skirt, adjusting your cloak over your shoulders before leaning down to grab your bag from the wooden seat and hook it around your shoulder. The boy stepped aside at once to let you pass, relief evident in his posture — as if he had been afraid you might refuse. Though, you can’t imagine what was so frightening about Slughorn that made him tremble so.

The corridors beyond the Great Hall were quieter now, the morning frenzy thinning out as you stepped out into them.

Chatter faded behind you, replaced by the echo of your own footsteps against the stone hallways of the castle. Light filtered through the high windows as best it could with dark skies as you walked further down. When you made your way to the courtyard however, your steps slowed at the sight that greeted you.

You stepped through the arched doorway into the open space. The cold bit at you at once, stealing the warmth from your cheeks. The fountain at the center trickled faintly as water spilled over marble into its basin. Grey clouds sagged overhead, heavy with unshed rain, the stones beneath your shoes damp.

It was completely vacant.

There was always a student or two loitering around, but now, it was unnaturally silent. Not like the peaceful kind you preferred. And there was no Professor Slughorn bustling about. You frowned, uneasiness coiled low in your stomach and sliding beneath your ribs. The courtyard was never empty — even on a day like this.

You shifted your satchel higher on your shoulder, glancing toward the archways as if the professor might appear from behind a column.

You found yourself almost turning back. For reasons you couldn’t explain, you wished you were still at your table in the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends, scarfing down sugary waffles. Thunder clapped overhead like a bad omen.

“I’m glad you came.”

You startled violently despite yourself, breath catching, spinning around too quickly. It unsettled you more than you cared to admit that you hadn’t heard him approach at all.

That voice was unmistakable.

Tom Riddle stood a few paces behind you as though he had always been there. Your heart leapt traitorously in your chest.

Riddle looked striking and flawless as always. Dark hair combed neatly with a curl falling deliberately over his forehead. His Slytherin tie was perfectly knotted, robes falling straight and sharp along his lean, slightly muscular frame. The faintest flush from the cold touched his pale skin, but he did not seem to feel it.

In one hand, he held a box of chocolates wrapped in ribbon. In the other — a bouquet.

Your favorite flowers.

Your breath caught.

It could be coincidence, you told yourself. Flowers were flowers. Anyone could like them. Perhaps he had chosen them at random. Perhaps he was waiting for someone else and you had merely wandered into the scene by accident. Your mind scrambled for reasons because you had a feeling this situation was headed a certain direction that you weren’t sure how to deal with.

Riddle held your gaze steadily, as if he could see each frantic thought as it passed through you.

“I’m waiting for Professor Slughorn,” you said too quickly, the words tumbling out before he asked anything. “He sent for me.”

Why were you explaining yourself?

You avoided his eyes, studying instead the collar of his robe, the way his fingers curved around the base of the bouquet. You felt awkward and absurdly aware of how alone you were with him. Riddle’s gaze rested on you, assessing. There was something faintly amused in the curve of his mouth — and not the warm kind. More like, he knew something you didn’t.

“I’m afraid,” he started gently, “that Professor Slughorn will not be joining you.”

The words prickled at your skin like a bite.

You blinked, looking up at that.

“What?”

“I asked Nott to fetch you.” He tilted his head slightly like he had a habit of doing, studying your reaction with dark brown eyes, ones that felt too intense on you. “I wanted a moment alone.”

For a second, you could only stare at him.

“You lied?” The accusation left you before you could soften it.

Riddle did not falter. If anything, that faint amusement deepened on his gorgeous features, dark and unfairly perfect brows lifting a fraction. “Would you have come if I had asked you myself?”

Your lips parted automatically, ready to retort with something sharp or clever, that he didn’t need deception or to intimidate someone enough to do his bidding — but the truth remained stuck in your throat.

Because no. You wouldn’t have.

You didn’t know him. Not really. You had exchanged perhaps a handful of words in passing. If Tom Riddle had approached you openly in the Great Hall, with half the school watching, you would have declined out of instinct alone.

You pressed your lips together in defeat.

Riddle’s smirk deepened with satisfaction.

“I thought not,” he murmured. He stepped closer, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you could feel his intensity.

Then, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said suddenly.

It wasn’t a stammering confession you had braced yourself for from some nervous boy. His voice was steady, like a statement rather than a request. He extended the bouquet and chocolates toward you, waiting.

The gesture was immaculate, private, considerate. Exactly the sort of confession you would have preferred without a spectacle or an audience.

The courtyard felt even quieter. Somehow, you couldn’t even hear the single chirp of a bird.

You were acutely aware of the space between you. The way Riddle’s eyes did not leave your face, as if he was deciphering your every thought just from your expressions like how a snake would assess its meal before lunging. He seemed entirely certain of himself.

Then, it hits you that he must have been the one to clear the courtyard. Of course. Who else could have that type of power? Your pulse thudded in your ears, heat creeping up your cheeks. He had orchestrated this entire thing.

And he had done everything right.

For a tiny moment, you imagined accepting. You imagined walking back into the castle at his side, flowers in your arms. You imagined the looks. Too many looks. Too many whispers. Because Tom Riddle was always being watched. Either out of admiration or envy. If you stepped into his orbit, you would not be permitted anonymity again. There would be jealous girls, speculation, and endless scrutiny from every direction. The resentment from those who had tried and failed to get close to him. Your life would no longer be quiet at school.

And beneath that practical reasoning, there was something else — the simple truth being that you did not know him.

And under that, the memory of that look in class — the way he had stared at you through the steam as if claiming something that did not yet belong to him.

And Tom Riddle did nothing without purpose.

So, why you?

You were not one of the girls who trailed after him in corridors. You didn’t blush when he entered a room. You didn’t whisper about him.

Perhaps… that was precisely why.

“Tom,” you began carefully, fingers tightening around your bag’s strap like a lifeline as you swallowed. “Riddle, I mean,” once you realized how familiar you sounded unintentionally. You noticed he straightened a little at that. “I-I’m sorry.”

And you truly meant it. But the next few words caught in your throat when you saw the flicker of the same expression from the dungeon — the one that had frozen you in place. His cold eyes sharpened with displeasure and something possessive. A chill shot down your spine. But, then it was gone, vanishing almost instantly — as if it’d never been there. The polite mask slid back into place so seamlessly that you almost doubted you had seen his other face at all.

“I can’t accept this,” you finished softly. “I didn’t know… I mean, we’ve never even—” You huffed, frustrated with yourself. “It wouldn’t be right.”

A silence so deafening stretched between you.

You couldn’t meet his eye. Riddle hadn’t moved at all from your peripheral. But then, he spoke at last, “I see...”

Surprisingly, he hadn’t looked embarrassed or wounded. There was not a hint of a tremor in his voice or a trace of bitterness — and somehow, it unsettled you more than pure anger might have.

“I appreciate your honesty.”

He sounded thoughtful. So, you found your shoulders loosening.

“I hope there aren’t any hard feelings,” you added carefully, brows furrowed.

“None,” he assured you with a flutter of his dark lashes, polite and unbothered as ever like the proper gentleman he was. Then, almost as an afterthought, Riddle lifted the box slightly to you. “At least take these.”

You hesitated.

“I know how fond you are of them,” he continued, tone mild. “It would be a shame to let them go to waste.”

Your brows drew together faintly. “How did you—”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It isn’t a secret.”

It wasn’t. You were rarely without something sugary in hand. Anyone observant enough could notice. And Tom Riddle was observant. You studied him one last time before slowly reaching out and accepting the chocolates, the edge of the box cool against your sweaty fingers.

“Thank you,” you said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Truly.”

His gaze dipped briefly to your hand as it closed fully around the container of chocolates, a small smile on his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

“And… I am sorry,” you added once more for great measure.

Riddle smiled reassuringly. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Then, he adds with a tone that sounded innocently hopeful, “But, if you do happen to change your mind, I’ll be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. I hear the stars will be rather exceptionally beautiful tonight.”

The statement seemed so casual that it hadn’t even hit you that it’ll be storming all week, that the skies wouldn’t be visible for the next few days. But, you nodded anyway just to be nice. You had just rejected his feelings after all…

With a step back, hands folding neatly behind him, the bouquet remained there, hidden from your view. He inclined his head with quiet courtesy. You nodded in return, already turning, eager for the warmth and noise of the Hogwarts corridors. With each step away from him, your lungs seemed to fill more easily. You slipped the chocolates into your satchel and adjusted the strap over your shoulder. By the time you reached the archway, you had almost convinced yourself the entire encounter had been harmless. Unfortunate, perhaps — but civil.

You were lucky Riddle was so understanding.

As you walked off, behind you, Tom did not move. He watched you until the stone walls of the school swallowed you from sight as if he could still see you through them.

The polite expression dissolved the instant you disappeared. His jaw tightened, broad shoulders becoming rigid beneath his robes. And behind his back, his fingers tightened around the stems of the bouquet until his knuckles turned white. They bent and snapped under his unforgiving grip. The pretty flowers blackened at an unnatural pace right at the edges before gradually bleeding inward at an alarming speed. The delicate petals wilted, reduced to something lifeless and small.

Tom’s remained eerily calm other than that. A petal fell soundlessly, and he watched as it reached the wet stone at his feet.

He smiled.

Then, he threw the bouquet to the ground like dirt before turning, his cloak sweeping behind him.

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed by in a haze.

The castle’s Valentine’s fever broke slowly but surely. By afternoon, the romance had dulled. Very few couples still walked too close in the corridors, smiling and holding hands. Girls with broken hearts huddled with blotchy eyes while their friends stroked their hair and whispered assurances. The enchanted decor had long since tired themselves out.

You drifted through it, lost in your own head as your mind wouldn’t stop circling back to him.

Tom Riddle had wanted you.

It still felt crazy, but you knew it now. That in Potions, he must have smelled you.

“Are you even listening?” A friend hissed at you during Transfiguration, nudging your knee under the desk.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, quill hovering uselessly above parchment, dripping ink from the tip in large blots and ruining your work. “What?”

She stared. “Professor Merrythought just asked you a question.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, eyes darting around the class and then apologetically to the Professor.

“Right. Sorry.” You forced your attention forward, ignoring the low ripple of snickers.

Your mind felt like it was moving through syrup, and you kept it all to yourself. In Arithmancy, you lost track of numbers you usually handled with ease. In History of Magic, you stared through Professor Binns as if he were smoke.

You had never truly noticed how many classes you shared with Tom Riddle before today. Now, it felt excessive. Potions, Transfiguration, Defense, Ancient Runes. He had always been there — but you had never catalogued the frequency of his presence until now. Riddle always sat with his back straight. His quill moved with elegant strokes as he took notes. He answered every question asked of him and was always correct.

And he did not look at you once.

Not even once.

A part of you bristled.

It bothered you more than if he had glared across the room because he was unbothered as ever. It was as if the courtyard had not happened. As if he had not offered you your favorite flowers and waited for your answer. Why ask if he did not care?

You caught yourself watching the side of his face during Transfiguration, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the faint hollow beneath it, the way his long and skillful hands worked his wand. You noticed he liked to fidget with it a lot — running his fingers along the side, caressing, holding it delicately like it was an extension of himself. Riddle suddenly shifted slightly in his seat, and you looked away at once, heart pounding madly in your chest.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, you reminded yourself. You would have hated his scorn. You would have hated whispers and pointed stares. This was the better outcome. You didn’t want to be known as the girl who rejected Tom Riddle even when your chest tightened unpleasantly each time he gathered his books without so much as glancing your way.

So, why did it feel like something was terribly wrong?

By the time late afternoon crept in and you finished your classes for the day, you were already making your way to the Hogwarts library.

It was quieter than normal. Valentine’s Day had drained the castle of its usual studious population. Lamps glowed in warm, cozy pools of gold across long wooden tables. The smell of ink and old books welcomed you like an embrace. The tall windows were darker than they were before now. And most of all, it was silent in the way you liked. The library had always been your refuge.

You passed a few stragglers who also had nothing better to do on Valentine’s Day as you made your way to the back of the huge reading area, shrugging off your cloak and draping it over the armrest before sinking into a wooden chair.

As the minutes passed, books started to accumulate around you on the table. You diligently studied for your next exam, burying yourself in the library as evening settled over Hogwarts. The light outside the tall windows dimmed so slowly that you hadn’t even noticed until you took a glance and realized how much time had passed. You rolled your shoulders, flexed your aching fingers, and leaned back over your notes. You read the same line three times, finding yourself unable to focus as hunger gradually gnawed at your stomach.

It hit you that you had not eaten at all today.

Your plate at breakfast had gone unfinished, and you skipped lunch entirely to come here. The dining hall would be closing soon. You considered getting something from the kitchens later. Though in truth, your appetite had vanished after the encounter with Riddle, your mind preoccupied with other things.

Then, you remembered.

The chocolates.

You stilled, hand hovering over parchment. A small feeling of guilt bloomed in your chest. You had nearly forgotten about them.

At least I won’t starve, you thought dryly.

Thanks, Riddle.

When you reached into your satchel, your fingers brushed against something smooth and rigid. After a second of hesitation, you drew out the box. It was elegant, with dark packaging and a perfectly tied ribbon. It felt nice and cool against your warm fingers that had been working for hours.

You set it on the table, undoing the carefully knotted bow, and lifted the lid almost excitedly. You loved chocolate, and you were always curious about the taste of different ones. A container like this would surely hold varying types that you were interested in trying. Some could have a filling of jam, or caramel, or a different flavor chocolate inside. The possibilities were endless.

Where others sought spontaneity in their real lives, you found it in chocolate. Because chocolate was the one thing that could never hurt you.

When you set the top aside, you saw that inside lay neat rows of white chocolates, each one ornate and delicately crafted, faintly glossy under the light. Your breath caught at how stunning they were, and you inhaled. A smile curled onto your lips despite yourself, giddy in your seat like a child.

They smelled exquisitely divine. They looked like the sweet and rich type, very expensive — just as the Slytherin girl from this morning had claimed. Too pretty you didn’t even want to eat them. You didn’t question how he knew of your preference. Because you rarely went a week without white chocolate; anyone paying enough attention could have noticed.

And Tom Riddle paid attention.

Your stomach gave a sudden, sharp pang at the enticing scent.

With the grace of an eager child, you picked one up and brought it to your mouth. The smooth chocolate melted instantly on your tongue, silky and decadent. A soft, pleased moan escaped from your lips before you could stop it. Embarrassed heat rushed to your cheeks, and you glanced around.

Merlin.

You hope no one heard that.

You swallowed quickly, your hunger starting to satiate bit by bit, before your fingers reached for another without thinking. The second tasted even sweeter. A warmth like no other continued to spread in your chest, like something had been wound tight and was now loosening itself. You leaned back slightly in your seat, tilting your head and humming in satisfaction as your eyes shut for just a moment.

Tom’s face suddenly surfaced in your mind with startling clarity, but not with the typical unease that came with it before.

You only remembered the charming curve of his soft, pink lips. The single, adorable curl that always falls over his forehead like it’s dying to be tamed, fixed back into place by your gentle hand. His strong, broad shoulders and the confident, attractive way he carried himself. The way his voice had dipped almost sensually, eyes smoldering when he told you Happy Valentine’s Day.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the box.

Why had you said no?

You were confused.

Tom had been awfully considerate earlier today. He had known exactly what you would prefer. He had arranged everything so carefully. The lie, the empty courtyard, the timing to give you peace of mind.

Your pulse quickened.

Tom had looked at you like you were the only person in his world.

A soft, almost aching pressure built beneath your ribs. You could picture him so vividly now that it made your breath shallow. He was extraordinary. Brilliant in every class. Admired by professors. Feared, even, by some. There was something absolutely magnetic about him — something no one else had.

And he had chosen you.

A sharp wave of regret washed over you, sudden and consuming. How foolish you must have seemed. How cold. You had rejected him without even trying to understand him. You wanted conversation, you told yourself. You wanted to know someone first.

Tom had been trying to give you that chance.

And you had hurt him.

The realization struck with surprising force.

He had stood there — perfectly composed — while you rejected him. Tom had offered you your favorite flowers and you felt a pang of regret now at not taking them when you had the chance.

Your heart began to race in earnest, a dizzying rhythm that made your fingers tremble slightly. The warmth in your chest deepened, spreading into your throat and then to your limbs like fire. You felt unsteady and lightheaded. The thought of him alone somewhere in the castle, alone because you had sent him away—

No.

The idea of it twisted painfully in your heart like a knife.

“But, if you do happen to change your mind, I’ll be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. I hear the stars will be rather exceptionally beautiful tonight.”

You glanced toward the tall windows of the castle library. The sky outside was darkening rapidly, clouds thick and dark grey. It might storm soon tonight. Tom had said the stars would be beautiful. But perhaps he had only meant it as an excuse. An offering. It didn’t matter.

You had been so careless. Of course you had feelings for him. How could you not? Every glance he’d ever given you now felt charged in retrospect. Potions class — earlier, you figured out he had smelled you. That was why he’d stared. Tom was drawn to you. He hungered for you.

You released a soft gasp, your heart thudding harder.

Better yet, he understood you like no one else did. You were sure of it now. He had watched quietly, learned your preferences and your habits. The thought of him doing just that, of staring at you for long periods of time without you even realizing just to understand you made your heart soar, a flush blooming on your cheeks. Taking his time, he had waited for the right moment to confess. You pressed your fingers lightly to your lips, trying to steady your rapid breathing that sounded almost like panting.

You needed to see him. A need that felt important above all else.

You needed to go. You needed to fix this. Not tomorrow. Now. He must have thought you didn’t care. He must have believed you dismissed him as easily as the other boys who tried.

Standing abruptly, your chair scraped loudly against the floor. A few students glanced up from distant tables, annoyed — you even earned a soft shush from somewhere to your right — but you barely registered it. Your pulse hammered in your ears now, loud enough to drown out reason. Every thought circled back to him — his voice, his eyes, the way he had said your name.

How had you not seen it before?

Tom was perfect.

Handsome. Intelligent. The very idea of him made your stomach flutter and your pulse quicken. Of all the girls who trailed after him, who whispered about him, who would have fallen at his feet if he so much as glanced their way — he had only looked at you.

A soft ache spread beneath your ribs. You had mistaken him. He hadn’t looked unbothered today because he didn’t care. Tom was giving you space.

Your throat tightened.

Tom was waiting for you.

He had said he would be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. It was evening. He might leave. The idea filled you with an unreasonable urgency. What if he thought you truly meant your refusal? What if he decided you were not worth pursuing? What if someone else—

No.

Your stomach twisted at the notion.

Your books and parchment lay forgotten as you close the lid of the chocolate box with careful, trembling hands and slipped it back into your bag, clutching it close as though it were something precious. You didn’t even bother with your cloak. The thought of missing him made your chest constrict. He would understand. He always seemed to understand. Tom was always so understanding.

You loved him.

The realization felt less like a question and more like an admission of truth you had been avoiding. It explained the awareness of him and the irritation at his composure. You had been afraid of wanting him. But he wanted you.

And you wanted— needed to see him desperately. If you didn’t, you think you’d die. You may have wasted the day, but you won’t make the mistake of wasting the night. You belonged with him. And you would not let him slip away.

The staircases seemed endless.

You didn’t remember leaving the library. You barely felt your feet striking stone as you ran, the slap of your shoes against stairs you nearly missed, fingers clutching freezing stone banisters to swing yourself around corners. Students cursed with startled protests as you shoved past without apology; one boy nearly dropped his books.

Someone may have called your name. You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of was Tom. Nothing mattered in the moment except him.

The castle was extremely chilly after sunset. Cool wind slipped through narrow slits, raising goosebumps along your bare arms through your thin blouse, yet heat pulsed under your skin — feverish and burning. You had left your cloak draped over the library chair. It did not occur to you to go back for it. So, you had forgotten it. Forgotten your books. Forgotten everything except him.

Tom.

Every minuscule and unimportant thought curved back to him. Your mind whispered his name like a prayer. Your breath tore in and out of your lungs as though you had been running for miles. Up spiral staircases. Through corridors and past suits of armor. The storm had begun outside; you could hear it building — wind battering the windows, distant thunder rolling like a warning.

None of it mattered.

There was only one fixed point in the world, and it was at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

You took the final staircase, breathing shallow in uneven gasps, heart rate frantic and desperate — fingers gripping the metal railing to steady yourself. The tower door loomed ahead, iron latch glinting at you mockingly. You shoved it open with strength you weren’t even aware you possessed just to get to him.

The wind struck you fully at once, brisk and furious, carrying the faint scent of rain washed stone. It whipped your hair around your face, but you paid it no mind. The sky was ominous and frightening, nothing like what he had promised.

Yet, amidst it all was your North Star. Your guiding light. Funny, wasn’t it? That he was in the Astronomy Tower of all places.

The clouds hid the heavens, but Tom glowed as he stood in the dark of night at the balcony’s edge, facing the horizon with his back to you, hands resting lightly on the railings. The storm swallowed the sky, but in your vision he was lit from within. The only thing illuminated. The only thing that mattered. His dark robes stirred with the breeze, the fabric clinging and releasing against his lean frame. You could only see the elegant line of his neck and the sharp angle of his jaw. He looked carved from shadow and pale marble, perfectly still against the raging weather.

You could only stare in awe.

He looked like he belonged to the night.

The beauty of what lay in front of your eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“Tom.”

The name left you with reverence and breathlessness, almost disbelieving — like you had stumbled upon something sacred.

He turned.

At that moment, thunder cracked overhead. Lightning split across the sky in a violent flare of white, bathing Tom in a sudden light. For a heartbeat, your world froze with that flash. He looked like an angel. The light carved his high cheekbones, hollowed shadows beneath them, kissable lips curved in something that was not quite surprise.

His brown eyes found yours instantly before the faintest smile touched his lips — and somehow, you felt like you could breathe again. Like your entire world had rightened itself under your feet. Because Tom looked so happy to see you.

Rain began to mist in the air, cool against your flushed cheeks.

“I wondered how long it would take,” he finally spoke, voice carrying easily through the harsh winds. Your heart trembled at the melodious sound.

The implication in his tone flew right over your head. You only heard his voice, smooth like velvety chocolate on the tongue. It wrapped around you like warmth which you were in desperate need of.

Tom knew you would come. And he waited, so patiently. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

You stepped toward Tom before you even realized you were moving, like he was a magnet. Then again. And again. The distance— the separation between you felt unbearable.

And Tom watched closely the entire time, tracing over you slowly in a way that made you shudder from the intensity. He took note of everything, studied you. The lack of a cloak and your thin blouse which did nothing against the chill as if you had rushed over here. The flushed cheeks and your heaving breasts. The wild shine in your eyes. The way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Tom’s gaze darkened with something akin to pleasure.

“You’re cold,” he observed, though his voice carried no real concern.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

Every step closed the space and yet it was never fast enough. The wind tangled your hair across your face, but you did not brush it away. You could not look anywhere except at him.

“You were right,” you choked out, your voice unsteady. “About the stars.”

Tom paused for a moment, faintly confused before his lips tugged at the corners in amusement at your state of delirium. It was, after all, an effect of the Amortentia he put in the chocolates you took from him this morning. It was also the last thing he had said to you in parting, and so, it wasn’t surprising you would be fixated on it.

“I’m usually right.”

You know that now, down to your marrow.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathed instead, unable to help yourself from commenting on it. Up close, he was overwhelming. And that smile on his face was devilishly handsome. It gave you butterflies. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes — eyes like dark chocolate. You loved chocolate and you loved Tom.

You reached for him to steady yourself as though you had been falling all along. And the second your fingers touched the fabric of his robes, the world narrowed to that single point of contact. He was real. And he was yours. Tom stood at the center of your universe — like the stars, burning and eternal.

“I—” Your voice trembled suddenly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see it,” your words tumbled over one another. “I didn’t understand earlier. I was foolish. I thought— I thought I didn’t know you. But I do. I must. I just— didn’t want to be… like the others.”

A huff of amusement came from Tom.

“You are nothing like the others.”

By the look on Tom’s face, he seemed to be telling the truth, so sure of himself and what he had spoken to you. Of course he was. Tom would never lie to you. He did earlier today, but that was because he knew you’d be too stubborn to listen then. Again, an example of how well he knew you.

Another roll of thunder swallowed your words.

You closed the final, treacherous inch between you and collided into him like a supernova, fingers fisting into the fabric of his robes, pressing yourself against his chest as though proximity alone could steady the storm inside you. Your arms wound around his waist, clutching him tightly as though he might vanish into a black hole.

Tom went rigid beneath your touch.

A subtle tension rippled through him as if your unrestrained contact took him by surprise. But it was gone almost instantly. His arms came around you with one hand settled at your lower back, the other sliding possessively at your nape, fingers threading lightly into your hair.

You melted into his burning touch. His hands felt like a furnace on a cold night. You took advantage of the situation, inhaling the scent off his clean clothes. And God, he was the best thing you ever smelt — better than chocolate. Better than the ones he had given you that tasted sweeter with every bite you took. You wondered if Tom’s lips tasted the same.

“I thought I didn’t need anyone,” you continued, your voice breaking as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “But when I left you this morning, i-it felt like I couldn’t breathe.” Your fingers tightened in the fabric at his back. “It felt like something was crushing my chest.”

Tom’s hand at your neck flexed with subtle pressure, guiding you closer. His chin lowered slightly — so tall, so tall — resting against the crown of your head. He did not hush you. He only listened. Oh, Tom. He was perfect in every way.

“Did it?” He murmured softly in return, voice near you ear. His thumb brushed upward along your spine in a slow, absent movement. Safe. You felt safe in his arms. You only nodded against him hysterically, fingers clutching at his robes, wrinkling the immaculate fabric.

Tom’s gaze lifted to the stormy, dark horizon in the background as you spoke into his chest. He had known you would come. The amount of love potion he put into the chocolates were enough to tilt you gently in the direction you were meant to face. Toward him.

“I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t think. I kept seeing you. And I realized…” Your breath hitched. “I realized I can’t be without you. I don’t want to be. I need you,” you finally confessed, cheeks hot, fisting his shirt. The words trembled as they came out of you, but they were certain. You were afraid for him to leave you, to be alone.

“I need you like I need air, Tom.”

The wind howled faintly around the tower, tugging at your hair and at his cloak with fiercer ferocity. The storm clapped mercilessly above, rain starting to pouring heavily into the balcony which you both stood near at an angle. Tom stepped closer inside to avoid being hit much by it, leading you backwards with him.

You barely noticed, eyes locked on his face like you couldn’t look away; entranced.

Tom tilted your chin up with two fingers. You looked at him through tear blurred vision, cheeks flushed, lashes wet, lips parted and wobbly. Devotion was written plainly across your face. Worship and unwavering loyalty. Tom’s gaze swept over you slowly, drinking you in. He couldn’t help but swallow, pale throat bobbing.

Perfect. You were… perfect like this.

“You want me? You need me?” He repeated very quietly, voice raspy as he cupped your cheek. It sounded like gospel to your ears. You leaned into his hand. Honestly, you could hear Tom speak all day. You almost hated yourself for having to respond because he went silent just to hear you. But Tom wanted you to talk to him, and you would do anything to make him happy.

“Yes,” you gasped, your response immediate and absolute.

Tom’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the edge of a tear as he collected it onto his finger. He examined the moisture on his skin briefly before letting his hand fall.

“I don’t give my attention lightly,” Tom hummed. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“And when I decide something belongs to me…” His eyes held yours, unblinking. You inhaled sharply. “I do not let it go easily.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered.

Tom’s hand slid from your jaw to the curve of your waist, fingers spreading there as though testing the shape of you, claiming you. You leaned into him further. He drew you impossibly closer than that, your body pressed against his fully now. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. It wasn’t beating erratically like yours.

Your fingers slid higher along his chest, curling near his collar. He doesn’t stop you.

“I want you.”

The statement hung in the air as Tom simply looked down at you.

“You have me,” Tom said at last, and your heart swelled painfully at that. He understood. He always understood. You buried your face against his chest again, tears barely dampening the front of his rain soaked clothes. His hand moved to the back of your neck once more.

“And you won’t run again,” he murmured, and it sounded like seduction.

“No.”

His thumb pressed lightly at the base of your throat, just enough to feel the frantic pulse there, tilting your head back up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

“Say it.”

You swallowed, and he felt it against his finger. You were completely vulnerable in this position. And yet, your breath shook wildly, eyes dilated.

“I won’t run from you.”

The faintest hum left him, almost content.

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise. Good girl. You wanted to hear it again and again until it was etched into your bones. Your lips parted instinctively as if asking for more without words. Lightning flashed again, closer now. The harsh breeze mauled at your damp hair, whipping it across your face again. He reached up and smoothed it back with unsettling gentleness.

“You belong with me,” you practically begged. “Don’t you see? I belong with you.”

“I was hoping,” he started carefully, pausing to look over your expression, “that you would come to that conclusion on your own.”

Your heart seized at that. He had believed in you. He had waited.

“I love you,” you hiccuped, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

Silence followed. Droplets of rain striked the stone around you.

“You couldn’t live without me?” Tom asked.

You shook your head helplessly, enamored with him and hanging onto his every word.

“No.”

A faint exhale left him — almost a laugh, but not quite. For all his contempt of love potions, Tom could not deny their elegance.

He had always despised them — weak little instruments for those too pathetic to command any type of devotion on their own merit. The irony of his own conception had burned that hatred into him early. A foolish girl from a crumbling line, infatuated with a filthy Muggle, desperate enough to drug him into counterfeit affection. A love potion slipped into a drink. A Muggle man ensnared. And from that humiliating farce — him. His mother had begged for love. And when it slipped through her fingers, she had withered.

Lord Voldemort would never wither.

Lord Voldemort would never be weak.

He would never beg a filthy Muggle to stay. He would never cling to someone who did not choose him freely. He would never lose control of himself the way his mother had. Tom did not feed you this potion because he lacked control over you. He brewed it because power — which was neither good nor evil — meant using every bit of magic available.

Tom Riddle was nothing like his stupid mother.

Merope had dosed Tom Riddle Sr because she feared he would leave. Tom had dosed you because you would not have the good sense to stay. Because you were stubborn in that infuriatingly, principled way. Because you required… encouragement.

And now?

His hand tightened subtly at your nape, thumb pressing into the pulse at your neck just beneath your skin as if testing it. You trembled for him. You burned for him. You had run through the castle, abandoned dignity, abandoned sense, abandoned warmth — because you needed him.

A memory flickered through his mind.

It would be months ago from now. He had not meant to linger in that aisle longer than necessary, running a simple errand for a professor before he heard his name. Now, Tom was by far not an uncommon name, he admitted to himself with bitterness. But, he recognized the voice. Out of pure instinct, he peeked through the shelves, curious and silent, gaze sharp through the narrow, emptied out spaces between spines of ancient books in the castle library.

Tom saw one of the girls who he had turned down the day before. Clearly, she was not as okay with it as she had pretended to be and would gladly tear him apart for sport in front of her pathetic friends. Not that he cared about such trivial matters. The concept of love was the least of his concerns. He knew what to expect. Tom could read people like an open book. Resentment and hurt; he had grown accustomed to nurturing it in others every time he said the word no.

But then, he heard you.

Defending him.

You hadn’t known he was listening. You had no idea he stood on the other side of that shelf, watching you. You had simply said what you believed to be true. That he owed no one his affection. That boundaries were not arrogance. You had sounded sincere, not a single trace of want in your tone.

It had stuck with him.

At first, he assumed it was typical teenage girl pettiness. A little rivalry using a clever remark to wound another for competition… until he realized you never once looked at him in class or in corridors. You did not smile at him shyly. You did not linger near in hopes of getting his attention. You did not even seem to care that he existed.

It wasn’t always obsession.

That was when curiosity took root.

Then, curiosity became irritation.

Tom Riddle was accustomed to being watched. To the whispers. To the desire and lust in other people’s eyes. But you — infuriatingly — refused to orbit him. Never preened. Never sought him out. You rejected boys without hesitation, as if their offers were minor inconveniences. Including Tom too, apparently.

What did you want, then? What standard did you hold that so many failed to reach? He couldn’t figure you out as easily as anyone else. And ironically, Tom Riddle hated riddles.

After closely watching you for months, he had figured out plenty about you. You lived quietly, guarding your privacy like treasure. You liked silence, he did too. But not the eerie kind like Tom did. You preferred the type that consisted of at least some natural noise. You disliked spectacles, stiffening at anything that would draw attention to you. Like him, you valued control. In some ways, you and him were not so different.

You tucked your hair behind your ear when irritated. You frowned faintly when concentrating, a look he’s seen many times when you never noticed him staring right at you. You were kind. Tom first saw it in the way you protected his name in conversations that did not concern you and he hasn’t forgotten it since.

And then, there was the chocolate — always white chocolate. It was your weakness. He had catalogued it months ago, when you unwrapped one absentmindedly. The faint smile you wore when you thought no one was looking, how you so easily lost yourself in it, brain going numb — the sight made him hungry in a way he never was growing up as a poor orphan. It made him want to ravish you where you stood. He had been looking. He was always looking at you. And you were blissfully unaware.

Tom had known you would eat what he gave you. Your sweet tooth was abominable. How could something so simple bring you so much joy? You lacked restraint when it came to sugar. He had measured the dosage of Amortentia carefully — enough to turn the tide of your stubbornness, not enough to dull your mind completely. He did not want a puppet. He wanted something that felt real, that sounded real — as real as a love potion can get.

Tom had given you the illusion of choice; in a manner of speaking. And when you still rejected him in the courtyard — just as part of him knew you would — cold fury had flared inside him, bright and violent, beneath his composed exterior. You had dared to believe there was someone better suited to you than him? How dare you find him insufficient? Who could possibly surpass him?

No one.

No one would have you.

He had orchestrated every detail to make you comfortable.

And still, you said no.

How ungrateful you were.

He had even planted the seed with Slughorn weeks before, during a late Slug Club gathering. It was a casual suggestion, an offhand remark about the curriculum timing what with Valentine’s Day approaching. Wouldn’t it be amusing to align love potions with the season? Slughorn had beamed at the brilliance of it, utterly unaware he had been maneuvered.

The pieces had arranged themselves beautifully. As they always did, the stars shone in his name — for he was the universe’s favorite. Everything would work out for Lord Voldemort in the end.

As you clung to him now, pliant, Tom felt no guilt. Only confirmation that you were not like the others — he had been right about that from the beginning. You had defended him when you owed him nothing. You had shown him something dangerously close to loyalty before he had even asked for it.

And loyalty deserved to rewarded.

In all honesty, your trust had always been your flaw. You defended him when you did not know him. You believed in goodness where others would not. You believed in him.

You were too good for your own good.

And goodness, in this world, required protection. He would be that protection. Deep down, even a god like him craved to be seen as a man from time to time. So, you would love him like one. Tom would show you how. And you would never stop.

Tom’s lips crashed onto yours with bruising force, a hand fisting in your damp hair. Deep and claiming, his tongue swept into your mouth like he was starving for the taste of you. Like he’d been starving for weeks, months, years. Like this was his first taste of life and death all at once. You gasped against him, overwhelmed — and Tom took the opportunity by deepening the kiss, your body arching instinctively into his chest, a hand gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.

He backed you against the stone walls of the Astronomy tower, thigh nudged between yours, pressure settling exactly where heat pooled most desperately. You whimpered, a broken sound swallowed by another searing kiss.

Tom’s hands were everywhere — rough, impatient, possessive. He shoved your skirt up past your hips without breaking the kiss, wand calloused fingers dragging over bare skin before finding your panties soaked with slick. He growled into your mouth at the feeling. A dark, satisfied sound that made you even wetter.

Tom didn’t let up, your whimpers going straight to his groin. He fed off every breathless sound you made, every tremble that ran through your frame at his touch. When he finally pulled back an inch, his brown eyes burned down at yours, flashing red almost. They were feral.

“So wet,” he rasped against your lips, tone thick with something between disbelief and satisfaction with you. “For me?”

You could only nod frantically as his thumb circled once over swollen flesh like a loving caress one would absentmindedly give an animal, a slow tease, before taking them away. Before you could complain however, without warning, Tom dropped to his knees before you on those cold stone floors drenched by windblown rainwater pooling near your feet and gently pushed up your soaked skirt once more. The second his cold, powerful fingers brushed your inner thigh, you shivered.

Tom looked up at you through dark lashes. Droplets of rain streaked down his pale face. His hands were steady, skillful— too calm for a prodigy that was about to do something so filthy on a magical tower where anyone could find them.

But then again, Tom had never cared about rules when it came to getting what he wanted.

And right now?

He wanted you.

With deliberate slowness, torturous, he hooked one long finger under your soaked panties before he pulled them aside. A cool gust of wind swept over your exposed heat just as his warm breath ghosted across sensitive skin. A soft gasp left your throat at the sensation before your lips parted further in surprise.

Tom had licked once — a long, slow drag straight up your slit — and groaned like it was honey on his tongue, the sound making you clench around nothing. He was starting to understand why you lost control of yourself when it came to sweet things.

All you could focus on was the mouth suddenly sealing over your core like a man possessed. His tongue worked in ruthless circles, relentless and straight to the point, plunging inside before licking back up again with just the right pressure to make your knees buckle.

You cried out, a high pitched and desperate sound as one hand fisted in his hair while the other braced against damp stone wall behind you. You wanted him. You wanted all of him. Anything he’d give you, you’d take in a heartbeat. The wind continued to howl around you, drowning out your noises, rain slashing sideways onto your faces — but neither of you cared.

All that existed was Tom’s mouth devouring you like ripe fruit offered to a god — the wet sounds obscene as he sucked at your clit between sharp nips of his teeth — a low growl vibrating from his chest and against your folds, sending shocks through the sensitive flesh every time another whimper escaped your lips.

Everything about this was borderline animalistic, something you never expected from Tom.

Tom.

Tom.

“Tom, Tom, Tom—!”

Your voice was a broken melody as you worshipped his name like it was the only word left in your world, dazed and drunk from the love potion’s magic. He was the only thought in your head. It confused you how you could love someone so much so suddenly. But you guess that’s what it meant to love someone so great. Each utterance of his name dripped with reverence, laced with the love potion’s haze and raw pleasure as his tongue worked magic between your thighs. And though he despised that name — Tom Marvolo Riddle — hearing it fall from your lips like this? Like you were praying to him?

It undid something in him. Tom reveled in it.

His eyes stayed locked on yours even as he feasted on you, dark pools of hunger and possession flashing with each clap of lightning outside. Rain slicked every inch of his face. His cheeks dusted faintly pink from exertion — but it hadn’t compared to how utterly wrecked you looked above him.

Fingers tightening further at your hip while the other curled under your thigh, lifting it effortlessly so he had a better angle. Tom was relentless. Every lick, every suck — each one was born to ruin you. His tongue dragged up your slick folds with agonizing slowness, the tip playing with your tiny clit just enough to make you whimper before pulling away completely and doing it again. And again; like he had all night.

It was just them, like it was always meant to be — the breeze whooshing around their bodies that were pressed together — and Tom was worshipping at the altar of your cunt like it truly was sacred ground only meant for him.

Tom groaned against you when you ground down harder onto his mouth, hips rocking helplessly as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. One hand shot out instinctively to brace against his shoulder while the other still clung desperately to his hair — pushing his face deeper without meaning to.

The vibrations of another low growl rumbled through his lips straight into your throbbing bundle of nerves. You were so close, rutting against his pretty face in tandem.

“Tom,” you whined pitifully. Tom knew. He always knew.

He could feel it, from the way your thighs tensed to how your breaths turned into frantic little gasps that dissolved into moans. From the moment you tilted your head back, baring that delicate throat to the sky, breaking eye contact with him although he knew it pained you to do so. Because all you ever wanted to do was look at him now.

Without breaking rhythm, his tongue circled your clit while two fingers suddenly pushed inside you without warning, long and deft, finding that spongy spot deep within instantly, filling you up deliciously.

“Tom— oh! Oh God—”

Tom smirked up at you. Your back arched off the wall while thighs shook around his invading hand. It burned, stretched you too fast — but god it was good, especially when Tom curled them upwards just right. He sucked hard on your puffy little nub and the combination of everything all at once was too much.

A scream tore from your throat, his name ripping out of you in a sob as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You didn’t even recognize your own voice.

Your back arched violently off the wall. Your hips jerked against Tom’s mouth and fingers like a delightful seizure as pleasure washed through every nerve ending in your body. You could see it behind closed eyelids — flashes of light, stars bursting across your vision just like he’d promised.

Tom didn’t stop.

He let you ride out your high, feeling every pulse of your pussy as you clenched tightly around his fingers, slurping gently now to prolong it while his digits kept pumping inside you at an achingly slow pace meant to wring every last drop of ecstasy from your trembling body. You let out a shaky breath, hands carding through Tom’s wet strands endearingly, the wet look making him look even more attractive.

From the rain or your juices, you didn’t know. All you could do was gasp for air and whisper his name again between shuddering gasps as Tom kept going until the last tremor had faded from your body, ignoring the strain in his trousers for now.

Only then did he finally pull his fingers free with a wet pop — lifting them to his lips and licking every drop of you clean without breaking eye contact. Your cheeks grew hotter, eyes glassy and dazed as you peered down at him, pupils dilated and practically the shape of hearts. His expression was pure sin, dark eyes heavy lidded and mouth glistening with your slick and cum.

“Delicious.”

You were still slumped against the wall, legs weak and breath ragged, completely wrecked.

But Tom was far from done with you.

In one fluid motion, he stood up — towering over you again before he yanked off his soaked cloak in one impatient tug. The fabric hit the wet floor with a heavy splash as rain dripped down every sculpted inch of him. His thick cock already painfully hard beneath his pants. Your gaze devoured him, tracking his bulge specifically as he begins to unbuckle his belt without breaking eye contact.

You barely had time to acknowledge how your back ended up on the cold stone floor, or how your clothing now lay torn in shreds, exposing your entire body to him — Tom looming over you like a predator about to claim its prize. His eyes looked wild and free. Your heart skipped a beat.

The cold stone bit into your bare skin but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off of Tom’s body when he blanketed yours, even when his clothes were soaked and you lay entirely bare in contrast before him. Rain pounded down harsher than before as he positioned himself between your thighs. His cock, his beautiful cock already glistening at the tip from precum, pulled out from between his zipper. It tapped against your soaked entrance before circling it almost teasingly. You don’t remember seeing him taking it out.

One hand gripped your hip tight while the other braced beside your head. Tom’s breath came ragged now too, control fraying at every second spent not inside you.

Tom didn’t give you time to overthink as his hand guided himself between your slick folds already swollen from his earlier attention. His mushroom tip pressed hot and heavy against your hole and you clenched involuntarily, eager to suck him in. It leaked precum onto your sensitive skin. So close. You could feel how big he was, thicker than your wrist, longer than expected — and a pit grew in your gut before it went away like it had never existed.

“Breathe,” he murmured, not unkindly. He must have sensed you were nervous. But, Tom was also impatient as he proceeded to press the tip inside without warning.

As his cock pushed in, stretching you impossibly wide — a groan, deep and guttural, was wrenched from his throat. You were tight. So tight it nearly stole his breath.

“Mmnn—”

You whimpered at the burn. Every inch of him was slowly sheathing itself in your slick heat, gooey walls fluttering around him like a heartbeat. Virgin cunt untouched until now. Until him.

His glorious cock speared into you further like a divine sword until he bottomed out inside you fully. Full. Your lips parted in a silent scream, brows furrowed and eyes fluttered shut. You never felt this good, this full, even though it stung a little in comparison, when you ate chocolate.

You were delirious, lost in your head. On top of you, Tom didn’t move again right away.

Couldn’t.

Just braced above you with trembling arms, your nails digging crescents into his pale skin, drawing a hiss that sounded unnatural for a human to make but it made you clench around him all the same. His forehead pressed to yours as rain dripped from his face onto yours like holy water. His hips twitched involuntarily — a shallow grind that dragged a whimper from your lips.

Then slowly. So. Fucking. Slowly. He pulled back, your head tilting as your eyes rolled back to your skull, toes curling, until just the tip remained before pressing in again.

Thunder and lightning clapped in your ears, splitting the sky in jagged bursts that lit your upturned face for a few seconds. The world above was chaos, black storm clouds swallowing the sky as the heavens raged. Rain hammered down mercilessly, turning the stone floor beneath you into a slick mirror. Your soaked hair splayed across the stone floor like a halo.

You stared up at that upside down horizon with hazy eyes, each thrust from Tom rocking your head back further against wet rock as he rutted into you.

And yet, all you could think about were those stars that you saw behind closed lids whenever pleasure crested too high — the ones only he had shown you.

You smiled dreamily.

Tom was right.

You had seen the stars tonight.

And they were beautiful.

His rough hands embraced your hips carefully while he plunged his thick cock between your wet folds, and as he moved his metal arm, shoving your face between all your classmates’ papers.

It was after classes. Not even one soul was around. It had been three weeks of you two pinning on each other with the thirst of a man in the desert. He was tired of having you in short dresses or skirts, deep cleavages that showed him enough skin that he could have reported you for misconduct.

But doing so would have deprived him of the opportunity of seeing that glistening skin of yours.

And oh, if he loved the skirts that rode on your thighs when you sat next to him in his office. How they would ride enough to show that clothed mound between your thighs when you bent yourself on the desk to reach for something.

He knew you were doing it on purpose. He knew you were provoking him, but he needed to be the responsible one there. He needed to take care of his reputation… but your parted legs with no more than a few centimeters of fabric covering them were inviting him to rail you from behind.

And he did.

That night, he got enough and shoved you down to make you take him in the mouth.

He didn’t even pull down his pants; he just unzipped himself and took that big pinkish, angry, and delicious shaft out of his pants and made you suck it as if your life depended on it. You took it ravenously, didn’t even complain, even when he thrusted a bit harder, making you gag on his cock.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” He mumbled in your ear while he groped your breast, purchasing some stead from the thrust he was inflicting.

“Yes, I can. Don’t stop, please, professor.” You whined, pushing your head back on his shoulder. He chuckled.

“Calling me ‘Professor’ when I’m balls deep in you, it’s interesting.”

You clenched at his voice and felt your legs get weaker.

“That’s good, sweetheart. You know I got you.”

When he finally let himself go, and his engorged dick spilled ropes of cum in your cunt you reached your peak—rolling your eyes back and with his flesh hand covering your mouth not to make any sound that could give you away.

Since then, everything changed. That desk in his office had seen you naked more times than your own bed. He loved to have you all naked in his office when he was still completely dressed. ‘Practical strategies’, he would say.

And you hated that he was right.

He was kneeling in front of you, your legs spread open with his head between them, his beard damp on your arousal, while your hand pulled him closer. Tongue delving between folds, while his hands stopped you from closing them. And then, a knock on his door.

“Bucky, are you busy?” Dr. Banner called from the other side of the door.

Dear lord. It had been years since he left university, and that nickname still haunted him even in his professional environment.

He grunted and stopped his ravishing moves, pulling you down under his desk, all your discarded clothing lying there next to you.

You always thought those old wooden desks in the classrooms must have been incredibly hot, with those three sides covering the entire desk.

And fuck, if you were right.

He stood up, wiping his face with a tissue while he walked to the door. Once he made sure you were well hidden and none of your personal belongings were visible, he opened his office door.

Your knees burned under the desk as Dr. Banner asked him about a paper he had done in the past.

When Dr. Banner finally left, you crawled out from under the desk and sat on his chair, caressing your aching knees.

“I think it’s time for us to go home.” You nodded.

He was reckless enough to fuck you in his office, but not dumb enough to know that this wouldn’t be the last visit he would be receiving in the night, and he wouldn’t risk being caught in something like this.

The first weeks of your rendezvous were more casual, late-night sex, blowing a steam. And then, they turned into something more. Something deeper, something you two longed for.

It didn’t really have a title. He always made sure to remind you that you two couldn’t have anything that could be named.

But when the test in front of you was showing a

“Pregnant: 3 — 4 weeks.”

You knew you were fucked up.

How were you supposed to do this?

This was supposed to be casual, no strings attached. This was supposed to be secret. Something that didn’t put all his hard work, earned title, and reputation in the University.

Not even your best friend, Yelena, knew about this.

He made you swear this would be like this.

But how could you keep it casual when he asked you to stay at his house for the night, when he told you the story behind his metal arm—how he had lost it serving the country as a sergeant.

And that’s how he ended up being a retired sergeant at the young age of twenty-seven, and was able to keep studying to become who he was then.

How to keep it casual when he had fucked you brainless with his dog tags bouncing between the mounds of your breasts?

You sat on the cold tiled floor of your bathroom, looking at the piece of plastic that was screaming at you how irresponsible you two had been. Letting him fuck you raw. Letting his breeding kinks speak instead of that voice behind your head that told you not to do it.

“Can I see you tonight at your house?”

“Picking you as soon as I finish my last lecture, sweetie.”

Always the gentleman he was. Never letting you knock on his door. Never letting you arrive on your own at his house.

When the clock struck 8:35, you heard that ding on your phone that told you he was waiting for you at the parking lot of your dorm.

The black car with tinted windows didn’t let you see that salt and pepper beard that drove you crazy. He opened the door from inside, and you sat immediately, fastening your belt, not saying much.

His woodsy scent brought you back to the present.

He was wearing that black shirt that, even when it was loose, let you see his broad body under it.

“You look tired tonight, sweetie.” He said, caressing your cheek.

“Haven’t slept well.” You admitted.

“Don’t you worry, we will sleep well today.” He placed his hand on your thigh and started driving his way home.

You sighed and nodded. The plastic buried in the depths of your purse weighed twice its size at that moment.

The ride back home was torture for you. Your mind couldn’t stop racing from the first moment you suspected to the last hour when you couldn’t stop watching the pregnancy test.

"When you finally got home, he was already bringing you flush to his body as soon as the door closed—for the first time in months, you felt claustrophobic. The enormous house he had felt like a shoe box at that moment.

“James— Can we—” you tilted your head, trying to ease your mind, “I just need to talk with you before we do anything else.”

His hands were already under your blouse, aiming to find their favorite spot. Your breasts.

He pecked the crook of your neck warily, like he needed to make up for all the minutes he spent busy in other endeavours.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’ve been missing you like crazy.” You bit your lip, and a tear started to well up in the corner of your eye.

He felt it as soon as it left your face and landed on his face. He furrowed as soon as he felt the wetness.

“Wow, let’s take a step back.” He turned you around and looked at you intently, “What the hell is going on that got you like this?”

He picked you up and made you straddle his waist while he walked with you in his arms until he found his couch.

He sat down with you still in his lap and made you look at him.

“What’s going on?”

You couldn’t stop crying, and a small hiccup left your throat as soon as you started to think again about explaining yourself. In his eyes, genuine worry could be seen—and even there, you couldn’t find the exact words.

“Do you need a minute?”

A nod was the only thing that you could do.

“Is this about school?” You shook your head.

“Got it… It’s about us?”

You sighed and nodded. Your answer took him aback.

“I… Did I do something wrong?”

“No…”

“Honey, I know you’re probably feeling a lot right now, but I need you to help me here. I can’t do anything if you don’t speak.”

You sighed and finally started searching for the thing that had gotten you like that—you took out the white-and-pink test and placed it on his hand.

He took what seemed like an eternity to comprehend what was in front of him.

“When… What…”

“I’ve been feeling weird the last few weeks, and I took the test just today…”

He sighed. He knew he couldn’t get mad at you. This was a conscious decision you both had taken one too many times, but the implications behind that test were almost a penance.

What would the board say if they knew that he was having illicit affairs with a student? How could this affect your credibility in front of other professors?

“Please… Say something…”

His hands grasped your hips carelessly.

“Honey… this…” He pursed his lips, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you not?”

He furrowed—and then your world started to fall apart.

You knew that face.

It was the same face he made every time something was making him anxious.

“It’s not that I’m not sure, but this is gonna affect your life. Honey, I’m old enough to be your father, being a father at my age is even considered late… but you? You are halfway through your degree… You’re only twenty-two.”

“I know… but…” His hand stroked your hair; he was trying to find some hesitation in your eyes. “We never wore anything… I thought it was something you wanted…”

“I want it! I really do… I just don’t want to ruin your plans…”

“You won’t… This is great… We could work it out…”

But you noticed his furrow didn’t go away.

“What?” Your voice cracked in the middle.

“Yes, we can work this out… but I want you to finish your degree—I want you to be someone…” You nodded, “And for that, it would be easier for me to find a different school than you for leaving…”

Your mouth fell to the floor. You knew what he meant.

“No. No… Everyone loves you, they are gonna understand… I’m… I can’t…” He shook his head.

“Understanding’s not the same as accepting—and people are gonna judge us very hard if we ever decide to make it public.”

“So?”

“Before the year ends, I’m gonna ask for a transfer… You’re gonna work triple hard not to stay behind when you eventually have to leave…” His eyes were calculating; you could see how his mind raced through all the possibilities.

“Now I’m the one who doesn’t want to ruin your entire career.” You mumbled—your teary eyes gave him an aching pain in his chest.

“You’re not ruining everything. Look at me. I’m one of the most solicited Professors. I know I’m gonna find something close and we will make it work. I promise.”

“This is gonna be problematic…” You grunted.

"It has been problematic since the day I kissed you in my office. It has been problematic since I succumbed to your short skirts…”

“Do you miss them?” You giggled.

“I love to see them here. I hated every time you wore them to school and all your idiotic classmates saw your long legs and drooled over you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Those skirts were only for you to lift them.”

“Well, sad for me, they are never going to know that I was the only one able to lift, rip, pull them down… And now I’m the one who’s honored to be the one who you’re gonna call husband…”

You scoffed a laugh, but his serious tone made you stop mid-laugh.

“Why do you think I’m joking? You’re not gonna be a single mother… I’m gonna marry you as soon as possible, you will take my last name, and you’re gonna be the prettiest pregnant bride.”

“Are you being serious now?”

He nodded, “I already messed this up, I’m gonna do the right thing now.”

“And what would be that exactly?”

"As I said, marrying you, making you finish school—giving you as many children as you want, working my ass off to give you the life you deserve. God, you’re gonna make me the happiest man in the world.” He sighed, tilting his head, “You’re gonna look so precious with that belly swollen with my babies…”

“Oh, you wanna keep me pregnant?” You teased.

“Of course I do. Seeing you full of me. That every single man that sees you notices you’re carrying my babies.”

“And where’s this coming from?”

“I always kept it hidden. Didn’t want to scare you. An old man like me asking a young girl like you to have my children?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“Well, now I’m sure I want it.” You looked down. Your barely showing belly between you two made him smile. He caressed it.

You giggled and nodded, but deep down, you noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You cupped his cheeks.

“Are you sure you want this?” He mumbled, “Look at you. You’re young, beautiful, a young promise… and I’m just a… veteran… with PTSD…. nothing you should have to deal with…”

A small scoff let your mouth, “James… We’ve slept together for… what? Almost a year? I’ve slept next to you… I’ve heard your worst nightmares, I don’t think that can scare me at this point.”

“Don’t you find it weird…” He looked at his metal arm.

“What? Your arm? God’s sake. Most of the time I don’t even remember it’s different…” You confessed.

“Don’t lie to me…”

“I’ll never lie about that…” You caressed both his shoulders, and then your hand traveled down his metal arm. "I just don’t care… If you don’t want to make it a big deal, it’s not a big deal…”

He twitched a smile. His hand traced paths on your cheek.

“And what are your parents gonna say?”

“Hey, you might have more common things with them than you think.” You smiled mischievously.

His mouth fell open in offense.

“Too soon?” You mumbled, and he shook his head.

“I deserve it.”

His hands were still roaming through your belly when his fingers traced down their path to the hem of your skirt.

“I just told you I’m pregnant and you’re already thinking ‘bout this?” He smiled, still looking down.

“Can you blame me? You’re my dream come true.”

His hands left your belly and traveled to your thighs, just below your ass cheeks, lifting you and straddling himself with your legs.

“Can I?” He mumbled in your ear, and you nodded slowly.

He took you to his room and put you down on his bed—he knelt in front of you and lifted your skirt. His hands kept your legs open in front of him. His thumbs traced paths on your inner thighs. You hated how delicious he looked in his suit, his salt and pepper beard bedecking his face, making him even hotter. He leaned over your slit and above your underwear, and he stroked a line with his tongue. Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your inner lip.

“Look at that mess…” He moved your underwear to the side and slid two fingers in your cunt, “Fuck… Look at it…”

“James…” You whimpered. “I’m too sensitive…”

“Is that so?” He kissed your bud and smiled, “I’m being careful…”

He distanced himself from your cunt, stood up, and knelt now in the bed. He was working his belt, looking at you, your legs were still hanging to his sides. He set free his cock and stroked himself in front of you.

“Imma be careful with you now… I don’t want to hurt you…” He slipped down your panties and towered over you. You could feel his tip kissing your entrance, drowning your feelings, making you whimper.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You cried out.

He stroked your slit with his tip, his metal hand found your breast, and he started groping it. The cold feeling made you whimper.

“You’re gonna look so pretty with these tits full of milk—leaking, swollen—Are you gonna let me help you if you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes, yes.” The voice in your lips was barely audible. Your thoughts were a complete mess. You could barely pay attention to his words while he teased your core with his dick.

You were feeling dizzy, and you didn’t even understand how you ended up there. With him spreading you open, working his cock on you, your legs cramping, and before you could even form a coherent thought, he sank into you—filling you up. Cock sliding slowly, his finger roaming under your bra, pinching your nipple, his eyes fixed on your face—pure lust showing on them.

“Are you gonna marry me?” He hoarsed. “Are you gonna be my perfect little wife?”

You nodded, without being able to form a sentence.

“I can’t tell what you’re saying, sweetheart.” He thrusted harder, “Are you gonna marry me?”

“I wanna marry you, James… I wanna marry you.”

“Good girl.” He husked. “You’re my good girl. You’re doing great…”

He thrusted, pulling down your bra, leaning over your exposed breasts, sucking on your nipple, lapping on it. The sound of skin on skin made the moment completely perfect.

“Come for me, babe. Come for me, make a mess on my cock. Remind me how perfect you’re to me.”

His finger circled your clit, making you come undone. Your voice trembled, and you giggled as the orgasm washed over you. His cock was twitching inside you, and his finger kept circling your already damped nipple. The difference in feeling between the cold and hot of both limbs got you all worked out.

“You didn’t even let me ride you before I came…” You panted out.

“I haven’t come yet.” He teased, “Do you wanna ride my cock, baby?”

You nodded, he slid out from you and lay down on the bed, you crawled up to him. Your legs on his sides, your damp core feeling all his clothes, leaving a wet spot on his fabric.

“Enjoy your last ride. ‘Cause after today I’m gonna put you down every day—you’re not gonna be riding my cock anymore, you’re not gonna get tired getting me off.” He scolded, and you pouted. “Don’t pout at me. I’m telling you I’m gonna make you a… how do y’all call it? A pillow princess…”

You snorted a laugh. “Don’t say that!”

“What?!” He seemed preoccupied, “Am I using it wrong?”

“No,” you chuckled, “You’re not… but… I don’t know how I feel listening to my professor telling me to be a ‘Pillow Princess’.” You frowned.

“Oh, but you don’t feel weird having your professor’s dick fucking you? And you don’t feel weird carrying your professor’s baby?” He lifted you and teased your slit again with his tip.

“Shut up!” You worriedly answer.

“Just ride me, sweetheart.” He scoffed a laugh, “Let me look at you like this for the last time.”

You nodded and sank on his cock, feeling the throbbing cock—you felt every vein on it, the tip bullying your cervix as you bounced on him. His hands held you steady by your hips, jerking you on his shaft. He noticed how your movements were becoming relentless, and he chuckled.

“Are you getting tired?” You nodded, “C’mere.” He tucked you on his chest, heaving his hips, pounding on you—fucking you, reaching your second orgasm.

His thrust became faster until he grunted, releasing his warm ropes of cum into you. You were boneless on top of him. “And that’s why we are in this situation, James.”

“You can’t get any more pregnant.” He mumbled in your ear, almost dozing off, “Have some sleep, honey. We’ve got a lot of things to do after tonight.”

“James…” You said almost falling asleep. He hummed in response. “I love you…”

He smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you too, honey. You’re gonna be the greatest mom ever.”

The walk from the coffee shop to the hospital wasn’t far, just a few blocks down, but you took your time.

The summer sun warmed the tops of your shoulders, the condensation around your iced matcha cooling in your grip. You could hear the last bits of ice sloshing around, already starting to melt only ten feet out into the hot July weather. The girl behind the counter had actually gotten your name right, written in looping marker, a little heart next to it that made you smile.

Pittsburgh bustled on around you, a passing ambulance wailing catching your attention as you walked toward the same destination, the sound rising and falling as it pushed through the intersection ahead. The hospital came into view at the end of the next block, glass doors sliding open and shut, people filtering in and out in small numbers.

Hopefully it was an easy day for them, but you knew better than to say that out loud in fear of jinxing the last half of the shift.

You stepped into the street at the white striped pedestrian crosswalk, adjusting your hold on the cold cup in your hands as you took another sip, the drink cutting through the blazing summer heat. And as you came to step up onto the curb on the other side, you heard the sound of screeching tires.

A truck suddenly pulled up to your right, jumping the curb as the front wheel bumping hard against the concrete when it came to a stop, engine still running. The driver’s side door flew open so fast it bounced once on its hinge.

"Help!!!" a woman screeched, blood on her jeans and across her shirt. Her voice was shrill, panicked: "I need help, please—I don’t know what happened! She was working on my farm, and I—please!"

The cup slipped from your hand, hitting the ground behind you with a hollow plastic crack, liquid spilling out and running toward the curb, green bleeding into the gray. You were already moving, your shoes slapping hard against the pavement as you ran to the passenger side, your hand fumbling on the handle before you yanked it open.

Your brain sort of…stalled for a second as you looked in.

A woman sat slumped in the front seat, her body angled awkwardly against the console, blood soaking through her shirt, her entire right side drenched in it, dark and wet and still spreading. Where her shoulder should have been—

It didn’t register at first. She looked like a realistic mannequin. A costume with fake blood from the Halloween store. It just…it looked… Just wrong. Just—

Your eyes dropped to her lap, and again, your brain was having trouble matching reality to logic. An arm, pale, unmoving, manicured pink fingernails. Not a prop or something from a costume set.

Her arm.

You looked her over, her head tipped back against the seat, her mouth parted, her skin pale and damp.

"Ma'am?" you squeaked, fingers going straight to her carotid, and you felt a very thin, thready pulse. You turned to the driver, "Go get someone from inside!"

You didn’t wait to see if she listened.

Moving without thinking, you set the arm carefully down on the passenger side floor so it wouldn’t fall, hands already going to your own shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one quick motion, leaving you in your bralette and cutoffs, the fabric bunching in your fists as you folded it over itself.

In any situation where someone is bleeding profusely and you don't have a tourniquet, you always apply pressure. Whether its with your hands, with your shirt off your back, doesn't matter. Pressure. Always remember pressure. Memories of Jack Abbott teaching you life saving first aid one day when his shift was less eventful and he had sat with you in the lounge over a cup of coffee. You're gonna want to look and see if it's stopped bleeding—don't. You'll only lose whatever clot you'd created with the pressure. Constant pressure, it could save someone's life one day.

You pressed your shirt hard against what was left of her shoulder, your hands slipping immediately, the blood soaking through the cotton quickly, warm and slick as you leaned your weight into it.

“What's your name?” you asked loudly closer, trying to keep her there, your forearms already starting to shake with the force of it. You brought your hand to her sternum, trying to see if she'd react to pain. She let out a little moan. “You're okay, you're gonna be okay. Open your eyes!”

Your own gaze lifted, distracted by movement on the other side of the car. Instead of the driver doing what you'd asked, she had already slid back into the car on the other side, "I have to go. I can't. I'm sorry." she began to say, as you shifted your arm around the hurt woman’s back and pulled her out of the passenger seat. You felt one of her shoes catch on the lip of the door, readjusting her full weight into you as you stumbled back a step to keep from going down with her.

Once she was out of the car, you leaned in to grab her arm, but suddenly, the car was moving.

“Hey!” you shouted or gasped or screamed, you couldn't remember. You had one arm around the bleeding woman, the other reaching into the vehicle just in time to grab her disconnected limb. And just like that, the car jerked forward, the open door slamming shut as it pulled away from the curb.

“Shit, shit shit—hey! I need help!” you yelled, throat scraping a little at the panic in your voice. You turned toward the hospital doors, people already starting to notice. Thankfully, Ahmad the security guard saw you and he was next to you in seconds.

"What the fuck!?"

"They just—they left her, oh my god—" you panted, the smell of the fresh blood flooding your senses.

Ahmad called into his walkie for help, and soon a gurney was coming around the corner from the ambulance bay, and a group of nurses and— to your surprise, Robby— came to your help.

"Jesus—" Robby cursed under his breath, grabbing you by the arms to pull you upright and out of the way as they took the woman from your hold and placed her on the gurney. His worried eyes scanned over you, squeezing your arms, checking you over as you stood shirtless on the side of the road. His eyes soon snapped to the patient—Jesse had stepped in immediately, his hand replacing yours at the woman’s shoulder, pressing down hard on the blood-soaked shirt.

“Proximal traumatic amputation—left shoulder,” he called out as the team walked together, “Massive bleed—checking her pressure now. Weak carotid, probably going to need blood.”

Robby was leading you inside with everyone, a hand at your back to keep you walking. The cool blast of AC hit you as the doors opened. "Alright, get her in a room, Dana, what's available?!"

"Trauma one!" She shouted from the charge nurse desk, pointing

The entire team turned on the dot.

“Someone grab the arm—careful—don’t lose it,” Robby barked as they cleared the doorway. “Mel’s on EFAST. I want MTP activated—blood in the room now. Get a saline flush going on that leg. Move!”

He turned to you once she disappeared into a trauma room, catching your arm to stop you just outside the doors. "What the hell happened?"

"I—" you swallowed hard, your hands shaking, blood still slick across your fingers, and your vision began to blur. "Oh god—"

His hands covered yours, hiding them from your view, "Are you hurt?"

"No—no," you said quickly, shaking your head hard. "I'm fine, uh—she—she was dropped off. On the curb! I just happened to be there. She—the lady who was driving said it happened at her farm and—and then, Robby, she just drove off!"

"Okay. Okay, thank you, honey. We've got it from here." he said, the edge gone from his voice now, grounding for you even as your ears started to hum and as his attention kept pulling back toward the room. "Do you want to go sit down and—"

You shook your head, eyes widening. "No, no—please, can I stay with you?"

He hesitated for a second, eyes flicking through the trauma room doors again, then back to you, then down at your hands in his.

"You sure?" he asked.

You nodded.

He gave a short nod back and guided you in with him, his hand pressing once at your back as the doors swung open.

Noise hit you all at once—monitors beeping, voices overlapping, orders being called out and answered, someone already on the phone with surgery, the room moving fast around the woman on the bed. You watched on, Robby setting you in the corner, grabbing sterile gloves and beginning to say something—but your ears were ringing louder and louder.

His eyes flickered over to you between his questions and orders once in a while, arms crossed tightly around his chest. Your lungs were beginning to feel shallow, not enough air being pulled in. God, there was too much blood, it was all making you dizzy, the smell and the sticky feeling on your fingers putting you right back in this same room years earlier. Suddenly your vision swam and it wasn't the woman from the road in the bed, but your parents, breathing tubes down their throats as everyone yelled and scrambled to save their lives, leaving you pushed in the corner as you watched on.

The door to your left swung open, a couple heads glancing up before dropping right back to what they were doing. A young man stepped in, clean scrubs, badge swinging against his chest as he moved uncertainly into the room, hovering like he didn’t know where to stand before drifting closer to the bed.

"Ortho consult?" he said loudly over the space so that you could hear him even over the buzzing between your ears.

No one answered him right away, but made room for him to take a look at the woman's shoulder.

“Time of injury?” he asked, glancing around, then back at the shoulder. “Do we have the limb? Was it preserved? I need to get a photo for Park—”

Robby looked up, "He couldn't come down?"

"Busy upstairs with a crush injury—" he said quickly, pulling his phone from his pocket, thumb swiping across the screen, "I only started yesterday as a resident, can't say for myself—." he said, looking closer at the open wound.

Robby let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head as his arms crossed tighter over his chest. "Jesus…"

As the new resident leaned down to snap a photo of the amputation, he smirked up at you.

"Hey, shark bait."

You barely heard him, but you did see Robby's head snap up from across the room.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

He faltered, already shrinking under it. "I just—you know—her and Brendon—"

Robby's lip curled as he jerked his chin toward the door. "Get out."

The resident didn’t move.

"Now," Robby snapped, voice suddenly very sharp and very scary. "Go upstairs, find Dr. Park, and tell him exactly what you just said. Word for word. Then you will tell him to send me a grown up who knows how to keep their mouth shut and actually knows what the fuck to do."

The resident turned, snapping another quick picture before shoving his phone away and getting out.

Robby stood there staring at the closed doors, shoulders tight. Then he let out another long exhale through his nose, and turned back to the room.

"Alright, let’s go people, once we get her stable she can go upstairs," he said, already back in the zone, each instruction coming out with a little less patience as everyone worked to get the woman stable. Whitaker had already taken her arm, setting it into a metal basin, saline sloshing as he flushed through it, hands moving fast but careful as he explained every step to his posse of med students.

Robby was on the move again, circling behind his team. He held his hands up to not brush any residents and nurses as he cut across the room, and then he was in front of you.

The snap of his gloves came first, latex pulling tight before he stripped them off, dropping them into the bin without looking. His hands were warm when they closed around your arms, thumbs pressing in to get your attention.

His face swam in and out of your vision.

"Honey," he said, voice cracking a little as he leaned down to your eye level. "I don't think you should be in here. We got this. Go find Dana, okay?"

You nodded, or, at least, tried to. Your fingers still curled into yourself as you swallowed thickly, the smell of iron flooding your senses.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, leaning out into the hall. "Princess, where the hell is Dana?"

"Outside for a smoke!" she yelled from the main desk. And once her eyes landed on you, they widened, and she hurried over. "You okay?"

You nodded again, this time a little stronger, your breath coming a little easier with the door open, the smell easing off.

She stepped in close, one arm coming around your shoulders, steadying you. Robby said something low to her and she nodded, already guiding you away from the fray.

"C’mon, let’s wash your hands," she said, her voice softer now as she guided you down the hall, her hand staying at your back, keeping you moving when your steps slowed.

She brought you to the sink in the room, reaching past you to turn the handle, letting the water run until it warmed before pulling your hands gently under the stream. The sensor clicked, soap dispensing into your palms, and she worked it in carefully, her fingers moving over yours, between them, over your wrists, rinsing away what had already started to dry there. The only sounds were the running water and the buzzing in your head, though you were starting to be able to breathe better without all the machines around.

She rinsed your hands clean, then reached for paper towels, patting them dry and then guided you to the plastic chairs in the middle of the room. She filled a small paper cup from the sink and brought it to you.

You realized then she'd brought you to the lounge. It was quieter in here. It didn't smell like blood, but of someone's salty ramen that was heated up in the microwave, the machine beeping its reminder to whoever forgot it.

Princess had brought over a container of baby wipes, and began pulling them out to wipe your face, your neck. Each one came away with so much blood on it you didn't know what to do. She was crouched in front of you, setting the cup down on the round table, her deep, dark eyes on your face. "You’re alright," she said, quieter now. "Just need a minute. Everything’s okay. You’re here. It’s Wednesday, five in the evening, July 30th, 2025. You’re alright. Breathe."

July 30th, not March 4th. Everything was okay. You weren't here to await the prognosis on your parents lives, but here to see Robby. Robby, you're...friend? What was he? He was your rock, your…your…

You breathed in deeply, your tremors starting to settle. Princess nudged the cup closer, and you took it, fingers wrapping around the thin plastic, cool water sliding down your throat.

The door opened abruptly, and though you thought you'd see Robby come back to check on you, but it was another familiar face.

Brendon Park.

He filled the doorway, broad and stoic and intense.

"Leave." he said shortly to Princess. She rolled her eyes and dropped the last wipe she'd been cleaning your shoulder with onto the table. She quickly glanced at you with an eyebrow raised, and you said a small thank you before she walked out the door.

His sharp eyes watched her, towering over her small stature as she slid past him and out the door. He shut it behind her, and finally looked over to you.

He was across the room in two wide steps, closing the space quickly, lowering himself in front of you. One knee hitting the tile, bringing himself level with where you sat.

"Hey," he said, so differently from his razor sharp dismissal of the nurse, his hands coming up to soothe your thighs. "Hey, look at me, bunny."

Bunny. The nickname Brendon had for you, because of how wide your eyes would get the first time he made it clear he wanted you. Intimidating, terrifying, and yet…you’d come to learn that beneath that piercing, narrowed gaze and that massive, unshakable ego, he was soft in the places no one else ever got to see.

"Did you—did you check on the patient yet?" you asked, your voice catching a little as you wiped at your eyes, fingertips coming away damp. You hadn't realized you'd been crying.

He caught your hand before you could drop it, turning it in his, holding it between his palms. His touch was anchoring, and he brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your knuckles. You caught a flash of the pink spiral bracelet he had on his left wrist.

"Not yet, but she's stable. I wanted to check on you…Heard you found her."

You nodded, chin wobbling.

"You were so brave, bunny." He pressed another kiss to your knuckles, slower this time, his thumb brushing once along the side of your thumb. "My resident, on the other hand, told me he was kicked out of the trauma room. What exactly did he say to you?"

The question pulled you out of wherever your brain had gone in the past twenty minutes, just enough to let a small flicker of amusement break through, like a light in the darkness, as Robby’s face came back to you.

"He called me shark bait," you said, a half smile tugging at your mouth, though it came off as more of a grimace. "You should’ve seen Robby—"

"Robinavitch is going to look like a saint once I get a hold of that fucking kid."

The way his voice dropped predatorily gave you a shiver.

"Brendon—"

He kissed your knuckles again, cutting you off, his grip steadying you where you sat.

"Be a good girl and wait for me, okay?" he said, his eyes holding yours, making sure you were actually listening. "I’ll handle that prick and come find you again later. Gotta save this lady’s arm. Could be in surgery a while."

You nodded. "Thank you…for…" you sighed, shaking your head and looking away, "I don't know."

He stood, letting your hands slip from his, but his touch didn’t leave you. His palm came up to your jaw, tipping your head back to look up at him. You followed the movement, craning your neck and taking him in: broad shoulders, slicked-back hair, his scrubs pulling tight across his chest and arms.

His thumb traced over your bottom lip as he said, "You're welcome, bunny."

Eventually, Princess came into check on you with Dana at her side, as if she had needed back up in case Brendon was still circling the room. They moved you down the hall to a quiet room, handed you a change of clothes and stayed just long enough to make sure you were steady before they went back to their duties. The door clicked shut and the noise felt like it dropped off all at once.

You sat for a little while, hands in your lap, and you could swear there were bits of blood beneath your fingernails even though Princess had scrubbed you clean. It was just the feeling, the memory of it. You flexed your fingers, reminding yourself it was the here and now, that you were okay. You felt silly, a little selfish thinking of your own memories instead of the woman going into surgery. You prayed she'd get her arm back.

You swallowed, shoulders tight, breath evening out slow through your nose. She was here, she was stable, and getting the help she needed. That was all that mattered.

The door opened again before you could sit with it any longer.

Robby came in, his eyes tight and brows thick with threaded worry, striding to the bed quickly and pulling you up into him like he needed to feel you against him. You went easily, arms sliding around his middle, your cheek finding his chest, and let him rock you where you stood, the sway of it doing something quiet to your nerves that hadn’t quite settled since the trauma room.

"How are you?" he sighed into your hair, his hold tightening like he meant it. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

You pressed your face in a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, warm against your skin, familiar in a way that had your throat stinging again. "S'okay, I'm okay," you murmured, your voice still a little frayed at the edges.

You pulled back to look at him, hands bunching the back of his hoodie, holding tightly onto him.

"Honestly I'm…" you sniffled, trying to catch yourself before you really started to cry, "I'm glad I was there when I was. What if that lady just…left her on the side of the road or something?"

Robby was looking at you in that way he got sometimes, something thick behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite pin down, pride and worry and something softer tangled up together, his mouth pulling into a small, tight smile.

"I'm so proud of you, honey," he said, voice gentler now, the edge of it worn down. "You took such good care of her before we got there. And… the fact that you're worried about her and not the memory of... It makes your old man real proud is all."

You gave him a small smile. "You're so sappy today."

"You make me sappy," he said, a soft, breathy laugh slipping out of him, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose like he needed a second to collect himself. When he looked back at you, it was steadier, more like him again. "If you want to go home, McKay is heading out early, she could take you and—"

"No, it's okay," you cut in gently, shaking your head, the idea of leaving so soon not sitting right with you just yet. You didn't want to be all alone when your nervous system caught up to you, if the memories flooded again and no one was there.

"I told Brendon I'd wait for him."

"Oh, it's Brendon's turn is it?" he smirked, his hands giving your arms a small squeeze. It felt good to fall back into this, it felt like solid ground.

"He came to check on me." you said gently, remembering him in the lounge, "it was really sweet."

"Can't say that's the first word that comes to most people's minds when they think of Dr. Park—"

Your fingers slipped under his hoodie to pinch at his back, earning a quick huff of a laugh out of him.

"He is very sweet, actually. He's just… ya know, shy about it."

You knew it sounded ridiculous the second you said it, but you meant it anyway, thinking of the way he’d looked at you, held you, spoke to you.

"Oh, shy is actually the furthest from what that man is!" Robby laughed, louder now, shaking his head.

You smiled, a little wider this time, and then it softened again on its own, your thoughts circling back, something nudging your mind. There was a flicker of hesitation there, something you couldn’t quite ignore now that you’d brought the conversation back to what you'd come for all along.

"Is…that okay with you?" you asked, the question coming out slowly, your fingers still hooked in his hoodie. "If he comes in to see me?"

You weren’t even sure what you were asking for exactly— permission, reassurance, some kind of line you hadn’t crossed yet?—but there was an uncertainty in your stomach, of needing to make sure.

"Anything you want, honey," he said, and there was no hesitation in it, just that same steadiness he always gave you. "Do I need to check on you?"

Heat rushed up your neck, settling hot in your cheeks, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your gaze dropped. Your body knew what that meant before your brain caught up.

You nodded, almost automatically. "Part of the deal, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, quieter now, something thick and low threading through his voice as he looked at you, "yes it is. Why don't you tell me your plans for Dr. Park today?"

Your head tipped back a little in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"Of course I do." His voice dropped further, almost a whisper now as he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel his breath move across your lips. "I like to know what my girl gets up to with my staff."

"Technically Brendon isn't on your staff, Dr. Robinavitch…"

That smile pulled across his face, sharper, more of a leer than genuine joy. "Humor me."

You were a little confused, but when had Robby ever given you a reason not to humor this thing you'd created? He was always so open with sharing his ideas with you, his fantasies, his wants and needs and curiosities. It made the two of you a good match, after all. You were eager to fulfill all of them and he was more and more open each time you did. It was like peeling back layers of a person, under their mask, under their outward-facing humanity, and seeing the deepest, darkest parts, and taking him by the hand, letting him lead you through it to the other side.

"I think…" you murmured, your hands sliding up around his neck, fingers brushing along the sweat at his hairline. "I think I want to make him feel good. I just need…to turn my brain off and just…"

The word stalled somewhere behind your teeth, making you feel suddenly very shy.

His arms were wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you up on your toes so you were flush against him, hips to hips, your chest pressing up into his. "…Yes?"

"I really want to…" your eyes lowered, and your voice was hardly a whisper when you said, "suck his dick…"

"What was that now?" he asked, turning his head as if he couldn't hear you right, so that his ear was right at your lips.

"Robbyyy…" you whined, tipping your head back in half frustration, half nervousness.

He pulled you against him even harder, and you suddenly realized the prodding against your belly was his cock, covered by layers of fabric but still pushing into you, throbbing. Your breath caught in your lungs, belly flipping and sending a rush of heat through your spine.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you. Use your words.”

"I want to suck Brendon's dick." you admitted, holding your breath.

Robby hummed, satisfied, and leaned down to kiss you. "What a good girl," he murmured against your mouth before his tongue pushed in, cutting off anything else you might’ve said. The kiss went deep fast, messy, hungry, pulling a desperate little squeak from you as he bent over your frame. As you tipped back, your leg lifted to balance yourself, and he used it, hiking over his hip and guiding you back until the edge of the hospital bed was at your back and he was lifting you across it.

"You drive me fucking crazy sometimes, you know?" he moaned, his kisses growing sloppier by the second. Your moans were climbing higher in octave as he drove his covered member into the crook of your lap, harder and harder, pushing you deep into the thin mattress.

"Fuck, Robby, please—"

"Let me see your mouth—" he demanded, pulling back just to look at you, "gotta make sure you're ready for Dr. Park, don't I?"

You opened it with a little smile.

"Stick your tongue out."

You did as you were bid.

His expression shifted, something darker settling in as he looked at you like that, stretched out on the hospital bed, compliant, waiting. You could feel the way your body reacted to it, the way your pulse picked up in your chest.

He grabbed a glove from the dispenser, snapping it on quick, and then his fingers were at your mouth, pushing in without hesitation. At the same time, his hips pressed harder into you, making you moan desperately.

"Gooood girl…" he murmured. "Gonna go deeper now, let’s see if you can take it."

You focused on your breathing, slow through your nose, your body adjusting around him, letting him guide you. When you tried to close your mouth, he pulled back fast, tapping your tongue in warning.

"Keep your tongue out." he said roughly.

"Yes, sir," you answered, the words muffled but automatic, your tongue back where he wanted it.

He pushed further this time, testing and watching you closely. You caught the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his pupils widened as they locked on you.

"What a good girl, not even gagging when I have my hand down your throat." his beard twitched as a smile pulled from his lips, "what if I—"

He pushed in a third finger, your lips stretching around his gloved digits. Your eyes began rolling back at the feeling of him invading your mouth, his cock begging to be let out to give what you needed. You locked your ankles around his lower back, bringing him even closer.

Suddenly your throat constricted when his fingers pushed a little too hard on your gag reflex, and he let out a wrecked groan, pulling his hand from your mouth in a flash and replacing it with his tongue again.

He couldn't seem to help himself today. Usually he was good about checking you over and going about his business, waiting until he was home to have his fun. But today he couldn't stop kissing you. And he was kissing you hungrily. They were wet and sloppy and all you could do was respond in equal fervor, trying to keep up with his abrupt eagerness.

"Fuck, I love kissing you," he groaned, his mouth still pressing into yours between words. "Such a perfect girl… so good to me. Gonna take such good care of Park, aren’t you, honey?"

"Yes, Robby," you moaned as he dragged his covered cock up into you again and again.

"And tonight, when we get home, I want you to be on my bed, naked, and I'm going to—"

"Robby!" a voice came from the door, following by a few quick, hard knocks.

Dana.

He groaned under his breath, shoulders dropping, and then he was moving, pulling back, helping you sit up like nothing had happened even though your body was still humming with heat and your heart still thrummed in your chest.

"Yeah, come in," he said, already sounding like himself again once he cleared his throat. He didn't face away from you, just waited to hear her come in over his shoulder.

Dana stepped in quick. "Got an incoming trauma at the backdoor." Her eyes flicked to you, apology plain there before she added, "MVC."

MVC. Motorized vehicle collision.

Suddenly all the heat from your body drained out at once.

"Okay," he said, pushing his hands into his face, dragging them down until he sighed and added:. "I'm coming."

She nodded, and shut the door behind him.

Robby looked back down at you, a little sad in his eyes.

"I'm sorry—"

"It's okay, of course," you said quickly, understanding and a little breathless. You plastered on a smile as much as you didn't feel its effects, and added: "Go save lives."

He bent down, kissing you for longer than absolutely necessary, and then pulled away with a whispered, "To be continued. I'll let Dr. Park know you're in here."

You nodded, humming as you licked your lips. "Bye."

Robby looked over his shoulder at you as he got to the door, "Bye, honey."

It didn't take too long for Brendon to find you, to hold you, to talk to you about the day you'd had. He spent a long time just sitting next to you. He'd stayed like that for a while, his hand at your back, massaging in circles while he listened. It was something you wished everyone got to see, though… selfishly, there was another part of you that thought it was sweet that he was only like this with you. Besides, you knew he wasn't always sweet or gentle. He was good about knowing when to give it to you just how you liked it.

And it definitely didn't take long after you told him what you'd wanted to do to him that both of your clothes were discarded into the corner and he was pushing himself down your throat.

"That's it," Brendon sighed, "turn off that pretty little brain of yours and take it."

It was actually working. Your brain felt fuzzy in the most intoxicating way, senses filling with the smell of musk and his cologne—something like evergreen and citrus with expensive clean essence. You couldn't help the way your eyes slipped shut as it settled over you.

The sounds, stacking on top of each other until they were all you could hear, were like a symphony orchestra that lulled you. It was the deep, throaty pull of his breathing, the rough noises he let out without thinking, the wet, obscene suction of your mouth, and rhythmic contact of his balls against your chin.

It began to pull you under, your mind drifting, going quiet.

His hands moved to the back of your head, gentler than anything else about him, and you opened your eyes, looking up.

"I got you," he murmured, voice lower now, closer. "Gonna get this out of your way."

He pulled you down his member, slick with your saliva, to get you closer, your throat contracting around the invasion of the thick, mushroom-shaped tip. He was so thick it had your lips stretching, your jaw feeling like it needed to unhinge just to take him fully. You breathed through your nose, eyes only able to see the beautifully cut V of his hips as he held you in place.

"Stay right there, bunny."

His fingers worked through your hair with a gentleness that didn’t match the rest of him, the most intimidating doctor of the OR, with his sharp gaze on you. He gathered the strands back, keeping it off your face. The pink spiral tie slipped from his wrist, stretched between his fingers before he pulled your hair into place. He'd done it so many times to you before, with the concentration only a surgeon could have while he tied it off without causing any strain to you.

“Aren’t you gonna get made fun of for a pink hair tie on your wrist?”

He’d smirked, snapping the plastic lightly against his skin.

“I’d love to see them try.” There’d been a note of amusement in it when he looked at you knowingly. “Been a while since I’ve had a good fight.”

“People are gonna ask questions,” you’d sang in a knowing-tone, trying to match his playfulness even as you put your clothes back on from the side of the hospital bed. You'd only known him a few weeks then, only seen him in private once before this. He'd decided to carry a tie with him at work after your first encounter where your hair got in both of your faces, and stuck to you in sweaty strands.

He’d stepped in closer then, crowding your space without touching you, tall enough that you had to tilt your head back to keep his eyes, his glower sending shivers down your back.

"Let them, little bunny." he whispered, pushing your hair back behind your ear, "And I'll tell them the truth. That if they'd pay more attention to their own problems, maybe they'd get their cock sucked as good as I do. Only losers can't handle a pink hair tie on their wrist."

You'd laughed it off, but he'd meant it.

“Better,” he soothed, wrapping his hand around the ponytail he’d tied, lifting you back to pull you off him. You were left catching your breath, a thin line of spit still connecting you to him.

“Fuck—yeah,” he muttered, his other hand coming down to himself, fisting the head slowly at the top as he looked at you. His mouth parted, eyes fixed on your face in bliss.

"You're so cute like this, bunny," he moaned, "even cuter when my cock is in your mouth, don't you think?"

“Yes, Brendon,” you answered softly, breath still uneven and your lips parting again as his hand kept you in place, held open for him.

“Why don’t you go ahead and touch yourself,” he went on, a small smile pulling at his mouth. He traced your open lips with the tip of himself, coating your bottom lip in a trail of his precum and your own spit. “I can feel you fidgeting. She’s eager, isn’t she?”

You hesitated for a moment, rubbing your lips together uncertainly.

He leaned down then, pressing a brief kiss to your mouth. His voice quieter when he spoke. “What is it?”

"I—” you swallowed. “I need… permission.”

“To touch yourself?” he asked, a flicker of something amused passing through him. “I’m giving it to you. I want to watch.”

You shook your head, a small wriggle of embarrassment making your stomach flip. “I need it from…Robby.”

That got a laugh out of him, his thumb coming up to wipe at your bottom lip before he stood again. “Jesus… You two are...” he shook his head, not finishing the sentence.

His hand stayed on your hair, but he released himself to reach down into his pocket. He took out his pager, your eyes widening—

"What're you doing—"

“Robby? It’s Park.” His voice shifted back to his usual short-worded, clinical, controlled tone as he brought the device to his ear. “Yeah, she’s fine. She wants to ask you something.”

He held it out to your ear.

“Honey?” Robby’s voice came through, a little distorted. “Everything okay?”

"Hi, Robby, yes," you said, breathlessly, your skin hot with a little bit of shame as you eyed Brendon above you. His eyes had gone dark with arousal, his hand still at the back of your head. He swayed his hips so his cock touched your lips as you spoke. You kissed it gently.

"What do you need?" Robby asked.

"Ummm…" you said, then licked Brendon's tip when it prodded at your face again, then spoke again, "I was…wondering if I could touch myself."

"You—? Oh."

There was a moment of quiet on the line, and then you heard Robby's voice muttering something to someone away from the speaker, and a moment later he was back.

“You’re with him right now?”

Your throat tightened. “Yes.”

"Fuck," he breathed. "Let me hear it. Let me hear how good you take it, and then I give you permission. But honey —I hope you're ready to be up very late tonight."

"Yes, Robby." you said, goosebumps rising over your flesh.

You looked up at Brendon. “He wants to listen.”

He raised an eyebrow, something darkly curious flickering across his expression, but he nodded.

You leaned back in, your mouth finding Brendon's cock again and opening wide, tongue out flat to massage the underside. His breath left him in a long exhale, his hand tightening slightly where it held you, the phone kept close. You pushed yourself up and down onto his length, bobbing until you gagged on an especially rough thrust against your palette.

“That’s my girl—” Robby said, quieter now, like he was trying not to be overheard. “Okay, be good. I need to go. You can have one. Do you hear me?”

Brendon's hand was still around your hair, pushing you down onto him further. "Mhm", you muffled, half a choked moan.

The line went dead.

Brendon pulled the pager away, tossing it aside, his chest rising and falling heavier now, something in him sharpened by it all.

“Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered. He pushed himself back between your lips faster now, “Go on, now. Show me.”

Your hand moved tentatively down your body, until you pushed a finger under your panties and pressed into your center. You were an absolute mess. Sopping, slippery, your hand barely finding any friction where it met your clit. You moaned around his dick, the sound muffled, helpless.

His head flew back, Ah, ah, fuck— chest rising and falling breath catching, spilling out in uneven bursts. It filled your ears, core pulsing in time with it, like your body had locked onto his rhythm, gaining momentum towards the edge with every passing second.

You closed your eyes, letting him take the control he wanted, the control you wanted to give. He pushed his cock so far into your mouth your nose nearly touched the skin of his belly, and your throat began to convulse around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Bunny—I’m gonna—oh fuck,” his voice broke roughly, choking on a groan as he went on: “you take me so well… such a good girl… that’s it—keep touching that pretty pussy.”

All you could do was moan, your vision blurring, your body tightening as the feeling built. Your fingers moved faster, sloppier. Your throat jerked as your body began to tighten up.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching you, “I can feel it… you’re getting close, aren’t you?” His grip shifted, steady, insistent. “C’mon—come with me. Let me see what Robby gets to have, huh?”

That sent you over the edge. Your mouth fell open around him and he continued to fuck into your waiting, wet, wanting lips until he was pushing your head down so hard your nose finally did press into his navel, hot spend filling the back of your mouth.

"Swallow." he growled between moans, and you listened—barely tasting the salty tang of his release since he was so far down your throat.

When your hand came up to tap at his thigh, he eased back immediately, grip loosening, pulling away with a quiet breath. He adjusted himself back into his pants quickly, then dropped down in front of you, close again.

His hand came to your face, steadying you, and he kissed you—hard at first, then slower, taking his time as he licked the remnants of himself off your tongue.

Finally, as you caught your breath and he caught his, he pressed gentle, chaste kisses to your lips until your lips felt bruised.

"You—" he kissed you, "are—" another kiss, "—amazing—"

You giggled, sighing dreamily, bringing your hands to his hair. It was a little stiff from where he'd slicked it back, but the nape of it was beginning to soften from sweat. "Thank you for coming to see me. I had fun."

"Glad I could turn it around for you, Bunny." he said. His hand slipped behind your head, undoing the tie he’d put in, careful as he pulled it free and slipped it back onto his wrist. “Don’t wanna forget this—for next time.”

You smiled up at him as he stood above you, hiking his hands under your armpits, and raising you up to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?"

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m going home soon anyway. It’s almost eight—Robby’s probably done.”

“Does it ever…” he started, and then stopped, something changing in his expression when he looked at you. It was the most uncertain than you’d seen him before.

“What?”

He shrugged with those expansive shoulders, adjusting himself, buying a second. “If you were my girl, I wouldn’t be sharing. That’s all.” He paused. “You’re too perfect.”

"I'm no one's girlfriend." you replied, maybe a little sharply.

He looked at you for a second longer than he should have, something tightening in his eyes. It was like he was building up that persona he wore around the hospital. The Shark—with his dark, heavy brow and pinched face.

“Robby should be careful,” he said, quieter now.

“Why?” you asked, your mouth pulling into a frown as you watched him.

He sighed, stepping close to you, and bringing his thumb and forefinger to your chin before lifting your face to look up at him. For a second, you remembered how intimidating he could be as he stared down at you with that piercing gaze.

“Because one day someone’s going to slip up,” he said quietly, his voice dropping. “And you’re going to realize it’s a lot less about the sex than you think.”

You couldn’t tell what your face gave away. Your mind stalled, blank, but your stomach dipped, the words slamming heavier than anything else he could have said.

He dropped his hand from your face, eyes staying on you a moment longer before he turned, stopping at the door to look back once more.

"Have a good night, Bunny. It was good to see you."

The closer 7PM rolled around, the more you could barely keep yourself still.

You tried that yoga routine you'd wanted to try a hundred times, but kept missing whatever the instructor was saying. You tried reading but couldn't make any of the words stick to your brain, reading the same sentences three times over before putting it down on the coffee table. You made yourself some tea, took a shower—your everything shower—your entire skin care routine, and did a hair mask. Nothing could keep your mind from running through the guiltiest thoughts, how Robby might react when he got back from the hospital. You couldn't even keep dinner down. The leftovers sat mostly untouched in the bowl beside you, the sauce going cold while the clock on the stove clicked closer and closer toward shift change.

At 7:45PM, the front door opened.

You'd heard his long, tired sigh before you saw him, and placed yourself casually on the couch, flipping a page in the same book you'd barely absorbed earlier that day, legs tucked beneath you.

Robby appeared in the archway a second later, shrugging his backpack off onto the upholstered bench by the door before toeing off his shoes. He peeled the navy Figs top over his head as he walked, leaving himself in his gray long sleeve and those cargo pants he always wore to work. He looked exhausted.

He didn't say anything when he came over to the couch. He just dropped down beside you and pulled you into him immediately, one arm wrapping around your waist before he buried his face against your shoulder and let out another long exhale.

"Hey," you said softly, arms sliding around his shoulders as you leaned into him automatically. You kissed his temple. His hand tightened on you a little before tugging you over fully into his lap.

The position had the nerves in your stomach fluttering, remembering this exact seating in a Ford F-150 less than twelve hours ago.

Your hands moved to Robby’s face, thumbs brushing along his scruffy jaw as you looked down at him. He looked so tired that for a second you considered waiting until tomorrow. Maybe you'd let him shower or eat first. Get a good nights sleep first. But you promised, and you also just knew better.

"Michael…" you whispered, "I have to tell you something."

"So it's Michael today, hm?" he murmured, tilting his head up to kiss you gently on the mouth. One hand moved up your back slowly, resting there.

You sighed into his gentle kiss, hoping to god it wasn't your last. When you pulled away, about to bring your hands off his neck, his own hands reached up quickly, catching your wrists before you could get too far. He held them against his chest, brows pulling together immediately.

"What is it?" he asked very seriously. His brown eyes were fully focused on you now, all the exhaustion from a second ago suddenly honed onto your face, his hands warm around the boney joints of your wrists.

"I—" you started, and then stopped, pushing your lips together, thinking of the right words. "I got a ride home from Jack today…and…we…"

His head flinched back, blinking quickly like his brain was filling in the rest before you could even finish the confession.

"You and Jack what?" he asked, but there was already a steady drip of venom in the words. His jaw clenched hard beneath the beard, mouth pulling tight under his mustache as he stared up at you. You could practically see him piecing it together already, his eyes flicking over your face waiting for you to deny whatever conclusion he'd jumped to.

"I'm sorry, Michael." you said, clenching your fists uselessly, "we were just talking—and then—he kissed me and we—" you shut your eyes tightly, "I slept with him."

Robby slowly released your wrists from his hold, and your hands felt cold from the sudden loss of his touch. He leaned his head back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Your hands went to his shoulders, pawing at him, fisting the gray undershirt in your fingers.

"I'm sorry—" you pleaded again, hearing your voice start to shake. "I'm so sorry, I should've asked you, I know but—"

He sat up suddenly, forcing you off his lap in the process. The movement wasn't rough exactly, but there was nothing gentle in it either. Barely any touch at all.

Then he stood, and started pacing the room.

You watched him walk past the coffee table, one hand dragging over his mouth, then the back of his neck, then down to his hip before he turned again. His socks made almost no sound against the hardwood, the TV reflecting every move faintly across the dark windows behind him. He paced around in front of you for a few minutes. You felt helpless, just watching, waiting.

"Michael—"

He shook his head, lifting his finger to silence you, eyes squeezing shut as he kept walking around.

He came to an abrupt halt, finally turning toward you. His hands came together in front of his mouth almost like he was praying, thumbs pressed hard against his lips before he dragged them downward and pointed them vaguely in your direction, like he was trying to force words out in the correct order and couldn't manage it.

"What exactly did you think was gonna happen here?" he asked.

"I—I don't know." you answered honestly, "I thought he was just going to take me home, and then he started talking about the arrangement, why he never gave in and then, it was just a fucking mess and—god, Michael, I'm so—"

"So you fucked him? He started saying sweet words and you slept with him? Where?"

You swallowed dryly. "It wasn't like that—"

"Where?" he snapped.

"Parking lot."

His eyes crinkled in a sort of sarcastic smile as he nodded, bringing his hands up to his face to drag down, sucking in a deep breath.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. "Jack."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Not really the point," he snapped.

You flinched at the tone.

He noticed immediately too. You saw it in the way his eyes squeezed shut for a second before he brought his hands to his neck, pulling at his shoulders before dropping them again—restless, agitated.

"Look at me and tell me honestly you thought this was okay."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Robby gave another short nod to himself, humorless. "Yeah."

"I know I crossed a line, and I'm so—"

"A line?" he repeated, finally looking at you fully now. "Honey, this whole thing only works because there are lines. Rules! Trust!"

You could tell he was trying very hard not to let his voice rise in octave, a sharpness to it, a forced quiet.

"I let a lot slide. Probably too much lately." He pointed vaguely toward you, frustrated. "Flirting, teasing, picking favorites. But this arrangement works because I know what's going on. I know who's touching you. I know you're safe. I know nobody's getting weird ideas in their fucking heads."

"He doesn't have weird ideas—"

"How the hell would you know?" he shot back immediately. "You think I haven't watched people in that department getting a little too attached lately?"

Robby laughed once through his nose and shook his head, walking again. "And him. Of all people."

"He was upset."

"Oh, don't do that." Robby pointed at you sharply. "Do not start defending Jack Abbot to me right now, because I swear to god that is gonna make this so much worse."

You looked down at your hands instantly. He stood there staring at you for a long second before speaking again, quieter this time.

"You know what the really shitty part is?" he asked, voice threaded with anguish and almost humor, as if it was laughable. "I came home just wanting you. That's it. Whole fucking day went to hell, a patient died on me because I didn't insist on getting her checked while her husband coded. We had more West Bridge reroutes, one of my interns passed out during a trauma, and all I wanted was to come home and hold onto you for five goddamn minutes, even after the conversation this morning."

Your eyes burned immediately.

"And instead I walk in here and find out you've been sneaking around behind my back."

"Michael—"

"Enough." His jaw tightened again. He looked at you then, tired more than angry now, which somehow hurt worse.

"You are the one good thing I had," he said plainly. "And now I just… how am I supposed to trust you?"

Your tears had begun to fall in earnest streaks down your face now, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He sighed, shaking his head, before turning away.

And one word rang in your head as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Had.

You were the one good thing he had.

The rest of the night, the following days… were some of your worst in a very long time.

Robby hadn't said much to you at all, his silence unbearable. That night, after the argument, he just said he needed some time to think, and the following days only gave you more time to think too. More time for your brain to chew itself apart.

He even started picking up extra shifts at the hospital, offering to take some of Al-Hashimi's workload, which left you alone in the house most of the time. You didn't go out much either. Part of it was because you barely wanted to be seen. Another part was because every dollar spent felt wrong now. It was Robby's money. Robby's house. Robby's groceries in the fridge. Robby's money that bought the expensive shampoo in the shower that needed a refill.

You felt awful— guilty. You didn't know what to do. You felt like you'd ruined something so good. Something built on the things you'd broken. Trust, understanding, connection. You didn't know what Robby was going to say, if he'd ever say anything, if things would ever go back to normal. If you'd have to move out and find somewhere to live, a job, make new friends. It was so overwhelming.

Your brain just wouldn't stop running.

You'd sit on the couch with an untouched coffee in your hands, staring through the sliding glass doors into the backyard while the steam slowly disappeared from the mug. The TV would be on and you wouldn't realize three episodes had passed because your mind had wandered somewhere else entirely. You'd wonder where you'd even put your clothes if he told you to leave. Whether you'd need boxes. Whether you still had your old suitcase somewhere. You'd wonder if you'd have to call somebody and then remember there really wasn't anybody to call.

Sometimes you thought about what Jack was up to. If maybe you should call him. But you also knew better. You wondered what it was like when the two of them saw each other when the shifts changed at the start and end of the day. Jack was one of Robby's closest people. He often said he didn't have friends, but that was a lie. Because Jack was one of his best friends. And you'd probably ruined that for him.

One morning a week later, you woke up to an empty bed again, and stared at the ceiling for an hour.

Your eyes burned as you thought about what your life had turned into. You'd woven it into Robby's in ways you hadn't even realized until he wasn't here. You used to walk into the kitchen and find him drinking his black coffee out of his I ❤️ Pittsburgh mug, hair a mess and plaid boxers askew as he read the morning paper. And now you'd wake up and reach your hand over the mattress, searching for his warmth before remembering he was sleeping in the guest room. You'd find yourself wanting to text him a funny part of the show you'd been binging, thinking he'd like it, wanting to save an episode til he got home, before remembering he probably didn't want to hear from you.

It hurt so badly.

Robby usually made things feel quieter in your head when things were hard. You never had to wonder where you stood with him before this. You never had to question if he wanted you. And when you weren't sure about something, he'd be there. He'd tell you where to sit for your evening binge of The Office, tell you what to add to the Instacart order while you sat beside him scrolling through recipes for the week, his hand rubbing slow circles against your thigh. Always soothing and sweet.

Half the time you didn't even realize there was anything other than this. You and him. How he was your assurance, your guide. How he knew what you needed even if you didn't. You remembered when he'd wander into the kitchen while you cooked and steal bites from the cutting board before nudging your hip with his and pointing toward the island stools because he'd already decided you'd done enough for the night. He'd slide a glass of water beside you because he'd noticed you hadn't touched yours in hours. He'd hand you one of his coziest, old collegiate sweatshirts before you even registered you were cold. He'd pull you into his lap when your leg started bouncing too much, fingers threading through your hair while he read over charts in the evenings, kissing the top of your head absentmindedly.

Tiny things that built and built until they became routine, until they became normal, until they settled into every corner of your life so completely that you'd stopped noticing them one by one.

And he wasn't even your boyfriend.

You needed to get out of bed. You needed to do something with yourself. All this moping, waiting, hoping, crying— it was getting to be too much. You were a grown fucking woman, after all. You'd made a mistake. You needed to get yourself together.

Because this was getting ridiculous.

You'd spent the last week moving between the bed and the couch and the kitchen and then back again, carrying your sadness around the house so much your body felt sluggish now. Heavy. Your eyes still had that swollen feeling from crying too much, your head dull from sleeping at weird hours and barely eating enough to count as meals.

You sat up and shoved the duvet off of yourself.

Pulling open your dresser and digging out some workout clothes, you threw on your cutest set. One you knew you'd feel good in. Or at least one you'd bought because Robby said you looked good in it and right now that felt close enough. You went into the bathroom, did your skincare, tied your hair back, brushed concealer beneath your eyes because you were tired of looking sad every time you caught yourself in the mirror. You threw on mascara, tinted lip balm, brushed your ornery eyebrows as best you could before heading back into the bedroom.

Looking around, you finally saw it all for what it was.

The water glass still sitting on the nightstand from three nights ago. One of Robby's sweatshirts hanging half off the dresser chair. Clothes piled on the floor. Moisturizer and makeup sitting open on the bedside table with a pile of tissues. The duvet was twisted up from days of crawling back into bed halfway through the afternoon.

You stared for a few seconds, and then turned and grabbed the hamper.

You pulled the sheets off and wrestled the duvet cover from the insert, getting tangled in the stupid thing halfway through and swearing under your breath before finally shoving it all into the washer. Then you got out your basket of cleaning supplies and kept going.

You swept. Scrubbed. Wiped down counters. Lit one of the candles sitting forgotten in the cabinet beneath the sink. You cleaned every inch of the apartment for the next few hours, your playlist blasting from your phone as you moved from room to room. The smell of lemon cleaner and laundry detergent slowly replaced the stale, shut in feeling that had settled over everything this past week.

And it helped.

A lot, actually.

For the first time in days your brain wasn't sprinting ahead of you. It only cared about what was directly in front of you: fold this towel, wipe down this counter, put this away. It felt like one of those corny montages in a movie where the girl finally gets her shit together.

Once the bedroom was looking refreshed with clean sheets and the comforter pulled smooth across the mattress, you blew out the candle you'd lit and headed out of the apartment.

And started to run.

Your lungs were burning by the time you'd made it a few blocks from the house.

God, it had been a while.

Not just the last week while you'd spent your time curled up on couches and under blankets feeling sorry for yourself. A long while. Before the accident, probably. Before your ex had started making little comments like: You really wear that out for a jog? Don't you think those shorts are a little much? You like people looking at you or something? Which then turned into him not wanting you to run at all.

Funny how things happened like that, how things changed so slowly you barely noticed them happening at all. Funny how easy it was to change yourself little by little until you looked up one day and realized you'd stopped doing things you used to love.

Robby had been the opposite.

Hell, the set you had on right now had been his choice. The memory flooded your minds' eye, of you standing in front of one of those giant Lululemon mirrors when he'd taken you shopping for a weekend away. You remembered tugging at the waistband and shifting your weight from foot to foot while you stared at yourself a little too hard. You remembered pulling lightly at the sports bra, uncertain about the way it sat against your chest, turning sideways and then back again.

Robby had been sitting outside the fitting room on one of those little upholstered benches, his arm extended across the back. He'd looked so pleased with himself as you walked out. Blushing and eyes alight with mirth. You missed that look on his face, it made you realize as your chest pulled tight. The way he'd look at you like that, all warm and entertained, like he'd stumbled into something good and still couldn't quite believe it was his. How he'd made you put on a fashion show in the hotel room when you'd gotten back of all the things he'd gotten you that day. The bliss of when all clothes were forgotten for the hours that followed.

Your sneakers slapped the pavement of the sidewalk while the late morning air filled your chest and scraped your throat. Your old running playlist that you never deleted blasted in your ears, the sky a pretty clear blue. Everything was so pretty today, even if you didn't feel the same. You looked around at the tall buildings reflecting the light of the sun, people bustling around on their lunch break, the world moving even if you felt like you'd been motionless for days.

You slowed a little as you approached the crosswalk ahead, coming to a stop at the corner and pressing the little crossing button with the heel of your hand. Your chest rose and fell hard now, sweat gathering beneath the band of your sports bra and sliding slowly down your spine.

You suddenly felt your phone vibrate in a quick, succinct alert in the waistband of your bottoms. With two fingers, you slid it from between your skin and the fabric, pulling it up to your face. You had to lift your other hand to shield the screen from the glare blinding your view.

Your stomach dropped. A text message appeared on your lock screen.

Jack Abbot: I think we should talk.

The little speaker beside you crackled to life. "Grant Street. Walk sign is on to cross Grant Street."

You barely heard it.

You didn't look up from your phone, staring at the text.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Your eyes stayed locked on the message while your brain immediately started spiraling ahead of you again, filling in spaces that didn't have answers yet. Had he talked to Robby? Did something happen?

You stepped out into the street to cross, and heard someone shout behind you through the muffle of your music in your ears. At first, you hardly registered it, filing it away as background noise of the city, until they were really shouting louder, close behind you.

"Watch out!"

Your head jerked up, and for a split second you didn't fully understand what you were looking at, but as you turned to the left, your eyes widened.

A bicyclist was coming straight toward you, moving fast enough that you could hear the tires humming against the pavement. His eyes had gone wide beneath his helmet, panic written all over his face as his hands yanked hard at the handlebars, trying to turn away from you.

Trying and…failing.

Because before you could react, the front tire slammed into your leg with enough force to knock your balance off its axis, something hard—a handlebar—driving sharply into your side and stealing the air from your lungs. Your phone went flying out of your hand as you fell, stomach lurching into your throat.

The sky tilted, world spinning as concrete rushed to meet you.

Fuck, that hurt.

You heard yourself groaning somewhere through the ringing in your ears while the world slowly blinked back into focus, sunlight too bright when your eyes finally cracked open. Your cheek was pressed against rough pavement, tiny grains digging into your skin.

As you brought your hand up to the bump forming on your head, you saw bright red staining your fingertips.

"Miss, are you okay?"

"What?" you murmured thickly.

You blinked hard and looked up. It was a man standing over you in a suit and tie, young, slicked back hair and clean shaved face, his brows pinched together while he crouched beside you.

"Let me take you to the emergency room, we're very close—"

"No—no, I'm fine!" you nearly shouted, syllables jumbling and coming out too fast as his words finally reached you.

But the second you tried sitting up, pain shot through your head so hard your face twisted and you sucked in a breath.

Hands were suddenly under your arms.

"Easy," the man said. "Easy."

Another pedestrian had come over now too, helping pull you up carefully while your feet tried finding solid ground beneath you.

Everything around you felt too loud. You could hear the bicyclist cursing somewhere nearby, people talking over one another, tires hissing over pavement, a car horn farther down the street. The bike itself sat twisted awkwardly near the curb.

As things slowly came back to you, you remembered his face right before impact, eyes wide beneath his helmet. Now he just looked furious. His arms were thrown out while he pointed at somebody nearby, shouting over everyone else.

Your head was splitting.

And suddenly you realized you were being walked quickly down the block by two sets of worried hands, the red Emergency Room looming ahead.

Oh, fuck.

"Promise you won't tell him?" you pleaded, gaze boring into Samira's brown worried eyes.

She was perched on the rolling stool beside you, one foot hooked around its base, hands folded loosely in her lap. The curtain of the triage bay swayed faintly in the draft of someone rushing past outside. Voices overlapped in the hallway: patients, doctors, Lupe's voice on the loudspeaker in the waiting room.

She frowned, clearly debating it over in her head, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, okay. Okay."

She looked over her shoulder toward Santos at the computer as she typed into your chart. Something passed silently between them before she turned back to you.

She slipped back into doctor mode while pulling gloves on. "Let's get neuro checks going. Did you black out at all?"

You frowned.

"I...don't know." you said, memory a little cloudy. "I think so?"

“Okay.” Samira nodded once, calm and focused, her penlight flicking briefly across your pupils again before she instructed you to follow her finger. “Any nausea? Neck pain? Dizziness?”

You shook your head slowly, though even that made your skull ache a little.

“And we’re gonna get a CT just to rule out any bleeding,” she continued. “Probably draw some blood too.”

"Woa, Samira—" your stomach twisted instantly. "I don't need all that, if I go back there he's gonna see I'm here—"

Around your finger, the pulse ox clipped tighter every time your heart rate climbed, the monitor beside you already chirping intermittently over nothing more than nerves. Leads had been stuck to your chest at some point while you'd still been dazed on the way in, wires trailing down beneath the thin blanket over your lap. The whole thing felt wildly overblown now that you were sitting upright in a bed.

Samira's expression softened as she leaned forward. "We'll keep you hidden," she said softly before looking over at Santos again, knowingly. The resident nodded back, and quietly went out into the hall.

Samira rolled the stool closer, sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile. "Do you wanna tell me what's going on?"

You actually didn't.

Your eyes dropped to your hands instead, fingers picking at the edge of the thin hospital blanket spread over your lap. You tried figuring out how to phrase it right, how to explain something so humiliating without sounding ridiculous. Spoiled. Childish. You felt like a little like the dog that bit the hand feeding it.

"He and I are just..." You swallowed. "Having some issues."

Samira's brows pulled together slightly. Her warm brown eyes studied you intently, flickering over your expression that you tried to keep hidden.

"I was..." your voice got smaller, "I was bad."

"Bad?" she echoed carefully.

You shook your head a little, frustrated with yourself already. "No, I just—I did something stupid and now things are weird and—"

The curtain suddenly got yanked open so hard the metal rings shrieked across the track.

Dana stood there holding it wide, chest rising fast like she’d run the whole way from the desk. Behind her, Robby barreled in so quickly he nearly clipped the stainless steel side tray with his hip, already yanking the stethoscope from around his neck as he moved toward you.

"What happened?" he demanded immediately.

"I'm fine—"

"What happened?" he repeated sharply, already reaching for your face. Dana stayed at the mouth of the curtain, a flat look of disappointment written across her features. You knew she was biting her tongue from chirping Thought you could hide or somethin' angel?

"Head strike from bicycle versus pedestrian. Witness said she didn't get up right away." Samira reported, looking at Robby. "CT head's already ordered. Neuro checks too."

"Jesus." He breathed as his hand brushed carefully through your hair near the tender spot along your hairline, fingertips searching around the injury.

"Deep breath for me, honey." he said.

You did, heart skipping at the pet name but as soon as you felt the glimmer of hope, it was wiped away when pain shot through your side, making your face twist in a grimace.

"Okay." His eyes closed briefly. "Okay. Let's add a rib series too."

You felt sick suddenly. Not physically sick—though your stomach was still flipping on itself, your head still throbbed…but…you felt sick like that thick, churning guilt that had been with you all week.

Because he looked so scared.

There were still faint marks pressed into the bridge of his nose from his glasses. His dark hair was flattened in strange directions, probably from one of the scrub caps used in surgical procedures. He smelled like coffee and hospital sanitizer and the stale air of the ED, like he'd probably barely sat down all day before getting called in here to deal with you too.

Samira squeezed your knee once before backing toward the computer. "I'll be back."

Dana gave you one more long look before following her out, and the curtain fell shut again.

The bay got quieter after that. Not quite silent, it was never truly silent in the emergency department.

Robby was still staring at your face, and you realized he had put his gloved hand on yours where it rested on the bed.

You'd missed the simple touch of his hands. When one would rest at the back of your neck steering you through crowded hallways, or when his fingers tapped absentmindedly against your thigh during movies, the way his hand would slip beneath your shirt when he was feeling cheeky. You missed finding him within the walls of this hospital, the strange comfort of him existing in an entirely different world when you came into the orbit of the ED. The way you could pull him out of the darkness for a while.

"I'm sorry," you whispered finally.

His eyes flicked to yours immediately.

"What?"

Your throat burned. Like you'd swallowed a hot coal down it, tightening around the lump. "I'm sorry," you repeated, pulling your hand away and twisting it into the other in your lap now. "I didn't mean to come here and make things worse and I know you're busy and after everything already I just—"

Robby's hands wrapped around yours once again, "Don't be sorry, honey."

You looked up at him, blinking a little, "You're not mad?"

"About you getting hit by a bicycle?" he said, huffing a little disbelieving breath, "Why would I be? I just care that you're safe."

Your chin began to wobble in earnest.

"Oh, honey—"

"I thought you hated me now."

"Honey—"

You couldn't help the wracking sob that came from your chest, his hand reaching for yours again even when you tried to pull away, but he held fast. Your face dropped, chin ducking until it almost hit your chest.

Finally he let go of your hand only to wrap his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck as he held you close, "Why would you ever think that?" he whispered into your hair.

"I was bad. We haven't spoken in days."

It felt so childish, so stupid when you said it. Especially when it came out like that—weak, wobbly and wet with tears.

He pulled away just to look at you.

"You are not a bad person, honey," he murmured softly. "You maybe behaved badly, but that does not make you bad. I'm sorry I haven't been very good at this either." He lifted his hand, and you leaned into it as it cupped your face, brushing beneath your eyes and collecting a tear there before it could run. "Hey, listen to me."

He lifted your face, making you look at him straight on. Your face felt hot and swollen, cheeks wet with streaks. You sniffled as you looked at him now. His eyes were so kind, so worried and sweet. You felt like you didn't deserve any of it.

"You are my best girl, I will never ever think you are a bad person." he said. "Things got confusing, and I've been… avoiding it, avoiding you...and I'm sorry."

Your hands reached for him automatically then, gathering the black sleeve beneath his scrubs in your fists and holding on. You'd spent days sleeping without him, sitting across rooms from him, pretending not to notice every place where he wasn't anymore, and now that he was here your body seemed to remember him before your brain did.

"How is your head, honey?" he asked, tilting his own while he looked at you.

"Hurts." you whined a little, your voice meek and small.

"Yeah?" it came out hoarse and sweet, and so gentle. You'd heard his voice go soft like that before, late at night with his mouth close to your ear, and the memory flushed through you for a second before disappearing again beneath the throbbing ache in your skull and the warmth of his hands still holding your face.

He moved to rest his knuckles against the top of your forehead, sliding down your cheek, feeling your temperature.

"You're alright, honey." he said. He pulled away then and immediately shifted back into work, reaching for his stethoscope and slipping the earpieces in before pressing the bell lightly against your chest, listening to your lungs, your heart, checking you over all over again with that same focus he'd walked in carrying.

When he leaned back again in front of you, he threaded his fingers together in his lap, and looked up at you.

"Stay here for a few tests, okay?"

You nodded.

"Hey."

You looked up.

"You're my best girl. Always. Nothing has changed between you and me. I just... I needed some time, is all."

Your eyes burned all over again. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, your voice came out like a croak: "Promise?"

He came in close then, inches away, and whispered, "Promise."

Then he kissed you gently.

It felt so warm that it almost hurt. Your skin tingled beneath it, his mustache rough against your face, and his breath smelled like coffee, like the coffee from home, like mornings in the kitchen and evenings on the couch and every little thing you'd spent the last week missing.

When he pulled away, there was an odd look on his face. Fluttering your eyes to look at him better, you watched a sad smile pull his lips, his eyes ful of something you weren't quite sure how to read. But before you could try, he was turning away and standing, heading for the curtain opening.

"Dana is going to bring you back here, okay? I'll be close by."

You nodded, your lips still tingling a little from his touch.

Rolling through the ED surrounded by people who recognized you at every turn was a form of torture. Dana did her best to bat people away whenever they'd come jogging up beside the hospital bed she insisted on keeping you in— asking questions, peering over shoulders, trying to get a look at you. She actually let Langdon walk alongside you for a few steps, checking in, fingertips grazing your cheek in a quiet assessment as he asked if you were okay before someone called his name from across the department and he was pulled off toward an incoming trauma. Samira kept a quick pace on the opposite side of Dana, answering for you when others pressed in too close.

Your exam room must have been on the exact opposite side of triage with how long it took to get there, the route stretching on past curtained bays and supply carts and past the central station where screens flickered with patient lists and tracking boards.

“South 7, straight ahead, almost there angel,” Dana said on your right, and you let yourself sink back against the thin mattress, the metal frame cool against your shoulder as the hallway finally began to narrow.

"Woah, woah, woah, what happened here?"

His voice alone was enough to send your heart rate spiking, the monitor clipped to your forefinger breaking into an erratic rhythm that filled the space between you. You saw Samira glance up at the numbers, then back at your face, and then her gaze shifted forward to Jack Abbott standing directly in front of the bed in full camo SWAT gear, vest strapped across his chest, radio at his shoulder.

"Abbot— move it or lose it." Dana barked.

He must've known better than to fight her on it, because he slid to the left of the gurney, holding onto the metal bars as your eyes widened at him.

"What's going on, sweetheart?"

"I—um—well—I—"

“Bicyclist versus pedestrian,” Dana cut in, already steering you through the doorway into South 7. You heard Jack let out a baffled huff of breath.

"I'm fine—really—"

“She hit her head on the way down,” Samira added as she reached for the wall computer and woke the screen with her badge. “Passerby reported she didn’t get up right away. GCS fifteen on arrival here. No active vomiting, no seizure activity, no focal neuro.”

She glanced at Abbott while her fingers moved over the keyboard. “We’ve got a non-contrast CT head ordered. She’s got a frontal scalp laceration at the hairline and localized tenderness.”

You lifted your hand without thought, not even realizing you’d hit your head that hard. Your fingertips pressed into the sore skin and came away tacky, faintly red.

Dana locked the gurney into place while Samira continued, voice clipped and clinical. “However, she had some left lateral chest wall pain with palpation. Robby added a rib series and chest X-ray to rule out nondisplaced fractures or pneumothorax. CBC and CMP are pending. We’ll repeat labs if needed.”

Jack exhaled slowly beside the bed, jaw working before he looked at you again. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, but it was small and unconvincing, your knees drawing up toward your chest.

He glanced back up at the resident. "I want to be updated on every change or test result.”

Samira’s brows lifted slightly. “Robby is already on—”

“Appreciate it,” Jack cut in, voice tight. "Go see if she can skip the line for X-ray."

Samira gave him a flat look that said she understood exactly what he was doing and didn’t approve, but Dana nudged her toward the door anyway, and a second later the room emptied, leaving the hum of the monitor and the faint rattle of the vent overhead.

"You shouldn't be in here, Jack," you started, "this is all so insane, I didn't even mean to come in, I was out for a run and—"

“Is your heart rate always in the one twenties,” he asked lightly, “or is that just when I walk into a room?”

You stared at him. He gave you the smallest tilt of his mouth, trying for easy, trying for normal.

“Sinus tachycardia,” he added, nodding toward the monitor. “Very dramatic. Don't tell me you do it just for the attention."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the little tilt of your mouth. "Why are you here, Jack?"

"I go into the field in case of any injuries."

“You and your weird hobbies.” You shook your head, teeth catching on your lower lip. Then, you asked: “Have you talked to Robby?”

Jack’s hands tightened on the metal guardrails before he clipped them down, the sound loud in the otherwise quieted room. “He doesn’t really seem to want to.”

“I’m not surprised,” you said, voice thinning.

“Are you two—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat and stuffing his hands into his cargo pockets. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “How did the talk go?”

You looked at him then, “How do you think?”

He pressed his lips together, his weight shifting back and forth on his feet.

You sighed, shoulders folding in. “I’m sorry. It’s been… it’s been really hard. Today was the first day he’s even spoken to me since.”

“Jesus,” Jack muttered, eyes flickering to the door for a second. “If I’d known…”

You shook your head again. “It’s what I deserve.”

He looked up sharply at that, anger flickering across his face. “No, it is not. He should talk to you. He should—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

“You should go,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll be here a while. And you shouldn’t be in here with me right now.”

Jack whispered your name.

“It’s okay,” you said gently, even though your fingers were twisting the edge of the blanket. “I’m okay. Just… go, please.”

He nodded, and as if he didn't trust himself to say anything else as back himself away until he was leaning against the door for a second, steadying himself.

Then he pushed back into it to leave, and Robby appeared.

Your stomach twisted on itself.

You watched as the glass exam room door had barely opened halfway before the two of them met eyes. Robby’s expression tightening immediately, brown eyes lifted toward Jack with something flat and hard sitting behind them. Jack, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered at all. He looked up at the other attending and paused.

"Labs back yet?" Jack asked easily.

You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. Heat crawled into your face while your fingers hooked around your legs, palms damp against your shins. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at either of them for long.

Robby nodded only once, stiffly, "Everything is good."

“That was quick,” Jack said.

Robby didn’t answer.

Jack let the silence sit a second before adding, “Glad to see the lab actually listens to some of us.”

Robby just looked at him, expression still flat, then pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped past him without another word.

He moved automatically, slipping his stethoscope from his neck once again while checking the monitor above your head, fingers brushing your wrist before he listened over your lungs, then your heart. Familiar, routine motions. You lowered your eyes to your lap because Jack was still standing there, still in the doorway, and now he was letting the door swing shut behind him instead of leaving.

Nobody said anything, and it made your heart leap into your throat even harder.

The cool metal of the stethoscope touched your chest and Robby's eyes lifted briefly to your face before he pulled it away.

“Not really helping my exam, Jack,” he said, voice clipped.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Jack shrug.

“Can't help it.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I'm distractingly handsome.”

Robby scoffed under his breath and shook his head.

"I think the three of us need to talk." Jack said seriously.

“Not now,” Robby snapped immediately. “I've got patients to worry about, and you should go get that looked at. Make yourself a chart.”

Your head turned toward Jack so fast your neck protested.

“Nah, don't need the paperwork,” he said casually. His eyes found yours and softened just a little. “I'm fine,” he said, tilting his head toward his shoulder. “Just a graze, sweetheart.”

He turned a bit so you could see it—the back of his camo jacket at the top of his left shoulder had gone dark red and splotched, fabric torn open in a thin line.

"You were shot?" you gasped.

"Shot at." he corrected, "I'm alright."

Before you could say anything else, Robby's fingers tipped your chin upward.

You knew exactly what he was doing, you knew this routine. Penlight already in his hand, checking your pupils again, watching for nystagmus, for delayed reaction, for anything off.

Still, your body reacted before your brain did.

Maybe it was because he'd barely touched you all week. Or because he'd spent days keeping distance between you like there was a line painted on the floor. Maybe it was because suddenly today he'd touched your face, your wrist, your shoulders, your hair, all under the excuse of medicine, and your stupid brain wasn't separating any of it anymore.

Your heart rate climbed again, the monitor immediately tattling on you. Its beeping rose in rhythm, its oxygen levels warning for over activity.

“And here I thought I was special,” Jack sighed dramatically.

Robby clicked off the penlight, and said flatly: “Go home, Jack. We're good here.”

"Not so fast," Jack said, dragging the syllables.

Both you and Robby paused, looking over at him. His face had gone serious, the graying curls a bit of a mess as he looked between the two of you, swaying on his feet like he always did.

"I have a proposition to make."

Robby stood a little straighter, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means… " Jack looked between the two of you, and your eyes were wide, worried, nervous for whatever came next. "I want to make an offer."

"An offer?" Robby echoed flatly.

Jack nodded. Your brows pulled together, uncertainty clouding your brain.

“No,” Robby said immediately.

“You haven't even heard what I have to say." Jack rebutted, "Why don’t we ask her?”

“Because she’s concussed, Jack.”

“Sweetheart—” Jack started, smile sliding back into place like armor as he looked down at you.

Robby moved before he could finish. He stepped up to the foot of your bed, placing himself squarely in front of you, cutting off Jack’s line of sight entirely.

“This is not the god damn time for this, Jack,” Robby said evenly, “Whatever it is you have to offer, it can wait."

The monitor hummed behind you.

“She’s going to X-ray,” Robby continued, thumb hooking over his shoulder at you. “If you want to talk, we can talk outside."

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

You couldn’t see Jack anymore, just Robby’s back, broad and immovable between you. Whatever expression crossed Jack’s face, it was enough that Robby gave a short nod and stepped forward, hand landing briefly on Jack’s shoulder as he guided him toward the door.

Through the glass you watched them, close enough to read the tension in their posture even if you couldn’t hear a word. Robby rigid, jaw tight. Jack leaning in, saying something low and serious. It felt strange watching two grown men argue about you like you weren’t ten feet away. Part of you burned with humiliation, feeling like a child. Another part was too tired to care. Your head throbbed, your ribs ached every time you shifted, the room too bright.

You laid back in the bed, closing your eyes.

Eventually, when the door opened again, it was only Robby. He was pushing a wheelchair through the frame, his expression set into neutral nothingness, but you could see the downturn of his mouth, the frown he wore as he came to the bedside.

"Everything okay?" you murmured as he helped you into the chair.

“Yeah, honey,” he exhaled. “That man’s got some nerve.”

“S’probably why he likes getting shot at on the weekends.”

Robby chuckled a little at that, and your heart warmed as he said: "Yeah, probably."

After all the tests, all the re-checking and the overdramatic X-rays and CT scan, you were finally getting into the car with Robby after what had turned into a very long shift for him and an even longer day for you.

He shut the door of his steel gray BMW with more care than usual. He didn’t often take it to work, preferring the bike whenever he could, but tonight the car felt quieter, contained, easier. The hospital parking lot lights hummed overhead as he started the engine.

“That all felt… kind of silly,” you said gently, trying to keep your tone light, though the thought of going home and slipping back into the routine of the past week made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with bruised ribs.

Robby glanced over at you as he pulled out of the lot, the evening sky behind him pale blue, the sun already dropped behind the buildings. In the height of summer the light lingered without color, stretched thin across the horizon. He wore that tired smile he often did after a long shift, soft but worn.

“Just had to make sure you’re okay,” he said quietly, his voice a deep rasp of exhaustion. “What do you want to listen to?”

You reached for the screen and put on one of your favorite playlists, hesitating only a second before you did. It felt like a small olive branch. On any other night it would have meant takeout on the couch, his arms around you while you watched more reruns. It felt almost normal. He drove mostly in silence, eyes forward, one hand resting loose at the bottom of the wheel, deep in thought in that way he often was after work, and you told yourself that this, at least, was something steady.

Halfway home, stopped at a red light, he turned toward you.

“Honey, are you happy?”

You blinked at him and reached up to lower the music until the car fell quiet except for the hum of the engine and the distant sound of another car passing through the intersection.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly.

His eyes shifted back to the light and then to you again, as if he was weighing the words before he let them out. “I want you to be happy.”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again.

What you had with Robby, before the mess of this past week, had been the only steady, good thing in your life. Every road you’d taken had led you here. There had never been a clean formula for you, no simple checklist of school, job, marriage, children. But life had shown that that was never for you, no matter how much people said it like it guaranteed anything. They never talked about this— finding someone who felt like home without needing the rest of it. They never explained the peace of being taken care of and trusted and guided, about wanting the safety of his control and the way he made decisions with you in mind, the way he steadied you without diminishing you. After everything—your parents, the accident, your ex—this had been the thing that made sense. It had been everything.

You let your shoulders sink back into the leather seat, your gaze resting somewhere beyond the windshield, the quiet answering him before you did.

When he looked over again, something vulnerable in his expression forced you to speak.

“Nothing in my life has ever compared to what I have with you,” you said gently. “I’ve been upset this past week because it felt like that was slipping away.”

He nodded once as the light turned green and eased the car forward.

“I am happy with you,” you added after a moment, your voice steadier now. “I’ve never felt so taken care of, so seen and understood. I made a mistake, and I know I’m paying for that. It’s just…”

He leaned over slightly, eyes still on the road, and took your hand in his. His thumb pressed into your knuckles in a slow, grounding squeeze.

“You really scared me this week, Michael,” you said.

He brought your hand up and pressed his mouth to the tops of your knuckles. “I know.”

"You've never been like this before, avoiding me, barely talking. We live in the same house but it felt like… you were… like a ghost."

He looked over at you briefly, "I felt a little like one."

Your brows pulled together at that, a different kind of ache settling in your chest, not biting like your ribs or throbbing like your head, but heavy all the same. Worse than the guilt, the shame of everything. You dipped your head, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke:

"I'm so sorry I did this to us."

He shook his head, more firmly this time, coming to another red light and finally turning fully toward you.

“We are a team,” he said, his voice low but steady. “As long as you want to be one, it’s you and me. I shouldn’t have shut you out. What happened…it caught me off guard. It made me scared for things I didn't realize I was afraid of. It made me realize how much I’ve invested in you— in us. Made me see how much I care.”

You reached up with your free hand and cupped his face, your fingers sliding into his dark hair, scratching lightly behind his ear the way you knew he liked.

“Me too,” you whispered.

His hand moved up and down your arm slowly, reassuring, until the light turned and he eased the car forward again, the quiet between you no longer sharp but thoughtful, settled, waiting.

When you pulled into the driveway a little while later, neither of you moved right away. The engine hummed beneath you while the headlights washed over the garage door and the shrubs along the front walk, throwing long shadows across the siding of the house.

But when you reached for the door, he stopped you. Your eyes lifted immediately towards him, a question between your brows, but something on his face made your skin rise in goosebumps. The crease that had lived between his brows all week had disappeared. There was no tension pulling at his mouth anymore, none of that exhaustion sitting around his eyes. His face had gone still, settled into something calmer. His arm rested across the center console between you, stopping your movement without effort, his brown eyes holding yours from only a few inches away.

“I want you to go inside and take a shower,” he said quietly, his voice low beneath the softened music and the idle hum of the car.

Your pulse gave a hard thud against your ribcage.

“I want you to use your special body wash. The perfume we picked out together.” His head tilted slightly. “Do you know the one I mean, honey?”

You swallowed. “Yes, Robby.”

His gaze stayed on your face for another moment, watching you carefully, and something curious moved through his expression at your answer, at the way you were already sitting a little straighter without realizing it.

“I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, okay?” he said. “I’m gonna grab us dinner.”

You nodded.

“Give me a kiss.”

The request was gentle, and yet, your stomach dipped.

You leaned over automatically, pressing your mouth to his. He made a soft sound against your lips and his beard brushed warm and prickly against your skin.

“Okay,” he murmured after he pulled back. “Go on.”

You nodded again and reached for the handle, suddenly far too aware of your own body, of your heartbeat, of your hands, hoping desperately that he couldn't see the way nerves had started jittering all through you as you climbed out of the car.

A long, hot shower later with your rose-scented body wash, your Maison Francis perfume misted along your neck and the skin of your inner wrists, you sat very still in the living room.

Your hands worked slowly through your hair, gathering it and plaiting it down your neck before coming to rest against your bare knees. Your brain felt a little fuzzy now, close to the way it felt after sitting in warm water too long, sleepy and a little hazy. It always started like this. The feeling of cotton slowly gathering in your head before you finally stopped fighting it. The smell always started it— pulling at the quiet place inside of your head, unraveling all your busiest thoughts, your deepest worries.

When the front door opened, you didn't even flinch. You just waited, your eyes heavy lidded and chin tilted down. Through your lashes, you saw the tips of his socks appear in front of your knees.

And then a thick, broad hand came down beneath your chin and lifted your face.

His eyes found yours immediately. Deep brown, those little lines around them digging in at the corners--crows feet people called them. You never thought they looked like that. They looked like years of laughing, of smiling, of joy worn into skin.

You smiled up at him.

"Hi, pretty girl." Robby said softly.

"Hi."

"How are you doing?"

You hummed softly. "Really good."

"That's good." He smiled. "I'm gonna go put these away and I'll be back, okay?"

You nodded. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheekbone before he let you go again, and your shoulders lowered with a quiet exhale you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

You watched him from where you sat as he moved into the kitchen and unpacked the reusable grocery bag. You caught a glimpse of jar of pasta sauce, a box of noodles and vegetables laid across the counter one by one. But you didn't move towards him, didn't bother trying to help. You knew what he wanted from you right now, what he needed. And you'd give it to him. Because it felt right-- to be here, to be in your place with your knees buried in the rug, your body bare and exposed for him.

When he finished, he poured himself a glass of scotch and walked over to the couch. He sat with a long exhale sinking from his chest. The coffee table had been moved, just like always on nights like this, pushed off against the wall so he had a clear view of where you sat.

He settled deeper into the cushions, taking a sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a soft click against the coaster.

"Come here, honey."

You crawled, very slowly, until you were just in front of him. No touching, no reaching for him. Just… in wait.

He leaned forward, taking one finger and letting it graze down your face.

"You are so pretty, my best girl." he whispered. You smiled at that, your brain melting down little by little. "Are you going to be good for me?"

"Yes, Robby," you murmured back.

He smiled a little at that, before leaning away again, and taking another sip of his drink.

"Safeword?"

You licked your lips, "Pickleback."

"And when you can't talk?" he asked, voice muffled in the top of his glass.

"Two snaps."

He smiled, exhaling with bared teeth as the drink went down his throat, "That's a good girl."

When he leaned forward again, you could smell the whiskey on his breath as he said: "We have some things to go over, honey."

Your eyes lifted to him, and he nodded reassuringly.

"It's okay, just need to adjust some rules going forward. You know why?"

You nodded.

"Go ahead, tell me."

"Because I was a—" You stopped when his head tilted slightly, that tiny shift enough for you to catch the correction. "I acted badly."

"That's right." he said, and his hand returned to your face, tracing slowly along your cheek, your jaw. It felt good, this touch, this connection, as he drew lines in the sand and on your face.

"We've been a little confused lately, both of us, huh?" he murmured, "we're going to fix that tonight."

"Yes, Robby."

When he leaned away, he tilted his hips up a bit, and you could just make out the bulge within his cargos.

"Show me that you want this—you and me, this thing we've created together. Show me that you want me."

You hesitated.

"You can touch," he murmured, giving a small nod before lifting his glass again.

Your hands lifted to his legs, a little shaky now. You cupped his knees first, almost testing it, feeling the warmth of him beneath the fabric of his cargos. He inhaled deeply, head tipping back against the couch for only a moment, though his eyes never left yours. Slowly, you let your hands slide higher, fingers tracing up his thighs until they reached his lap, and you carefully began undoing his belt, pulling down the zipper before easing the fabric lower.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, finally cupping his growing length as he shifted beneath your touch. He hissed a breath through his teeth, knees widening slightly to make room for you.

Pulling him from the confines of the briefs, your fingers moved with care, wanting him to feel every gentle tug of your hand, wanting him to understand what you were trying so desperately to say without saying it. You watched his face as you bent down, lips brushing a soft kiss against the tip, and his shoulders lowered with a heavier exhale, though his hips gave the slightest movement toward you.

The hand not holding the scotch lifted and tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind your ear, fingers settling against your jaw as his thumb brushed your cheek.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice rough around the edges now. “Do you understand?”

You nodded.

His hand tightened slightly against your face and your fingers twitched where they held him. “Words.”

“Yes, Robby,” you murmured. “I understand.”

"Do you understand that I like to share you, but under my terms?" he asked quietly, eyes holding yours. “That you and I—this—we—come first?"

Your hands traveled up and down his cock, feeling it twitch and harden and warm to your touch like velvet.

You nodded again, 'Y-yes, Robby."

"So why did you do it?"

Your brain was a little too foggy to make out a real answer, so all you said was: “He has pretty eyes.”

“Yeah?” Robby chuckled softly, already knowing there was more to that answer. “I’ll bet he was a good kisser too, huh?”

You nodded, "Yes,"

You knew where this was heading, and even though you knew you might not like every part of it, you let him keep leading you forward. Because you trusted him.

"Did he feel good inside you, baby?"

You bit your lip, wriggling as your pulse jumped, but you nodded. Your hands had begun working faster, twisting and reaching down to fondle his heavy balls.

His lip curled, "Words."

“Yes."

And then he moaned a little when you used a little bit of his precome, slathering it over his tip.

"Can I please use my mouth, Robby?"

"Not yet—tell me how he felt—did you come?"

The pulse that had been hammering in your chest was traveling south, blood surging in humiliation, in want, nearly painful between your legs.

“He felt big,” you admitted quietly. “And... yes.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

He smiled at that. "Aw, only once? So he didn't get to see you whining and begging, did he?" his tone was proud, knowing, even though his voice was threaded with hunger, "When you beg for me to stop making you come over and over?"

"No, Robby."

You were leaning in, mouth agape, nearly drooling at how much you wanted him in your mouth— needed him. Needed to show him how much you wanted him. How it didn't matter what you'd done with Jack, didn't matter right now because all you wanted was him, the man in front of you, who knew you better than any of them. All you wanted was Robby's closeness, his attention, his praise.

"Go on, you can use your mouth now," he said gently, letting go of your face, "good girl answering my questions."

You moved down onto him immediately, your mouth already warm and waiting, and both of you let out helpless sounds at the contact of it around the smooth, velvety tip of his cock. Something rough cracked out of his chest at the feeling of your lips gliding down his member, your own noises swallowed as you glanced up at him through your lashes. He had leaned back into the couch now, mouth parted, eyes closed.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned.

You moved eagerly, bobbing your head to chase more of those sounds, his praise. Your jaw unhinged to accommodate the wide breadth of him, nose never really reaching his belly that was covered in wiry hair where his shirt had ridden up. Your fingers curled into the fabric and pushed it higher. He let out a breathless little laugh at that, understanding immediately before pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere beside him.

When he looked back down at you, his breathing had gone uneven. He gathered your hair into his fist, just guiding your rhythm. “Easy, easy,” he murmured, steadying your pace. “There you go, honey. There you go. I know you missed me.”

You hummed pleasantly, eyes rolling back at the feeling of the tip of him brushing the back of your throat.

"All the way down now, okay?" he coaxed. Your lashes fluttered a bit, hollowing out your cheeks. "That's it."

You could feel every ridge and vein pushed up against your soft palette, your tongue flat and soothing to the underside as you breathed through your nose.

"Now you listen."

Oh, fuck. You knew that voice. It was like your brain, once ridged with memories and thoughts—wants, needs, fears—had gone smooth and mushy, every sharp edge softening until there was only him. His eyes on you. His voice. His pleasure and wants. When he got like this, voice rough around every syllable, lower and gruffer and cracking just slightly, it fully submerged you into that head space you only ever found with him.

Your eyes, though a little watery, found his as he held you down.

"You are mine." he growled. "I don't care about the title—girlfriend, boyfriend, partner, whatever—you are mine."

His voice was lethal, his lip curling. He held you down on his cock firmly, and you breathed through your nose. This wasn't just bruised pride or irritation from what had happened, but fear, you realized. Fear of losing you, of losing this. And the best way he knew how to face fear was with control. And you'd give him everything every time.

“I’m in charge of who you kiss, who you flirt with, who gets your attention. Who fucks you.”

Your jaw had begun to ache, a deep soreness settling in, but you sat through it, wanted to, welcomed it, because your brain had gone soft and smooth, every thought slipping through your fingers before it could fully form.

"There will be no more playing with anyone else for the next month." he said sternly, pushing you down his cock a little further until your nose pushed into his belly. Your mouth constricted a little at the fat tip of him reaching into your throat now.

"And you will not come for the next month, either." he growled.

Your brows pulled together, and he mirrored the look with a pout, "“Oh, honey.” His thumb traced slowly along your hairline. “I know.”

He gave you a little smile, something gentler finding its way into it. “I know you don’t like hearing that. But it's what you need."

He pulled you up his cock, and when you were free you pulled in a quick breath, chest rising sharply. You felt the spit from your mouth slipping down your chin a little, but then his face lowered, nose brushing against yours before his mouth found you. He kissed you deeply, mouths slotting against one another with growing urgency, both of you breathing unevenly into it as his tongue slid against yours.

When he was done, he used the hand that was in your hair to push you back down into his lap, your lips opening obediently around his cock, pushing it deep into your mouth. He thrusted a few times, letting his balls slap lightly against your chin, and then he was holding you down again. Your mouth watered around him, drool pooling over your tongue, onto your lips as your eyes fluttering shut. The pulse between your legs had climbed to a throbbing, but you did nothing for it. You knew better.

"Everything we have—everything you've let me build with you…" he groaned, and then reached down, fingers brushing your face before his thumb and forefinger found your nose, and held it closed. "…is because of me. Because we chose it."

"Even this—" he breathed, and your eyes widened a bit as your head became fuzzier, your lungs began to beg for release. It only lasted a second before he was pulling his hand away, easing you from his slick coated member. You heaved in deep breaths when he brought his face down to yours, kissing you again before he demanded: "Say thank you—"

"—Thank you—" you gasped.

"Fucking hell that's so good—" he moaned. The kiss was breathless, wet, urgent as you let him have it, your mouth open, tongue awaiting his.

"More—" you moaned the next time he pulled away.

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"Not too much," he whispered, but there was a smile on his face, so soft and warm you almost could feel tears coming. He obliged your request, pushing you back down onto his throbbing cock, fucking your throat in earnest until he held you down once more, holding your nose for a little longer than the first time, until you were spluttering around him.

"Fuuckkkk," he groaned even louder, and finally pulled you off entirely, his hand cupping your face, your chin held in the crux of his palm as he squeezed your cheeks. Your tongue dipped out to collect the drool that had been slipping from your open mouth, and you could feel your pulse jumping, your inner thighs sliding together with the amount of arousal you'd created for him.

“Okay, okay,” he cooed, petting your head with his other hand, “deep breaths. Deep breaths, honey. How are you doing?”

You hummed, breath still uneven and quick, chest rising against him while you tried pulling air back into your lungs. You nodded.

“Good,” you murmured.

"What a good girl you are," he murmured, pressing a fat, wet peck to your lips before his hands were tucking under your arms, and you rose with him from the couch.

Your legs automatically wrapped around him, and you couldn't help the way your hips undulated against his belly, as your body moved on something like instinct, all want and need and nothing else. The sensitive, slick skin of your core brushed up against the thick tuft of wiry hair at the base of his member, making you moan. Your mouth found his neck, suckling just above the jugular. And your hands felt disconnected from you entirely, wandering over him without thought, fingers curling into his hair and scratching lightly against his scalp as you held onto him. You could hear him chuckling fondly under his breath at your desperation, one arm circled around your middle while the other hand kept smoothing over your hair, down your back, petting and reassuring. He just kept whispering I know, I know.

Soon, you were being laid onto the bed, his groans about his back rumbling warmly against your ear as he lowered you down onto the soft duvet. He stayed over you for a moment, his weight pressing you pleasantly into the mattress, chest warm against yours, the heat of his skin making your limbs feel loose and floaty.

"You with me, huh?" he cooed, smiling down at you. His hand still hadn’t left your hair, fingers combing through it in slow strokes that kept your thoughts soft and drifting like clouds. You nodded, tilting your face to kiss him again, your lips lingering against his while he stayed laid over you.

“Why don't you turn over for me?” he murmured eventually, sitting back.

You obeyed without thought, rolling onto your stomach over the comforter. Your sore muscles pulled as you stretched your arms over your head, a little whine slipping from your throat before you folded your arms beneath your cheek so you could look back at him over your shoulder.

He was looking down at you with open affection, completely bare, peppered hair dusting his chest and stomach, thick around the base of his length. The sight of him sent another pulse of warmth through your body, your hips wiggling restlessly against the mattress before you could stop yourself. As if in answer, his cock jutted out in excitement for you too.

Robby let out a low breath through his nose, gaze dropping to your ass as his hands spread over you, kneading slowly, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh before he pulled you open. Your moans filled the room along with the sticky, embarrassing shlick of your lower folds being spread and opened as he looked at you.

"What a mess you've made, honey," he said softly.

“Please…” you whimpered, pushing your hips back into his palms without thinking.

“Please what?” he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice even before you looked back at him.

"Touch me, please," you whispered.

"I am touching you." he teased back.

Then, while he held you open, you heard the wet gather of spit in his mouth. Your eyes opened wider just in time to see it fall, warm and thick against your skin above your slit before it slid downward through your folds and over your clit. You mewled at the feeling, your body jerking, the neediness and desperation no longer able to hide. Your mind felt smooth and fuzzy, your body begging for some form of release, hanging onto every brush of his thumb, the feeling of his cock twitching against you too.

"You'll take what I give you, and what will you say?" he asked, and finally, his thumb swept over your pussy, tracing the trail of spit down to your clit.

The sound you let out could've been heard by the neighbors.

"Thank you!" you moaned.

He nodded, his thumb still tracing you, your folds so sensitive it had your hips moving, rolling back, searching for more.

"You're welcome, honey," he said, and then moved off the bed, his hands finding your hips and yanking them up so your face was pushed down into the bed, your knees propping you up.

You gasped at the first feeling of his mouth on you. Flat tongue, prickly beard—it was wet and hungry and needy as he cupped his tongue against your clit, flicking the tip of the wet muscle until he was flattening it again and licking all the way up to the skin between your openings. Every lick and kiss sent shocks through your spine, and you moaned loudly into the duvet, fists clutching at it desperately. Your eyes had rolled to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open at the pleasure of it.

Without thinking, your knees spread wider for him, toes curling at the feeling of his tongue working deeper between your folds, licking until his lips closed around your clit. The gentle suction made your stomach jump violently.

"Taste so fucking good, honey," he murmured against you, voice vibrating directly through your body while his hands spread your ass even wider. “Did Jack eat you out, baby? Did he get a taste?”

Your brain lagged badly behind the question, and all you could do was moan. But a quick whack! to your thigh had you jumping, remembering he had asked a question.

"No!"

He hummed low in satisfaction before diving back in, mouth wrapping around you again while his tongue flattened and dragged upward. You couldn't stop moving against him now. Your hips rolled helplessly into his face, chasing the pressure every time he eased away even a little.

"Oh—oh, fuck—Robby, please—" you begged, hips wildly chasing the friction. His tongue moved with you, moving between long strokes and suckling your clit, his hand coming up to just gently prod into your pussy, the teasing of the pad of his thick finger enough to make that cresting wave of an orgasm roll closer and closer. Your moans had turned into cries, like a cat in heat just mewling his name, begging and begging for more, even if it sounded more like gibberish with the state your hazy brain was in.

"Mmmm—Robbyyy— right there—"

And just as you were about to crash into the wave, orgasm swelling, thighs shaking, ready to scream out in pleasure—

He stopped.

He pulled away, his hands going back to grip your ass. The loss of it had you crying out loudly, hips bucking uselessly while you petulantly kicked at the bed.

He tsk'd his tongue at you, and when you peered over your shoulder, you saw him shaking his head, "Don't you remember what I said, pretty girl?"

You whined miserably, thrashing on the bed, earning another smack high against your thigh that left heat blooming under your skin.

"No coming for a month." he said very sternly.

And then, to your dismay, he went back in. His tongue flattened, tracing over your swollen skin in lazy strokes while he slurped softly at the arousal gathered like a basin of nectar, obscene wet noises filling the room. Your whole body clenched around nothing, orgasm trapped inside you now, throbbing painfully close without ever breaking.

You whined again, but stopped your thrashing, burying your face into the bed.

"Remind me why you're not allowed to come, baby," he said softly, kissing your clit gently.

You jumped at the contact, voice muffled in the bedspread: "M-bad girl."

When you peeked an eye over your shoulder, he was shaking his head gently at that. "Not a bad girl," he said, and licked a stripe up your pussy again, and you felt your walls constrict, begging for something, anything.

The ache inside you deepened. Every slow drag of Robby's tongue pushed you right back toward the edge again until your stomach felt tight and shaky.

And then he pulled away again.

You wailed in protest, dropping your hips to the bed, and kicked your feet. Your body felt tense with the need of release, muscles tightening and loosening and tightening again.

He climbed over you then, mattress dipping and you felt his cock rest in the curve of your ass as his mouth came down to your ear.

"You are not a bad girl, honey," he murmured, nipping at the top of your lobe, "you are my best girl, say it now—"

"Mmm…yr…" you sighed weakly, too distracted by the drag of his cock between your cheeks to force the words out properly. He chuckled a little, and pulled back just to look down at his cock wedging itself into the cleft of your ass.

"I'm going to fuck you now, okay, honey?"

You nodded adamantly, and then realized what he meant as his thumb traced down your vertebrae, lower and lower until it pressed gently against the tight ring of muscle there.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god.

“S'alright,” he murmured as if reading your thoughts. “Remember last time? You were so good. Just gotta relax for me, okay?”

You did remember it, in some distant memory your brain was trying to scrounge up now. He had been so gentle, and you'd promised him he was the only one who could have your tight little hole.

His hands flattened along your back, massaging gently until one wrapped around his cock, the other reaching for the lube in the bedside table. The cool slickness made goosebumps break across your skin immediately, a soft hum slipping from your chest with your next breath.

Robby prepped himself, fisting gently along his cock, and he started by just tracing it along the seam of your folds, collected your slick, pooling arousal, making you let out another simpering sigh at the feeling. You knew better than to beg for him to fuck you there—once Robby had something on his mind, he would take it. And you were always so eager to give whatever he wanted.

When his cock pressed ever so gently into your hole, you squeaked a little.

Immediately, he folded himself over your back, pushing his hands so they could come up under your body and flush your spine to his chest and belly. One of them came up under your chin to hold you even closer.

“Breathe in,” he said softly.

You obeyed automatically, lungs filling deep while his weight pressed you down into the mattress.

"Breathe out."

Again, you did as you were bid. Your breath left you shaky and uneven. He hadn't moved yet.

"One more time, honey, deeeep breath—"

He joined you this time, both of you inhaling, chests expanding together, and then—together again—you both exhaled, and he notched the fat tip of his length into you.

"Ah-ah-ah—" you gasped.

"Keep breathing baby," he cooed, his bicep coming closer to your face, your chin tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Keep breathing, baby,” he cooed against your temple, arm tightening around you while your body strained around the stretch. Your muscles trembled violently at first, trying to resist before slowly, slowly beginning to give. All you could really focus on was his voice, the warmth of him around you, the deep drag of air into your lungs. By the time his hips settled flush against you, your hands were clutching hard at his forearm.

He kissed the side of your head, his breath a little ragged as he moaned at the tight feeling of your muscle around him.

"S'all mine, huh, honey? My pretty girl, my pussy to play with. My ass to take."

All you could manage was a weak whimper.

"Say: im your best girl, Robby, go on now—" he whispered.

“I—mmm…” you moaned when he pulled out barely an inch before easing back in again. "I'm…"

"Mhm, that's it, use your big girl words now." he softly urged as he pushed back in, only gently beginning to saw his hips. He was hardly moving at all, just a soft lull of movement to ease you into it.

"I'm y-your best girl…" you gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes fluttering as he pulled out even further, and pushed back in again.

"That's it, that's a good girl—" he groaned, and like he couldn't help himself, his next thrust in was rougher, and your eyes bulged a little.

He kissed the corner of your open mouth, "Okay?"

You nodded quickly, one hand reaching back blindly for him until your fingers tangled in his hair. He held you tighter in response, his breathing growing rougher against your cheek while his hips started moving in earnest.

"What a good girl, letting me fuck her little ass, huh? Only mine, this is all mine—"

“Yes—yes, yes—” you tried to answer, but every word dissolved into moans because his thrusts were getting harder now, faster, driving deep enough to make your entire body shake with each one. Soon, the room filled with wet slapping sounds and the strained noise of both your breathing. Heat kept building low in your stomach again, strange and different this time, tingling down your spine and making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

"Robby—"

"Hmmm?"

"I—mmmm ohhhh I feel—"

"What do you feel, honey? Tell me, tell your old man—"

"Might—might come—like this—"

"Is that so?" he asked.

You nodded desperately, licking at your lips, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of the pressure. Your fingers tightened into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp.

“Don't you dare,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot as his teeth bared against your cheek. “Hold it.”

"Noooo—"

"Yes."

The firmness in his voice made your stomach clench hard. Even while he kissed your ear gently afterward, his hips kept snapping faster against you, driving you right up against that unbearable pressure again. It felt so odd—a tingling in your spine, though your pussy pulsed so hard it was nearly painful with neglect.

"Robby!"

“I'm gonna come, baby, fuck—hearing you moan my name like that—Jesus you're so fucking tight—my best girl, my good girl—don't you dare come—”

Tears gathered hot in your eyes from the intensity of it, your whole body wound tight around the orgasm he wouldn't let you have. You weren't upset. You just needed. Needed him. Needed something.

Suddenly, he was pulling out from your ass with a quick dip of his hips, and you let go of his hair to heard him letting out the loudest groan, deep and wrecked from his chest, the sound of his fist against his wet cock, the spluttering of ropes of come up your back.

You laid there, pussy throbbing, your orgasm lost, your muscles tight and loose all at once at the loss of him.

A second later he rolled onto his back and pulled you onto his chest immediately, chest heaving in breaths of relief. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye where a tear had slipped free.

"I know, I know," he cooed, "C'mere."

You curled into him bonelessly, burying your face against his neck while your body slowly came down from everything. His skin was damp and hot beneath your cheek, your limbs still trembling every now and then. Across him, you could hear the soft rustle of tissues when he reached for the box beside the bed and started carefully cleaning your back.

“Here,” he whispered after he was done. You opened your eyes blearily and tilted your chin down to see him holding your water bottle up toward your mouth, thumb already resting against the straw so it wouldn’t wobble.

You hummed in appreciation and took a few small sips, throat still dry, lips swollen and warm.

“There you go,” he murmured.

When you were done, you sighed and let your cheek settle back against his chest. Your fingers wandered lazily over him, tracing little circles into his skin while his heartbeat knocked steadily beneath your ear.

His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you closer still before he pressed a careful kiss to your forehead. “How are you doing, honey?”

You hummed sleepily. “M’good.” Your lashes fluttered against the skin of his throat before you tipped your face up just enough to ask quietly, “How’re you?”

"I'm good."

You kissed into his beard once, then again, little absent-minded presses of your mouth along his jaw until your lips brushed softly against his. “Talk to me,” you murmured.

He sighed. "I missed you."

You smiled faintly, lids feeling heavy, your brain still a little fuzzy, "I missed you more."

He grinned fondly, his hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face. "Why don't we watch something for a bit, I'll go make some dinner."

"Okay,"

“Do you wanna come sit with me in the kitchen, or stay here?”

You shook your head immediately against him. “I’ll come.”

“Okay, honey.”

It took you a minute to convince your body to cooperate enough to climb out of bed. Your legs still felt loose and shaky beneath you, and there was a lingering heaviness between your thighs every time you moved, a pulse that kept reminding you of the events of the night. Robby hooked an arm around your waist to steady you while he dressed you in a pair of his boxers and a big sweatshirt. Eventually, he slid on his own shorts and you followed him out towards the kitchen.

The house felt different now in the aftermath, softer in the evening light, the lamps automatically turning on with the darkening hours. You climbed onto one of the barstools of the kitchen island with your water bottle clutched in both hands while Robby moved around the kitchen barefoot.

Your body still felt warm and heavy in a way that made you want to curl up somewhere close to him and stay there. And every now and then he drifted back toward you without seeming to really thinking about it, leaning in to kiss the top of your head or rubbing your neck gently while the pasta boiled behind him. At one point he'd put the kettle on, and handed you a mug of peppermint tea.

Time passed slowly as you sipped at it while he cooked, watching him take care of you. The windows over the sink had gone completely dark, kitchen lights soft against the granite counter tops. Finally, when everything was done, he plated the food and brought it to the small round dining table.

"C'mere," he said again, beckoning you with his fingers, the other hand patting his thigh.

You climbed onto his lap without hesitation, your spine settling against his chest while his arm wrapped loosely around your middle. He fed you slowly between bites of his own food, twirling pasta against the fork before bringing it to your mouth while you sat warm and pliant against him, sipping peppermint tea between bites.

Neither of you spoke much, but it didn't feel necessary. This was exactly what you needed: him, taking care of you, feeling needed and wanted. You, being taken care of and shown how special you were to him.

By the time you'd wiped your mouth and your tea was empty, the ache of your body had softened low and manageable.

Robby had turned on an episode of The Office, settling the two of you back onto the bed beneath the comforter. You tucked yourself against his side, one of his arms beneath your neck so his hand could stroke through your hair. The television light flickered blue across the room, catching against the planes of his face every time you looked up at him.

"Can I ask you something?" you said quietly.

His fingers paused briefly in your hair before starting again. “Of course.”

"What did Jack say today?" you said carefully.

Robby sighed softly through his nose.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you assured him quickly. “I was just curious.”

He shifted then, turning toward you more fully so he could dip his chin and look directly into your face. His gaze studied your face, flitting over your eyes, your lips, your hair as he continued pushing his fingers through it. And then, landing his soft brown eyes back on you, he said: "He wants something that's a bit more complicated than he thinks."

Oh?

Your eyes brows threaded together in uncertainty.

Robby leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose gently before pulling back again. “Let me just…” He sighed again, dropping his hand from your hair to rub his thumb along your shoulder beneath the blanket. “I need to talk to him again first. Clarify some things before you and I really get into it. Is that okay?”

You nodded slowly, though your teeth had already found your bottom lip. Your eyes drifted back toward the television, but you weren’t really watching anymore, your thoughts beginning to move in circles.

His finger hooked gently beneath your chin and guided your face back toward him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

You looked up at him again.

“We’re good,” he said softly. “More than good.”

Something in his expression tightened, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be around anyone.

“You’ve been really patient with me this week,” he continued quietly. “And I appreciate that more than I think I’ve said. I’m sorry again about all of this. About shutting you out. You mean so much to me, honey. I want this, I want you. More than ever before.”

You cut him off before he could keep spiraling, leaning forward to kiss him softly.

“It’s okay, Robby,” you murmured against his mouth. “I’m sorry too. You and me. Always.”

His eyes closed briefly at that. Then, he smiled and breathed deeply into the kiss. He rolled over you slowly until he was hovering above you again, broad shoulders blocking out most of the television light while the muffled sounds of the episode kept playing somewhere behind him.

Remus flicked the ashes of his cigarette out of the bedroom window, smoke leaving his lips along with a chuckle. "Yeah, right."

Sirius shrugged as he took a drag from his cigarette. "The results speak for themselves."

James, who didn't smoke because it would taint his athlete lungs (as he so humbly put it), propped one leg up as he backed up against the bed frame, adjusting his position on the floor. "You fucking wish."

"I could do that if I tried. You're not special, Pads. I just don't because I know it would be too much for a girl, especially around the full moon," Remus said.

"Oh here he goes again with his rough sex werewolf shit," James threw his hands up in the air, getting a laugh from Sirius.

"Stay jealous, Prongs. Stay jealous," Remus replied.

"Never made a girl squirt though, have you? You stay jealous, Moons," Sirius challenged.

"Surely you know that we do not believe you," James said.

Sirius sighed, leaning back onto his mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well, when her cum shot all over my face, it did feel pretty fuckin' unbelievable."

"Just because virgins think you're good in the sack doesn't mean you are," Remus chimed back in, "how are they supposed to know that there's so much better out there?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sirius said, leaning back up and tilting forward in Remus's direction, "I didn't realize you have a history of fuckin' making virgins squirt. I didn't realize this topic was so familiar to you, how dare I."

"It can't be that hard to make a virgin squirt, Sirius, I'm feelin' like that's pretty easy," James said.

"The real challenge is with experienced girls," Remus said, blowing more smoke out of the window, "You think you're all that? Get back to me when you make someone impossible to please come. Not even to squirt, just to come."

Sirius diverted his gaze from Remus to James, who looked to Remus, who looked back at James, who then turned to Sirius. "That a challenge?" Sirius asked.

"Maybe it is."

"Well if I'm gonna try, you're gonna try, you fucking asshole," Sirius told Remus.

"What, is James just off the hook? We all know he can't do it anyways."

James threw his hands up again. "I can do it."

"Okay, so pick a girl," Sirius said, raising his brows in challenge.

In a mocking voice, Remus joked, "but how will we ever find a girl that sex god Sirius Black can't please?"

"You think Y/N would do it?" James asked.

"You don't think that might ruin our friendship?" Remus questioned.

"Let's review," James said, standing up and beginning to count his points on his fingers, "one, we've all been friends with her for forever, so she trusts us. Two, we all know she's got experience, and we know there's a bunch of guys who haven't been able to make her come. Three, she doesn't strike me as someone who would get attached and ruin our friendships over sex. And four, perhaps the most important of all: she's hot and we all wanna fuck her."

"How the fuck do we even broach that subject?" Sirius asked, "are we supposed to ask her to let us fuck her as a competition? Do we just try to kiss her and see where it leads? This is Y/N for fucks sake."

"Correct," Remus responded, "it`'s just Y/N. I feel like it'll be way easier to ask her than some other random girl."

"Oh, Sirius has no problem asking random girls for sex," James joked, though he was serious.

"The only reason we're friends with Y/N is because she turned you down, do you remember that, Jamie?" Sirius shot back.

"She didn't turn me down, jackass, she was in a relationship. Otherwise, I would have for sure gotten to hit that."

"Big bad James and his big bad muscles on the big bad Quidditch team, ok then," Remus joked, "irresistible to all girls. Oh wait! Except for one."

"If you're jealous of my body, Moons, just say it. This," he gestured down his torso, "takes a lot of work."

"You're really talking yourself up when my skinny ass gets more girls than you do, and more boys too, for that matter. I'm sorry, which one of us has had sex with the majority of your Quidditch team? Oh, not you? Weird," Remus responded.

“You know that fraternization on the team would be frowned upon, why would you say that when you know-“

“Oh relax,” Remus cut James off.

“Doesn’t matter how many guys you get, Moons, you still can’t make Y/N come.”

“What are we, just going off the honors system here? I already don’t believe Sirius made someone squirt, you two want me to believe you if you just say you did it? Where’s the proof?” James questioned.

“Proof? What do you want us to do, suck her cum up in a syringe, you fucking weirdo?” Remus replied.

“No no, it’s a fair point,” Sirius chimed in, “I don’t believe half the shit you tell me anyway.”

“Ok, so what do you wanna do then? Fuck her at the same time?” Remus asked.

James and Sirius exchanged a long glance.

“You two aren’t serious.”

James and Sirius both shrugged.

“I’m not fucking her with you two idiots in the room ruining it,” Remus said.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Sirius said, “I’d only make it better. For her especially.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“You think you’re such a fucking sex god-“

“It’s not a little weird to fuck the same girl at the same time? What are we gonna do, take turns?” James asked.

“She’s got three holes,” Sirius said.

“Okay, but the entire point of fucking her is to see who can actually make her come, idiot,” Remus said, “so obviously that doesn’t matter. I’m not sticking my dick somewhere that I’ll be able to feel one of yours, guys.”

“Why not?” James asked genuinely.

“Because, because-“

“Because, because, come on, Rem, it’s only weird if you make it weird. I’ve seen your dick before.”

“Me changing in front of you is not the same as us fucking someone at the same time.”

“The thought of watching her get railed by one of us doesn’t do anything for you?” James asked.

Remus blinked, unable to cohesively think of a rebuttal. “I mean.”

“Mhm,” Sirius nodded.

“Okay, so it’s agreed, we’re all gonna fuck her with the rest of us there so we have proof we aren’t lying, and we’re gonna see who can make her come,” James said.

“What if we can all make her come?” Remus asked.

“Then whoever does it first?” James tried.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I mean what if she comes harder for one of us? Once she comes it’s gonna be too easy to make her come again. Like that’s not a good gage,” Sirius said.

“No no, we share space equitably. No one hogs any part of her. Whoever makes her come first, wins,” Remus said.

“Wins what, exactly?” Sirius said.

James shrugged. “Let’s let her decide.”

────── ☾ ──────

Your gaze diverted between the three boys in front of you, your book laying open in your lap as you adjusted your cross-legged position on the common room couch. “Are you joking?”

“Nope,” said Sirius.

You processed for a few moments. “Okay, and what exactly do you get if you make me come first?” you asked.

James dipped his head and smirked. “We were uh- we were actually gonna let you decide that one.”

You raised your brows. “You were, were you?”

“…Yeah.”

You nodded your head up and down, thinking and processing. “And you all just assumed I’d say yes?”

“Honestly I don’t think we ever got that far,” Remus admitted.

“Right, right,” you said, “right.”

“You can say no, you know,” Sirius said.

You turned toward him. “I know.”

“So are you saying no?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, quicker than you anticipated.

“Are you saying yes?” Sirius pressed.

You pondered Sirius’s question. “Can I have a day or two to think about it?”

“Of course, of course,” James said.

Luckily you had plans in Hogsmeade the next day, which gave you an opportunity to give the boys an answer.

When Dorcas and Mary left the Hog’s Head early to “work on some overdue assignments,” you were left alone with the boys.

“So I have an answer for you,” you said.

“Already?” Remus said.

“Yeah, already, jackass.”

“And?”

“I’m down.”

All three boys exchanged glances. “Yeah?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You said no strings, you guys are hot, and fuck if I don’t need a good orgasm. The boys around here don’t do it for me, as you well know.” You’d tipsily told them several times how none of the boys at school could make you come.

“And you think we can?”

“If you’re really gonna try this hard, I think at least one of you has a shot. With all the sex you have? Please. If one of you can’t make me come, no one can. It’s worth a shot, and three tries is better than one.”

“Oh, so you’re using us?” Sirius joked.

“Mm, only because you guys wanted to use me first,” you lightheartedly shot back.

“Fair enough,” Sirius surrendered.

The conversation quickly shifted when butterbeers and pumpkin juices arrived, and all attention turned toward drinking games and late-night escapades.

As you walked through the cool-breezed, darkened streets of Hogsmeade, you took note of the lack of people around. You were sure the boys didn't notice.

"Where are you going?" Remus asked, watching you drift toward an alleyway.

You made a come-hither motion at the boys as you stepped into the alleyway, scanning quickly for any sign of life and finding none.

"What are you-" you grabbed Remus's face, cutting him off with a kiss. Without a second thought, Remus's hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him on instinct.

Both you and Remus were experienced enough to turn the kiss into a heated exchange quickly. You bit his bottom lip, and in turn, he took the moment of disconnection to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He took steps forward, backing you up until your back collided with the outer brick siding of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Remus pulled away, thinking he had slammed your body into the wall too hard, but you immediately pulled him back. His body had no choice but to respond immediately, his hand holding the side of your jaw in place as his lips traveled down to the side of your neck.

The gap of his face in front of yours allowed you time to open your eyes and see Sirius and James watching the exchange intently.

"Guess Remus is going first then?" you teased.

"No, no, that's not the arrangement," Sirius said, "we all said no hogging. We all get equal shots. Move the fuck over."

Sirius grabbed your throat and pulled you forward into a kiss, causing Remus to stumble to the side in defeat.

Remus gestured to James to do what was just done to him to Sirius, but James wasn't one to fight for attention. James was one to wait until he was wanted, and until you were begging from attention from him. He would wait his turn patiently.

"Heathens," he snickered, "let her breathe for 2 seconds, would ya?"

Sirius pulled away, but his hand remained on your throat. "I'm sorry, I don't see you winning right now, do I? Shut up and maybe you'll learn something."

He resumed kissing you, and his hand dropped from your throat, tracing down your body until it landed between your legs. He pulled away to look into your eyes. You gave him a "yes" nod to signal that you consented to his touches.

That was the moment Remus decided he was done standing there like an idiot.

He dropped to his knees directly beside Sirius, tracing his fingers tauntingly slowly up your thighs, aiming for under your house-colored skirt.

Sirius noticed his efforts, and their hands collided directly on your underwear.

Like petulant little boys, you felt Sirius smack Remus's hand away, then Remus's hand smack him back, and then Sirius pulled his hand out from under your shirt and smacked Remus on the side of the head.

"Ass," Remus said his body moving sideways, causing his hand to leave its place under your skirt, "what the fuck was that for?"

"No one said we have to play fair," Sirius replied, shoving his hand back under your skirt and cupping between your thighs.

You barely reacted apart from a small gasp.

"You really are a tough one, huh?" Sirius teased, his hand falling for a moment.

Smirking, you responded, "you wanna make me come? You're gonna have to put in the work. Unless you think you can't handle it? Too busy fucking girls and not women?"

"Working me up is only gonna make this more intense for you," Sirius taunted, "you're playing a dangerous game."

"Don't listen to him, he's a cocky fuck," James laughed from behind Sirius.

You shifted your hips and let out a small moan. Sirius thought his words were really working you up, until he looked down to see that Remus had not only snuck his way between your legs while you and Sirius were talking, but that his head disappeared under your skirt.

Sirius decided to let Remus do some of the hard work before he chimed back in to bring you to the edge, so he stepped back, crossing his arms and sighing as he stood next to James. "At least flip the skirt up for me, gorgeous."

You pulled your skirt up, bunching it up and tucking it into its own waistband, leaving Remus visible, and when he pulled away to breathe, your core as well.

Remus flicked his tongue over your clit, one hand on your hip hooking a thumb around the fabric of your underwear to keep it to the side. Your fingers intertwined into his soft curls, keeping him in place as he moved his tongue faster and faster.

"You're kinda good at this," you spoke breathily, earning a moan of acknowledgement, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

James decided to step in, standing to your side and turning your face toward him to finally take his turn at a kiss. The kiss was slow and passionate, the intimacy of it making you even wetter for Remus between your legs. His glasses fogged up due to the heat radiating off of your body.

When James pulled away, he kept a hand under your chin to keep your eyes on him instead of Remus. Remus's unoccupied hand began to take over his tongue's spot, circling your clit as he moved his face further back, teasing your entrance.

You let out a moan, staring into James's eyes. James nodded when you made the noise. "Good girl, that feel good?"

"Mhm," you responded, moaning again.

Remus's tongue began to fuck into you, his hand still working your clit. You used your hand to press his face further into you, refusing to give up the pleasure. You so rarely were properly pleasured by men, since they were typically unfamiliar with how to actually work their way around a woman's body, but you had a feeling that at least one of these three had to know what they were doing. You hoped it would be all of them.

As far as who you wanted to win, well, you didn't really have a preference. Honestly, all of them were hot, and you would be happy coming for any of them. Of course, there was a little bit of stake in the game. They allowed you to pick the prize for whoever won. You hadn't told them yet, but the prize would be you. Consistent sex-capades with the one girl around who could truly do it for them? That's a prize in itself.

You knew they had a lot of sex. You knew they slept with a ton of people, but you also knew that they were usually the ones giving the pleasure, not receiving it. The prize? That would change.

"Fuck, Jamie," you moaned, still staring into his eyes as Remus ate you out.

Remus pulled away, his hand never stopping as he said, "that's not fucking fair, I'm the one doing the work down here. He didn't even earn his name."

"And you think you did?" James challenged.

"She's only moanin' cus of me," Remus shot back.

"Well, you clearly haven't made her come, and you've been down there long enough," James said, "my turn."

Remus had the same thought as Sirius, and opted to let James do some of the work as well.

He sighed and backed up, and James dropped to his knees.

Despite being on his knees, James gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders. You squealed in surprise at his strength.

"You're strong," you said.

"You have no idea," he responded, gripping your ass and pushing you into his face, immediately beginning to move his tongue at a rapid pace, his head shaking back and forth from the speed.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back and knocking it against the brick, "fuck, just like that."

Sirius approached again, standing directly behind James an pushing his head further into you. He leaned over James and kissed you, swallowing to whimper that followed.

James refused to stop, eating you out like he was starving. Each time you made a noise that Sirius found hot, he pushed James's head harder into you. James didn't let out a single noise of protest.

You looked down and spotted Sirius's hand on James's head, forcing him to increase the pleasure his mouth was giving you, and it caused your core to flex.

"Fuck," you gasped, "oh my god, James, fuck."

"Earned his name, I see," Sirius teased, turning to Remus.

Remus pretended to act annoyed, but anyone could see his dick straining against his pants for dear life. Even if the name you moaned wasn't his, it was still hot nevertheless, and he knew it would be his name when he was the one making you come. He had no doubts. Why not let James and Sirius have a little fun first?

Part of the reason you were so hard to make come was that man didn't understand that just eating out or just penetration wasn't enough for you. These boys had no idea that as long as they remained kneeling between your legs, they were already way off.

It took ten minutes of James eating you out before he took a breath. "Fucking hell, are you close?"

You giggled. "I don't know, am I?"

Remus caught on. "You need to be fucked, huh?"

"Okay fuck you, she might actually be close," James said, but stood up anyways.

"Didn't you guys pick me because you knew it wouldn't be easy?" you asked.

James gripped your chin and pulled your face against his, trapping you in a heated kiss to remind you that he could, in fact, make you feel good.

“Up,” Remus said, snaking his arms around your thighs, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips.

You watched in the gap between your bodies as Remus pushed everything below the waist down, exposing his long, slender cock.

He gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking between your bodies as well as he lined himself up with your entrance. He waited a moment for you to revoke consent, but when you didn’t, he pushed himself into you.

You tilted your head back as he bottomed out, barely giving you any time to adjust before he started fucking you.

You locked your legs behind him, crossing your feet to keep you in place. He kept his hands under your thighs to hold you up as he fucked you, his lips trailing down to your jawline.

“Shit, Remus,” you moaned.

The use of his name only egged him on more, causing him to start fucking into you faster. “Good fucking girl, I can feel you squeezing me,” he whispered into your air.

You whined and whimpered as his cock pumped in out of you, and Remus was beginning to lose control.

You squirmed momentarily, and Remus grabbed your hand in his own, moving it over your head and pinning it against the brick wall. “Stay fucking still.”

You saw a window of opportunity, and arched your back. “Or what?” you breathily asked.

Remus nearly growled, immediately dropping your hand and wrapping his fingers around your throat. He snapped his hips harshly, not caring about the competition anymore, just caring about fucking you the hardest you’ve ever been fucked. His hand pressed your neck into the brick, rendering you unable to move your head. In tandem with deep thrusts, he repeated, “stay. Fucking. Still.”

You obeyed.

You opened your eyes and spotted James, who was covering half of his face with his hand, breathing deeply to maintain self control. The eye contact only added to your arousal, because James’s eyes were trained on you so intensely that you almost couldn’t handle it.

Your hands explored Remus’s body, feeling muscles on his arms that you couldn’t see in the light of day on his relatively skinny frame. You pawed at his hips, involuntarily trying to push each thrust even further into you.

Sirius approached you two, his cock in hand as he gently stroked himself. “Let her off the wall.”

Remus, sweaty and losing breath, removed his lips from sucking your jawline to look at Sirius. “I’m fucking occupied.”

“Let her off the wall,” Sirius repeated, “I didn’t say you had to stop fucking her.”

Remus dipped his head into the crook of your neck. “I fucking hate you,” he said, directed as Sirius, but he remembered the terms he agreed to, and knew he was hogging you. So he moved his hands to your thighs again, and stepped backward from the building, his cock still in you.

The shifting of his hips as he moved was causing stimulation without Remus even trying.

Remus turned so that your back was to Sirius, and he resumed fucking you, slower this time. His arms moved you slightly up and down to aid in his thrusts, his hips moving the best he could without you pressed against the wall.

Sirius pressed your back against his chest, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as he began to kiss your shoulder, your neck, and your jawline, until he turned your head sideways and kissed you.

You allowed your body to fall into him, Remus’s thrusts causing you to jerk upward every few seconds. Sirius fought to hold your head against his, but honestly you moving due to getting fucked only made him harder.

“You ever done this back here before?” Sirius whispered to you.

“Mhm,” you responded, barely able to speak from how hard Remus was thrusting into you.

Sirius spit into his hand and rubbed it up and down his cock, preparing himself.

“Stop for a second,” Sirius told Remus.

“Fuck no,” Remus said, lost in pleasure.

“Stop for a second or this could hurt her, dumbass,” Sirius clarified.

Remus stopped thrusting and pressed his forehead to your collarbone, catching his breath for a second and trying to stay still until he could resume movement.

Sirius lined himself up, wrapping one hand around your stomach, and using the other hand to hold your ass up as he slowly pushed himself into your ass.

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, allowing him to take his time stretching you.

“Would you fucking hurry up?” Remus snapped, clearly annoyed.

“You can wait 10 more seconds,” Sirius replied, trying to focus on restraint.

“Shouldn’t have to, selfish fuck.”

“I’m selfish? Who just stood here fucking her without me or James getting-“

“Just fucking get to it,” Remus was losing control by the second.

“That’s what I’m doing, thank you very much.”

“It’s just like you to be cocky while you’re literally sticking your dick in-“

“Well maybe if you stopped fucking distracting me then I-“

“Would you two please shut up and fuck me?” you chimed in.

Sirius was finally bottomed out, and he tested the waters by thrusting only an inch or two at a time. Once he started a normal pace, Remus began his own relentless pace again, barely even acknowledging that Sirius was there.

When Remus thrusted in, jerking you backward, Sirius would take the opportunity to thrust forward as well, the two boys not having to move a ton because you were being tossed between their cocks, the movements giving you makeshift thrusts.

“James,” you said.

He perked up, somewhat shocked that you said his name while sandwiched between his two best friends.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to touch me,” you said.

Remus and Sirius both looked up to acknowledge what was happening, but ended up looking up directly at each other.

They stayed watching each other for a moment, their breaths staggered and their faces glistening from sweat.

Sirius reached past you and grabbed the back of Remus’s head, pulling him in.

Sirius and Remus’s lips collided directly next to you, and the sight of them kissing as they both fucked you almost did you in.

Almost. James approached your other side, not daring to interrupt the hotness of the kiss, and he placed his own soft kiss on your temple.

“You want me to touch you?” he teased.

“Please, Jamie,” you were not above pleading to get what you want.

James ran his hand down your body, which was still bouncing up and down, slowly dragging between your breast area and down your stomach. He stilled just under your skirt’s waistband.

“Ask me for it again,” James said.

“Please touch me, James, I need it so bad.”

His hand moved lower.

“How bad? You need me to make you come?”

“I need it, I wanna come, please Jamie, please.”

“Atta girl,” he said.

He kissed you as he began circling your clit with his finger. You moaned into the kiss, garnering the attention of Sirius and Remus, who breathily pulled away from one another to watch your body react to now being touched.

You leaned back against Sirius, your moans escalating in both frequency and volume.

“Oh m- fuck, I’m gonna come,” you moaned.

Sirius and Remus both began to fuck you harder, but you stopped them quickly.

“No, no, do what you were doing,” you said, “don’t escalate. Fuck me like you were.”

The boys both resumed their previous pace, and you felt the knot begin to form in your stomach.

James applied a slight bit more pressure to your clit, and you knew you were in for it.

“I’m coming, I-“

You came hard, your wetness completely coating Remus’s cock as your orgasm washed over you. It was so intense, likely from your body not being used to men making you come like this, that your legs started to shake. You would have fallen if it weren’t for two boys holding you between them.

James gradually slowed his hand down, kissing you through the orgasm to help calm you down.

Remus couldn’t help himself but join you. He hit your cervix with three brutal thrusts as he allowed himself to come, his head resting on your shoulder as he took a breath.

After you and Remus had calmed down, Sirius pulled out of you, allowing Remus to place you down. You stayed clinging onto Remus, not convinced that your legs would work after being hoisted up for so long.

Sirius had already taken a step back to finish himself off, roaring lowly as he came and painted a brick on the wall white.

That left James, who looked completely pleased and content.

“You didn’t-“

“Oh, I did,” James said, looking down.

You spotted the wet patch between his legs, and realized that James came without any stimulation of his own, but just from watching all of you and doing to you what he did.

Remus finally pulled out of you, stepping back from you and running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”

After a few minutes of everyone resetting and catching their breath, it was Sirius who finally asked, “so? Who won?”

“Clearly me,” James said, “she asked me to touch her, and that’s what did her in.”

“I’m sorry, whose cock was hitting her g-spot?” Remus smiled.

“It was the DP that did it, obviously, idiots,” Sirius defended himself.

They all turned to you.

“Tie.”

“No no no, it’s not a fucking tie,” Sirius said, walking back over to you, “which one of us did it for you? You have to pick one.”

“No I don’t,” you shrugged.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t, Sirius,” you said, “I’m allowed to decide it’s a tie. I’m not in your little competition, I don’t have to follow any rules. It’s a tie.”

“But-“

“You were all fucking me at the same time, what did you expect?”

“So- so who gets whatever the winner gets, then?” James asked.

“All of you, I guess.”

“Yeah? And what do we all get?” Remus asked.

“Well, you all just came, so I guess you gotta wait,” you responded.

James raised his brows. “The prize is a blowjob? From you?”

“Yeah,” you said, “as many as you want, whatever you want with me, whenever you want, yeah.”

Remus smirked. Sirius chuckled and smiled wide, and James was still in disbelief.

“I haven’t come that hard in months,” Remus said.

how exactly did they discover you? one day samira was scrolling on tiktok and came across a get ready with me video you posted. she thought you were one of the most beautiful women she'd ever seen, and followed you for more content like the video she saw. then she looked through your comment section and saw people saying to look up your twitter account. curiosity got the best of her, so she quickly switched over to twitter and typed in your handle, to find your account filled with pictures and videos of you in sexy lingerie sets, some of you without anything on, a few sneak peek clips of you fucking yourself with your fingers or a dildo, or videos of you massaging your bare tits.

samira was instantly captured by you and your content. in her eyes, you were a goddess. your body looked as though it were sculpted by the gods themselves, your face was so beautiful, and you had the prettiest pussy she'd ever seen. initially she would watch your videos by herself at night while jack was at work, so she could get herself off after a long workday. until one day jack came home from work to grab something he forgot.

samira was too focused on the video of you playing on her phone and her fingers plunging in and out of her soaking wet hole, she didn't even notice jack walking into the room. her moans mixed with your pornographic ones made jack's ears perk up. it's not like he didn't expect her to masturbate, he worked later hours than her, but he didn't expect his wife to be watching some pornstar to give herself an orgasm.

his mind changed once he saw you on the screen. you looked so pretty as you were destroying your poor hole with a dildo that looked like it shouldn't fit inside of you. similarly to his wife, he became captured by you.

it wasn't an awkward conversation when they made the decision to invite your content into their sex life. they were grown adults who loved each other, and you are your content is what they needed in their life. the couple had more sex than they ever did before.

they created a joint account to watch your content together. the couple instantly became one of your top viewers. the stronger their obsession grew the more money they spent on you. they paid extra for personalized videos, and made it known that they were a couple who enjoyed watching your content in the bedroom.

whenever you got their requests, you loved it. they were your favorite customers. they paid good money and they were far more kind than the strange, perverted men who would normally buy from you. jack and samira would send you the cutest lingerie sets, along with other gifts, which were mostly new pairs of heels or expensive jewelry.

samira still followed your normal social media accounts and stayed tuned in for every single post you made. watching your "get ready with me"s, shopping hauls, storytimes, and makeup videos made her feel like she knew you. as parasocial as it sounds, you were so much more than a pornstar to her.

the couple's obsession took a step further when you started offering video calls with customers. before their first call they were nervous, but as soon as they saw your gorgeous smile and beautiful body laced in a set sent by them, their nerves eased instantly.

"hi!" you beamed, and the couple waved back.

you couldn't see their faces, all you saw was jack's t-shirt covered chest and samira's in a tank top, but you knew they were definitely hot.

"this is my first time chatting with a couple," you informed them, "so i'm sorry if i seem a little nervous."

"no worries, sweetheart." jack's voice said softly. "we're a little nervous ourselves."

"i'm excited," you said as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. "but you're the bosses here, so i'll make your every wish come true."

"first, how was your day?" samira asked and it threw you off guard. most of your clients didn't care about you, just your body. "sorry if that's weird. i just wanna get comfortable with you."

"it's not weird, it's sweet actually." you giggled. "and my day was great, thanks for asking. how about yours?"

"it was long," she replied. "because of work, but it's better now because of you, and my husband."

after the three of you finished asking about each other's days and a little bit of small talk, the camera was turned towards you on the bed, your body was bare, legs wide open with your pussy on display for the couple. they watched as your middle and index fingers spread open your wet folds then dipped into your sopping hole. your conversation with them made your pussy so wet because their kindness turned you on. yes, it was bare minimum, but in your industry kindness from customers was hard to come by. you continued plunging your fingers into your pussy as it made those squelching sounds the couple loved so much.

their mouths watered at the sight of you. they wondered how you'd taste, how you'd feel wrapped around jack's cock or samira's fingers, and how many orgasms they'd be able to draw from your pretty pussy.

in jack's head, he imagined being there in your bedroom. his cock splitting you open as samira fucked herself against your pretty mouth. in samira's, you were sprawled out on the bed as she gripped onto your thighs, she was licking and sucking on your swollen clit while jack fucked her from behind.

"fuck, it feels so good." you moaned as you looked into the camera of your phone. you saw jack and samira's arms moving as they touched themselves, chasing their own orgasms.

"is that right, sweetheart?" jack chuckled softly.

"so good." you nodded. "so fucking good."

you heard samira's whimpers and jack's groans over the phone and it made you wetter. as your orgasm got closer, you fucked yourself harder, your moans grew louder, and your face twisted into those pretty expressions the couple loved. the three of you finished around the same time, and once they were done you smiled because you enjoyed being able to help them cum. it was so beautiful to you.

"i really enjoyed that." you walked closer to the camera to pick it up then sat on your bed. "i hope we get to do it again."

after their first call, they made it routine to set up a video call with you weekly. sometimes they'd fuck as you watched and touched yourself, or they'd masturbate separately, or touch each other, as you did the same. they could tell you enjoyed your calls with them, and it was true. the couple gave you some of the best orgasms you've had over the phone. and they were the sweetest people ever, always asking about your day and how your life was. the conversations between them flowed so easily, you even slipped up and told them they were the first and only couple you had as customers. you didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing, but you usually refrained from making customers feel too special because you didn't want them to get the wrong ideas of the arrangement. but jack and samira were different, they were good people and you liked them, maybe a little too much.

one day you made a tweet that said, "i'm so selfish, i want a boyfriend and a girlfriend." then another, "i need to be fucked by a hot married couple." when jack and samira saw your tweets they felt like they were directed towards them because you said it yourself that they were your only customers that were a couple. truthfully, you did want the couple to fuck you. from your sessions over the phone you knew they'd be able to fuck you right. but unfortunately, your contact with them was limited to over the phone. they didn't really know you and you didn't really know them. you were just a pornstar that helped them get theirselves off.

💌a/n: i wrote this mohabbot one shot as a gift to you all for my birthday. i hope you all love it!!!🤗

edit: this was originally a one shot but i decided to turn it into a series!

Your foot taps against the floor of the dentist waiting room, your hands clammy and pressed atop your jeans clad thighs.

You hated the dentist. You hated any kind of health appointment. They always stressed you out.

But you hadn’t been for a dental hygiene appointment in years. Which, isn’t great. You knew that. But work was busy and bills were expensive and aside from brushing and flossing your teeth, your dental care wasn’t really at the top of your priority list.

“Miss L/n?” A female voice calls from across the room. You lift your gaze up from your phone and give the dentist assistant — you assumed her to be — a tight smile.

You stand from your seat and tuck your phone into the pocket of your jeans and make your way over to the woman standing near the door that led into the hallway.

You both murmured your greetings to one another and she led you into an empty operating room. You remove your jacket and take a seat on the dental chair, laying it behind you.

“Doctor Abbott will be with you shortly, ma’am.” The woman nods to you, giving you a final smile before leaving.

After about a five minute wait, the door opened “Sorry for the wait, ma’am. I’m Doctor Abbott, I’ll be performing your routine check. It’s very nice to meet you.”

And god, you’re nearly certain that your heart faltered for a split second. He was.. gorgeous.

He was middle aged, about mid forties if you were to guess. His hair was wavy and slightly greying, and from what you could see, it looked as if it were a slightly ginger or auburn colour before he started to go grey. He was physically fit, clearly someone who went to the gym regularly.

Well, at least he would make this appointment a little more exciting. He certainly was easy on the eyes.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling a little flustered. Embarrassingly so. “Oh, it’s okay. Nice to meet you too.” You were now laying back slightly on the chair, your legs outstretched in front of you.

Doctor Abbott grabs a four wheeled stool and sits down on it, rolling over to you and situating himself near your head and grabbing a pair of blue gloves from the table next to him and putting them on his large, callused hands.

“So, today we’re just going to do regularly cleaning which includes scaling, polishing and a flossing. Is there any issues that you’ve been having recently, or are we okay to just get straight to the cleaning?” His voice was deep and professional, like he had rattled off these same words thousands of times today. He had a subtle confidence about him.

You peek up at his name tag secured around his neck. Jack Abbott. Nice name.

You feel stupidly nervous in his presence, especially now with him sitting so close to you. But you push your feelings aside and answer his question. “Well, uhm.. I haven’t been to the dentist in a while and I’ve recently noticed some tooth pain, specifically when I eat something chewy? Like, gummies in particular. It’s a little random.” You chuckle.

Jack chuckles back, the conversation surprisingly easy. “Not random at all. Tooth aches are the most common things I deal with day to day.” He continues. “So tooth pain, hm? Can you show me which tooth or teeth are paining you?”

You nod and open your mouth, your face reddening at how stupid you probably looked pointing at your back teeth. God, you hoped your breath smelled okay.

Jack nods in understanding, grabbing a dental mirror tool from the table next to him and gently pushing it into your mouth. You keep your gaze fixed upon the ceiling as he quickly examines each tooth, humming softly under his breath.

You felt one of his gloved fingers in your mouth too, guiding the instrument along your back teeth. Your breath hitches when his finger brushes against your tongue for a second.

Fuck, that felt..

God, you were really touch starved, weren’t you? You were seriously getting turned on from your dentists fingers in your mouth?

You weren’t.. obvious about how that affected you, were you?

Why was he.. smirking? A knowing look crossed Jack’s features. A slightly cocky look at that.

“You okay?” He asks casually. His finger runs over your front teeth before slipping out of your mouth. And it probably wasn’t intentional, right..?

You nod around the tool in your mouth and he pulls it out to allow you to talk properly. You suck in a subtle breath and reply to him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He echoes, tilting his head to the side. “You seem a little flustered, or something.” He takes a moment before continuing, his voice a little lower. “Are you enjoying this?”

You.. what the fuck were you meant to say to that?

“I.. I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You scramble for words, trying to excuse your change in behaviour. Fuck, this was mortifying.

Jack nods smugly. You watch his expression start to change, like an idea had landed and he was running it over in his head. He then lifted his hand, signalling you to open your mouth again.

He slides two fingers into your mouth, and initially, you presume he’s just continuing your exam. But then they slide further.. resting on your tongue.

Doctor abbots voice drops an octave, something dark flashing in his eyes. “You like that?” He asks, his voice taunting and a little surprised.

Your breath catches in your throat, a heat blooming over your cheeks. You felt mortified. Humiliated. But another feeling washed over you too.

Pleasure.

It pooled between your legs, your core heating and twisting as you became slick beneath your underwear. You clench your thighs against each other, as if Jack could see through your clothes and notice how soaked you were beneath them.

Your eyes roll back slightly, a small sound of pleasure rumbling from the back of your throat. You nod your head the best you can with your mouth full, and Jacks other hand comes up to grip the side of your face. To hold you steady.

And then his fingers went deeper. Brushing against your uvula. Your eyes begin to water and you gag a little around his digits, your saliva coating his gloved covered skin and threatening to drip from your mouth.

Jack makes a humming sound in contemplation. He keeps his hand still, not pushing in or out, just resting in the back of your throat. “Interesting, hm? Getting all hot and bothered over a pair of fuckin’ gloves in your mouth. Kinky girl, aren’t you?” He chuckles.

Your cheeks are burning now, your eyes feeling unbearably heavy. They flutter closed and a string of saliva drips from your lips down to your chin.

“Hm?” Jack pushes, and your eyes fly open when you realise you hadn’t responded to him. You nod awkwardly, making a garbled humming sound around his fingers.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Say that again?” He taunts, pulling his hand back, releasing his digits from your mouth. The blue gloves were dripping with saliva and your chest burns with humiliation at the sight.

You greedily gulp down some air, your lips swollen and pink from sucking. “You like being used like this, sweetheart? Getting all messy knowing that anyone could walk in and see?” Jack asks now that your mouth was free.

“Yes, doctor Abbott. I— I like it, a lot.” You stutter, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously to ease some of the tension between them.

Jacks eyes flick down to them, catching the movement. A crooked smirk crawls onto his lips as the realisation sets in. “Are you getting messy down there too, sweetheart? Fuck, you’re pathetic.” He chuckles, bringing his fingers back up to your mouth and pushing the same two back inside.

You almost moan as they slip into your heat, your tongue swirling around the surgical glove. The texture felt pleasant on your tongue. Stimulating, actually.

Jack begins to thrust his fingers in and out of your mouth at a steady pace, brushing against a sensitive spot in your throat and making you gag every now and then. Your eyes water slightly in pleasure and you feel yourself turn molten beneath your panties. Your pussy begins to spasm uncontrollably and a feeling of panic and embarrassment washes over you.

You moan in overstimulation around Doctor Abbotts fingers as your orgasm ripples through you, your fluids dripping into your underwear, undoubtedly making the walk out of this place extremely uncomfortable with the mess you’d made.

You came. Completely untouched. That had never happened before. Hell, the men you’d been with sometimes couldn’t make you cum while touching you.

But Jack noticed it. Of course he did. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t get much past him.

“Oh, you’re cumming all over yourself. Oh fuck, baby,” Jack groans as if it physically pleases him to see you feeling good. He keeps his pace with his fingers unfaltering, your oral fixation being satisfied every time he makes you gag on his hand.

And suddenly, you think you’ll start making more dentist appointments.

Thank you for reading!! Got a little sloppy and lazy at the end so sorry about that. This is incredibly self indulgent too lol, and I’m actually dealing with some tooth aches at the moment also😭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"… what seems to be the problem—?"

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

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

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

Face down, ass up.

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

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

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

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

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

"Words, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe."

"It's not very good."

"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."

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

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

Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."

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

"Thanks again, doctor."

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

"What?" Jack frowns.

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

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

"There's nothing to tell—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dollface. Doll. Dolly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.

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

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

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

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

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

@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡

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

@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡

@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY

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

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

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

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

@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.

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

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

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

@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bunny.

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

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

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

[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]

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

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

doll : doctor abbot???

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

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

swatdoc : How did you know it was me?

doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡

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

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

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

swatdoc : Sounds fair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of the actresses look like you.

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

"You seeing anyone?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, sounds good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jack?"

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

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

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

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

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

"The aquarium…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's made you undeniably horny for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'m cumming, daddy—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You kiss him again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Feelin' restless, bunny?"

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

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

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

"I'm fine—"

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

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

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

"I don't think so."

"Jack."

"Bunny."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm, yes—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had it not been for your growling stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's not my type, she's just hot—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???

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

@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine

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

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

"You're stealing my fans, Jack."

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

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

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

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

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

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

"Use your words, bunny."

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

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

Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Add another finger for me, bunny."

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

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

"Yes, but—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

"You ready, sweetheart?"

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

"What do you need a bag for?"

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

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

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

Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Something isn't right.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, actually—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That the girlfriend?"

"Sure is."

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

"What's it mean?"

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

8:21. 

You checked your phone for the millionth time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was that too much to ask for? 

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

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

You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no, I’m okay, thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dinner was nice. Really nice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it, you decided. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, jack, please–r-right there!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to do that, honey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, though, you had to part. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?” you asked. 

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

“Why didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a bold faced lie. Taking you shopping turns him on more than anything else. It’s the way you just go to town with his American Express like you’ve got no other care in the world. Which you don’t. He takes care of everything. And gets off on seeing you buying random shit with his money. Drives in the fact he owns you completely.

“But daddy, we still have shoes left. And lingerie. And then something to eat, maybe?”

You blink up at him cutely, and he’s aware you know exactly what you’re doing. Knows he can’t resist you when you get like this. That’s why you’d dressed up all sweet today too. In this little pink dress with the ribbons, flouncing around the mall like some goddamned Tinkerbell, holding onto his hand before something shiny and exciting inevitably distracts you.

“Fuck shoes,” he growls, “you’ll take hours in there.”

“So what you’re saying is you don’t love me.” You cross your arms over your chest (your completely free arms because God forbid you hold a shopping bag. Not that he’d let you anyways).

“What I’m saying is I’ll book the store out for you tomorrow, and you can come back and not have to deal with people or lines or shit like that.”

You frown, considering it before finally smiling. Going on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “Okay fine. But you owe me, because I wanted new shoes today.”

“Sure, princess.” You and him both know who really owes who. And he’d get his end of the deal whenever he so pleased. “One more store and then we’re done for the day.”

You roll your eyes and huff, go through your whole bratty shtick of how “he’s sooo unfair” and how you had a “whole list of things I still need to buy!” He waits for you to be done and sure enough, soon you’re all smiles again.

“Okay, let’s go to Victoria’s Secret!” You announce after he’s finished paying for the latest round of clothes you’ve chosen. You drag him out of the store, but it’s only after a few seconds that you stop and pout, “Why aren’t you holding my hand?”

Rafe wonders if you try to wind him up on purpose. He knows you’re not as much of an airhead as you sometimes pretend to be. Now, he simply stares at you, his hands very clearly full and occupied by the shit ton of Prada and Louis Vuitton shopping bags.

But you just smile sweetly and hold your hand out. In the end, Rafe sighs and shakes his head, offering you his pinkie finger that you happily hold on to.

“You’re a piece of work.”

“You love it.”

You go wild inside the Victoria’s Secret store. Rafe hands all the shopping bags to one of the sales associates as he watches you in your element. Picking out everything pink and glittery, leopard print, rhinestones, lace. He comes up behind you and slips his hand up your skirt, squeezing your bare ass. You giggle, but you know better than to push his hand away.

He nods at a red lacy set on a mannequin, then at the sales associate, “She’ll try that one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The VIP dressing room is dimly lit and spacious. Rafe sprawls out on the velvet sofa, eyes dark as you model one set after another for him. He nods at all the frilly pink shit you try on, the silk negligees that show off your pretty legs, and push up bras that make your tits look fucking insane.

“Can you buy me angel wings, dada? Like the models have in the fashion show?”

“If you’re good.”

His jaw clenches when you come out in a lacy black corset and matching g-string. You give him a twirl and he gets a good look at your cute little ass on full display. His palm itches to spank it.

“This one is soooo cute,” you gush, “I think I’ll wear it to Sarah’s costume party this weekend.”

“You’re not going to any parties dressed in that.”

You roll your eyes, “Obviously I’d wear it with like shorts or a skirt or something. And a cute kitty tail and ears.”

Rafe licks his lips, “Kitty huh?”

You smile cutely, “yes daddy.”

He motions for you to get down on your knees, not really having to say anything because he’s got you trained well enough to understand orders based on a look. He crooks his finger, beckons you closer.

“Crawl.”

You both know how much he gets off on it, the power he has over you. You were a little brat and he spoiled you rotten but in the end, he could make you do anything. Snap his fingers and you’d come running. Spread your legs for him if he so pleased. Crawl over to him like a little kitty cat in a public dressing room because he said so. Because he paid for your life. And he owned you.

He pets your head lazily, stroking your hair while you nuzzle against his hand like a good little pet in your sexy lingerie. Looking up at him through those sexy long lashes. He smirks.

“You wear this to a party and I’ll make sure it’s the last one you ever attend.”

You pout, but he presses his thumb into your mouth to silence you, allows you to suck on it to keep your tantrum at bay.

“You can still get the kitty ears. Wear ‘em in bed for when I come home from work. Maybe we can get you a collar and leash too.”

He makes you stand up, give him a few more twirls before slapping your butt and sending you to try on the next set. It’s the red one he’d chosen, barely conceals anything, just tiny strips of lacy red fabric and a bunch of strings.

Rafe grabs the front of your panties, dragging you into his lap till you’re straddling him. His patience is wearing thin, and you’re being a little tease with how you’re flaunting your cute, sexy body at him. As if he didn’t own you and could have his way with you whenever he pleased.

“Knees.”

It’s all he has to say and then you’re on the floor between his legs. You scowl though, because you’re you and of course you would, “Floor’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care. Take it out.”

You do. He’s got you trained well enough. And it’s so hot, your hand wrapping around his dick, expensive manicured fingernails gleaming against the dim lights. He grabs your hair, pushing your head down. You take him like a good girl, as deep as you possibly can. None of that kitten licks shit because you know he’d beat your ass if you tried that right now.

“Good girl,” he mutters, stroking your hair back and making sure you’re looking at him. Watches your lips stretch out on his fat dick as you bob your head and suck him how he likes it, “So cute on your knees.”

It’s definitely Rafe’s favourite part of these shopping trips. You could be as bratty as you wanted but at the end of the day, you’d always be on your knees for him. His property, his pet, and he kept you looking so pretty and expensive. His bratty little girl, all dressed up in head to toe designer, complaining and throwing your cute little tantrums but never once daring to say no to him when he wanted you.

A successful investment.

He finishes down your throat, watching you swallow before pulling you into his lap for a rough, possessive kiss. You’re all submissive and shy now, cuddling into him with nothing left to say.

It never lasted long though.

Sure enough, once his car’s been loaded up with all your shopping and he’s put you in the passenger seat that you finally speak again.

“Daddy, can I have another Birkin please?”