delulu

Frank must have seen something in your face, because his own expression shifted almost immediately. The smile faded. "Hey. You okay?"

For one terrible moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stare at his face, at the genuine worry, and wonder how someone could look at you like that and then go on a date with someone else.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. Sorry." You pulled away from his hands, ignoring the way your skin seemed to protest the loss of contact, and stepped around him. "Gotta check on a patient."

You didn't look back. If you looked back, you might see something in his eyes that would undo you completely, or worse, you might see nothing at all.

So you disappeared into the nearest patient room.

Behind you, Frank stood exactly where you'd left him. He stared after you, confusion etched into every line of his face, before his gaze slowly drifted to the nurses' station. Perlah and Princess suddenly found the computer screen fascinating. Neither would meet his eyes.

Busying yourself with patients barely helped. It did something, kept your hands moving, your mouth talking, your brain focused on vitals and medications and everything except the image of Frank Langdon on a date with someone who wasn't you. But the moment a room emptied, the moment you had two seconds to yourself, the thought came back.

Frank Langdon has a date.

You'd just finished discharging a teenager with a sprained ankle when you found yourself back at the central board, staring up at the rainbow of markers and patient names.

What patient should you take next? Didn't matter. Pick one. Anyone. Just keep moving.

"Hey."

The voice came from your left, close enough to make your heart seize. You didn't need to look to know who it belonged to. You'd know that voice anywhere.

You glanced up briefly. Just long enough to confirm it was him, standing there in his black scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, looking down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then your eyes were back on the board, fixed on a random patient name. "Hi," you managed, and even that single syllable came out too quiet, nothing like your usual voice.

Frank actually did a double take. He'd gotten used to your smile. The smile that would carry him through the next hour. But there was nothing now. Just a blank expression and eyes that refused to meet his.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of himself. His hands itched to reach for you, but something in your posture made him hold back.

"Want to take the fever one together?" The question came out softer than he intended. Not his usual style at all.

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. "Uh, no sorry." You took a step back. "I have to—I have to check on Ogilvie and Joy. And their patient." You were stammering, you realized. Actually stammering. "Resident duties."

The last part came out with a small grimace, as if you'd just remembered that Frank was also a resident, as if you were reminding yourself that he existed in the same professional category as you, that there was nothing special about him, nothing that should make your chest ache this way.

You turned to leave without waiting for his response.

His hand caught your forearm before you could escape. "Hey." His grip was firm enough to stop you but not enough to hurt. "Did I do something?"

He turned you toward him slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when you didn't, he stepped closer. Your shoes nearly touched. You could smell him, that stupidly nice combination of hospital antiseptic and whatever soap he used, the one you'd noticed weeks ago and never mentioned because that would require admitting you paid attention.

"No!" The word came out too fast. You shook your head, and when you tried to gently shake off his grip, he let go immediately. "No, no, you haven't done anything. I promise."

For a horrible and awkward moment, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They hovered, before one of them landed on his chest. You patted him. Twice.

"I'm fine," you heard yourself say. "Just a rough day with patients."

You both stared at your hand on his chest. For one endless second, you felt the warmth of his body through the thin scrub top, the way his heart was racing. You dropped your hand like it had caught fire and then you were gone.

At some point, you lost track of time hours ago, you were called to assist. Car accident, multiple patients. Robby's voice called your name as you fell into place beside Frank. Side by side, like always.

You worked well together. You always had. Frank would reach for something and you'd already have it ready. You'd start a sentence and he'd finish it. It was the kind of relationship people spent years building.

But today, there were no lingering looks from you. No soft smiles when he did something right.

Robby called out a compliment when you got a difficult line on the first try, and you smiled at him, the way you used to smile at Frank. Frank tried to add his own praise, laying it on thick, hoping for even a crumb of that smile. Garcia, working beside you, rolled her eyes the moment he opened his mouth.

Frank ignored her completely, too focused on you. You gave him something that barely qualified as a smile. Then you turned back to the patient. Frank felt something crack in his chest.

It got worse.

When he handed you an instrument during the procedure, your fingers hesitated before taking it, careful to avoid touching his. When he reached for the ties on the back of your surgical gown, something he'd done a hundred times before, you nearly bolted away. Only the fact that he already had hold of the ties kept you there, frozen, while his fingers worked the knot with shaking hands.

What was happening? The question rattled around Frank's skull for the rest of the shift. He couldn't focus.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He got you coffee.

You were in the break room, hunched over a clipboard, when he found you. The coffee sat in his hand, made exactly the way you liked it.

"Hey."

You looked up. And then you just… stared at him, at the coffee, back at him. For too long. Long enough that Frank started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of it.

He held the cup out, waiting. His big blue eyes were wide and uncertain, searching your face for something, anything. Then he smiled at you. The smile that showed his dimples, the one that usually made you smile as well.

Your eyes dropped immediately. You took the coffee with careful fingers, making absolutely sure not to brush against his.

Frank felt like someone had poured ice water down his spine. He missed you. He missed your smile. He missed the way you'd throw flirty comments at him across the ER. He missed the way your eyes would light up when he walked into a room. He missed you. And you were right here, three feet away, and he'd never felt further from you in his life.

"Hope I added enough sugar." He tried for casual and failed. His voice came out almost pleading.

You took a sip and shook your head slowly. "It's perfect. Thank you." You set the coffee aside on the counter and picked up your clipboard again, flipping through papers you'd already read twice. A clear dismissal.

Frank wanted to grab you by the shoulders. He wanted to shake you until you talked to him, wanted to demand answers, explanations, anything that would make this stop hurting.

Instead, he tried one more time. "You sure you're okay, pretty?"

He'd called you that once, during your second month at the Pitt. You'd been exhausted, running on no sleep and bad coffee, and he'd brought you a sandwich from the cafeteria. Eat something, pretty. You're gonna fall over. You'd called him handsome right back. And somehow, it had stuck.

You flinched. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Frank." You gave him a weak smile and you didn't call him handsome. He nodded wordlessly and left. He didn't see the way you stared after him.

The end of shift crawled toward you like it knew they were both suffering and wanted to drag it out.

You felt Frank's eyes on you before you looked up. There was something about the weight of his gaze that you'd grown attuned to over the months like a warmth at the back of your neck. You'd always loved it before. You loved knowing he was looking, that you existed in his line of sight.

He was finishing up with his last patient, an elderly woman with a stomach ache who'd been admitted hours ago and was finally being moved upstairs. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you pretended to focus on your charting. Saw him glance your way, hold the look. Long enough that even from across the ER, you could see the confusion in his expression.

You dropped your eyes back to the computer screen.

You'd barely spoken all day. That was on you. You knew it was on you. Frank had approached at least ten times. Ten separate opportunities to just talk to him, to ask about the date, to clear this whole mess up. But you couldn't. Every time he got close, every time you heard his voice, your throat closed up and your eyes started burning and all you could think about was tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when you'd come back to work. Tomorrow, when you'd have to hear about his date. Tomorrow, when you'd have to pretend to be happy for him while some other woman's name sat on his lips and some other woman's smile lived in his memory.

Better to start the distance now. Better to build the wall brick by brick before tomorrow, when you'd really need it. Before you had to hear how fantastic she was, how beautiful, how funny, how everything you weren't.

Then Frank was suddenly behind you. He didn't do his usual thing, the thing where he'd lean against your desk and make stupid jokes until you gave in, the thing where he'd wait for you to finish so you could walk out together, the thing where he'd annoy you just enough to make you push your charting to tomorrow, letting him pull you out of your chair while you giggled and pretended to be mad, warm all over from the simple pleasure of his hand in yours.

He just stood next to your desk. "I'm going home." His voice was careful. "You need a ride?"

You looked up and God, his eyes. Those stupidly blue eyes that usually softened with warmth when they landed on you. Now they just looked desperate. His hands stayed at his sides. He was resisting the urge to touch you. You could tell. You'd grown to read his body language as well as you read your own.

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Frank hesitated. For one awful moment, you thought he might push. Then he nodded and he didn't even manage a smile this time. "Yeah. Fine."

You heard the hurt. Frank Langdon, who hid everything behind sarcasm and that infuriating confidence, was upset.

You don't know how long you sat there. But it was long enough for the night shift to start filtering in, for Dana to give you a concerned look from the nurses' station that you pretended not to see. You just kept charting.

By the time you finally finished, your eyes were red rimmed and hurting. You couldn't tell if it was from the sheer heartbreak or from staring at a computer screen for way too many hours. Probably both. Definitely both.

The locker room was quiet this late. Everyone else had gone home or moved to night shift, leaving you alone with your own miserable thoughts.

You pulled your jacket from its hook and draped it over your arm. Your fingers found your phone, and you stared at the screen without really seeing it.

What was Frank doing right now?

Was he home, getting dressed up? Changing out of his scrubs into something nice? A button down, maybe, the dark blue one that made his eyes look even prettier? Was he standing in front of a mirror, running his hands through his hair, checking his reflection before heading out?

Was he already at the restaurant? Was it even a restaurant, or something fancier?

Who was she? Did you know her? Was she a nurse from another floor, a doctor from a different department, someone completely outside the hospital? Was she pretty? Smart? Funny?

Was he going to kiss her tonight?

Would you have to hear about it tomorrow? Would he come in with that stupid smile, that glow of someone who'd had a good night, and would someone ask and would he tell them and would you have to hear it?

You grabbed your phone harder and pulled up the bus schedule. The next bus would be here in twelve minutes. You'd wait in the cold, go home, crawl into bed, and try not to think about where Frank was or who he was with or what he was doing.

Simple. Easy. Fine.

You walked out into the Pittsburgh night, and the cold hit you immediately. But you barely noticed it. Your eyes were on your phone, squinting at the bus times, trying to calculate how long you'd be standing here, while simultaneously trying not to think about how every passing minute was another minute Frank spent with someone who wasn't you.

Nine minutes until the bus. Nine minutes of him being on a date. Eight minutes. Eight minutes of him maybe holding her hand. Seven minutes. Seven minutes of him maybe leaning closer, maybe—

You walked directly into someone.

Your phone flew out of your hand, clattering to the pavement, and you stumbled backward with a yelp, only to look up and feel your entire world stop.

Frank, standing right outside the hospital entrance. Frank, who had left an hour ago. Frank, who should be on a date right now, not standing here in the cold.

"Frank?"

"Hi." You could see him physically stop himself from adding pretty, saw the way his mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again on just the simple greeting. Remembering your flinch this morning, trying not to hurt you again.

Your heart cracked a little more at that small act of restraint.

"What are you doing here?" You bent down to grab your phone, grateful for the excuse to look away from him for a second.

Frank was quiet for a moment. "Waiting for you." You blinked at him.He gestured past you, toward the bus stop where you'd been heading. "I knew you were lying."

Heat flooded your face immediately, guilt, embarrassment, the horrible feeling of being caught. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Charting was going to take too long. I didn't want to bother you." You scuffed your shoe against the pavement, unable to meet his eyes. "You had… things. To do."

Things. Such a weak word for a date with another woman.

"Never bothered me before."

Your eyes finally met his. He was right. He'd never once acted like you were a bother. You thought about all those nights when he'd sit in the chair next to you while you finished charting, spinning back and forth, making stupid comments, poking at your arm until you swatted him away and told him to stop bothering you. He never listened. He just grinned that stupid grin and kept bothering you.

He never went home without you. Not once.

So why were you surprised to find him here now? Why had you ever thought he would?

"Did I do something?"

Your eyes shot up to meet his. The streetlight behind him cast his face in shadow, but you could still see the concern in his eyes.

"No, why?" The words came out too defensive, and you regretted them immediately. Regretted the 'why' most of all, because now you'd put yourself on the spot.

Frank tilted his head, studying you with those impossibly blue eyes. "You know why." You bit your lip and glanced away toward the bus station. "I'm serious." His voice dropped and he tilted his head again, trying to catch your eyes. "Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, still staring at the bus station.

"I'd like to fix whatever I did."

The silence stretched. The bus sign clicked to four minutes.

"Frank, I'm fine." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "Just go, before you're late for your date, yeah?"

You finally met his eyes. God, his eyes. You'd never get over his eyes, so blue they almost didn't look real, so blue you'd spent months finding excuses to look at them, so blue you'd written terrible poetry in your head that you'd never admit to anyone.

But now those eyes just looked confused. "Date?"

"Yeah." Your voice cracked slightly. "Your date. Tonight."

Frank stared at you for a long moment. "I don't have a date," he repeated, and his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who on earth said I had a date?"

Your brain, exhausted and overwhelmed at this point, could only manage one word. "Perlah."

Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Perlah?" He tilted his head, processing this information. "And where did she get it from?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." You mumbled the words, suddenly feeling very foolish. Why hadn't you asked? Why had you just accepted it as fact? Normally you were smarter than this. Normally you didn't take gossip at face value.

But normally your heart wasn't on the line.

Frank glanced down at you. "Okay. Well, I don't have a date."

You raised your head, searching his face for any sign of deception. "Where'd the rumor come from, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

You narrowed your eyes. You'd spent months watching Frank, watching him with patients, with colleagues, with attendings. You knew his tells. You knew when he was hiding something. "Yeah, you do."

Frank's jaw worked. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he spoke. "Perlah just misunderstood my conversation with Donnie."

He was looking away now, studying the hospital entrance. The streetlight caught the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"What conversation with Donnie?" you prompted gently.

Frank's eyes flicked to yours, then away again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd rarely seen from him. "Was talking about how I'd been planning on asking you out. On a date. And Donnie, being Donnie, probably said something loud enough for Perlah to hear and she… filled in the blanks wrong."

You stared at him. Your brain, which had been through absolute hell today, officially stopped working. "Huh?"

Frank grinned at that, even as a flush spread across his cheeks. He looked almost shy, which was so utterly ridiculous on a man like Frank that you couldn't quite process it.

"My turn to ask weird questions," he said, and his voice had gone softer now. "Why were you so upset with me? Are you sure I didn't say anything wrong?"

"Because—" You stopped. Your mind was still stuck on the words asking you out on a date,. "Because we've been flirting for months!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended, more upset than you wanted to sound. "Flirting for months, Frank. And then I just—I find out you're going on a date with some other girl, and I'm just supposed to be fine? I'm supposed to just stand there and watch you smile at someone else and bring her coffee and wait for her after shifts?"

"You could have just asked me." His voice was impossibly fond. "You've been here long enough to know that listening to Perlah's gossip is never a good idea."

You crossed your arms, defensive now. "Don't act like you haven't believed half her gossip before."

Frank's grin widened. "That's different. Her gossip is usually right. But you should have learned by now that when it comes to me, you come straight to the source." He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The silence stretched between you, both of you smiling at each other.

"So," you said slowly, "you were planning to ask me out?"

Frank's expression softened further and he nodded. "If you'll let me."

"Yeah." You felt the smile spread across your face. "Definitely."

"Good." Frank's own smile widened, those dimples making an appearance that made your heart stutter. "Let me drive you home first," he said softly, "and we can discuss the details there, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. But before you could take a step toward where his car was presumably parked, you rose up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his neck. You'd missed his touch so badly. And now that you could have it again, you couldn't get close enough.

Frank didn't hesitate for even a second. His arms came around you immediately. "Please don't ever do that again," he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled against his neck. "I'll try my best, handsome." You felt him relax as soon as he heard the word.

Finally, reluctantly, you pulled back. Frank's hands lingered on your waist, clearly unwilling to let go entirely, and you didn't blame him. You didn't want to let go either. But then he smiled and reached for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours and he started walking toward his car, pulling you gently along with him.

"So," you said, swinging your joined hands slightly as you walked, "are you going to take me to a fancy restaurant?"

Frank glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question. I need to know what I'm getting into."

He laughed. "Yeah. I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant."

"What time are you picking me up?"

"Whenever you want."

"Should I dress up?"

By the time the two of you broke apart, work was forgotten and he was since honked at by whomever was behind him after the light changed. You looked up, naturally, toward the traffic. With just the quick flit of your gaze, you recognized Jack’s truck. The slight squeal of the tires made you sigh internally, but you were already saying goodbye to the man you just hugged.

Jack pulled into the parking spot next to where you had parked, while you were beginning to open the door to your car, and dumped your purse. The coffee stayed—you weren’t giving up your caffeine in the midst of your boyfriend’s jealousy.

“Need a snack?” You asked casually, your lips parting for a sip.

Jack rounded the long bed of his truck, “I was thinking coffee.”

“You hate coffee jitters,” you countered.

Liar.

Jack squinted at you, stepping into the space of your open car door. You eventually sat while he barred you in. Jack hunched forward, one hand on the roof of the vehicle and the other on the ajar door.

“Who was that?” Jack drummed his fingers along the hollow-sounding metal.

“No one important to worry about,” you sucked your teeth at him. “I wouldn’t meet with my other boyfriend in such a public place, you know.”

“Not funny,” Jack screwed his mouth to the side.

“He was thanking me for helping him and his wife along with their newborn recently after she recovered from an emergency C-section,” you rolled your eyes, dropping your coffee cup into the nearest cup holder. “You never have to worry.”

“I know,” Jack shrugged, feigning dismissivness. You were his one certainty he somehow regularly felt unsure about; he was afraid to lose you. Sometimes he went about it all wrong. “I think I’m a bit of a dumbass.”

“Just a teeny bit?” You pressed your tongue to your teeth, doing a terrible job suppressing your smirk.

“Yeah,” Jack ended up smiling and dipped down, silently requesting an apologetic kiss. “We’re talking microscopic levels of dumbassery.”

You caved easily as you always did and brought a soft hand up to his bristled cheek. You didn’t hesitate to press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips. You thumbed away any gloss you left behind, but you admittedly enjoyed marking your man in small ways as much as showing possessiveness.

“I gotta go,” you hummed against his lips. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Now I see why you leave so early. I didn’t know I was dating the local heroine,” Jack smiled and began to back away.

“Ha, ha. That is rich coming from Captain America,” you rolled your eyes in amusement and reached for the car door. “Watch your good leg. See you later.”

“She always gets one last shot in before she goes for the kill,” Jack clutched his chest in mock pain.

Your face is pressed against the pillow, hands gripping the sheets on either side of it like a lifeline, silent screams of pleasure between attempts at catching your breath fill the air. A few whines slip through, but it's mainly a string of incoherent babbles that causes Jake to double his efforts as he brings you to your third orgasm of the night.

How ever did you find yourself here?

It started in the early hours of the morning. While you and Jake were making breakfast, your mind wandered to a video you saw the night before. A silly prank from one of those couple pages, one where a girl decided to call her boyfriend her friend all day to film his reactions. You thought the way he reacted was cute, and it made you wonder how Jake would react. You weren't sure if you even wanted to go through with it though, it just seemed so silly. But you must have been thinking about it too much because it eventually slipped out all on its own.

“Could you open this for me?” You held out a mason jar of your favorite jam in his direction, struggling to open it. Jake turned to you, stopping his pancake flipping to help you out.

“Sure, sweetheart," he easily popped it open, "Here.” 

“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best.” 

Jake’s brows pinch, freezing for a second, seemingly mulling over your words before brushing them off. There was a small speaker on the kitchen counter shuffling through a mix of his and your favorite songs. The music was low enough to not be obnoxious, but loud enough to drown out some noise. Surely, that must have caused him to mishear you. 

You definitely said baby, not buddy. 

Jake pays no mind to whatever he thought he heard—which isn't exactly the reaction you were looking for. Before you can do anything about it, however, he gently grabs your wrist to pull you into his chest. He starts swaying to the music, hands sliding to your hips to guide you to the rhythm. He's singing along to the lyrics, some cheesy love song, causing you to smile despite yourself. The way he looks at you is no short of a man hopelessly in love.

After such a sweet morning, did you have the heart to continue your silly little prank?

Yes.

Yes you did.

When Jake comes back home from deployment, a part of him looks forward to running errands with you. It might seem strange, but domesticity is a breath of fresh air for him. The grocery shopping, visits to the post office or stops at the bank—hell even retail shopping. He looks forward to all of that with you because it's a small yet integral part of your lives that is now intertwined, and he likes that.

And after a morning that stretched into the afternoon of running errands with you, there's nothing more he'd love than a coffee.

Jake pulls up to the drive thru of a local coffee chain, one you two frequent often. He knows your order by heart and easily recites it along with his own, before he pulls up to the window to pay. You think back to this morning and the same idea pops into your head. You don't say anything at first, not until he hands you your drink.

"Aw, you remembered my order, thanks pal."

The usual smile Jake wears around you falls off his face. This time Jake definitely heard you. The radio was on way too low for him to give you that excuse. 

“I’m not your pal, darlin'," he says coolly, drinking a bit of his coffee as he pulls away from the drive thru. He's trying to play it nonchalant, but you can tell by the way his jaw ticks, he knows you're up to something.

You smile at him innocently. “But you are, you're my best bud," you reply sweetly, taking a sip of your own drink as you watch him side eye you. He's still playing it calm and collected, but you know you're starting to get under his skin. The way he's swirling his drink in his hand like he's trying to process what you're saying says as much.

“You’re pal, huh?” He says it like he's giving you a chance to rectify yourself. His expression is slightly hidden under his sunglasses, and by the way he hasn't taken his eyes off the road. But you'd kill to see the look in his eyes right now.

“Mhm," you hum out simply, studying him for any kind of response. He doesn't give you one though, just nodding thoughtfully as he lowers his cup into the cup holder. That same hand, cold from his drink, snakes its way onto your thigh, exposed by the shorts you're wearing. The icy touch causes you to hiss lowly, eyes darting to the gesture and missing the way the corner of his mouth twitches in response.

He gives your thigh a slight squeeze, voice low in warning, “You do know I could get you off right here, right now, right?”

You hate the way he says it so casual like getting you off is a walk in the park for him. Which it is, but that's not the point right now. You also hate the way your body instantly reacts to him, fidgeting in your seat as your mind runs through examples of exactly how he could do it. And he catches it instantly, smirking and giving your thigh another squeeze with a bit more pressure to tease you.

Maybe he thinks by flustering you he can get you to back down or stop, but with this development in his reactions, it only makes you wonder how far you can push it—push him.

This just means the next time you choose to continue your prank has to be strategic. Enough time to make him feel safe before you throw it on him again. So for now, you'll play it safe, make him feel like you're conceding—like he's won.

You lift his hand from your thigh, intertwining your fingers and bringing it up to kiss your joined hands, almost like a silent apology. His smirk melts into a softer smile, giving you the sign that he's taken the bait. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze as if saying 'it's alright'.

Now to get him when he least expects it.

It happens at dinner. You're sitting across from each other having light conversation when it hits you. You haven't thanked Jake for cooking dinner yet.

“Thanks for cooking dinner, bud. I really appreciate it.” 

He stops chewing, sea green eyes looking up from his plate to shoot you an unamused look, "Sweetheart…"

“What?”

His lips form a thin line, “Don’t play coy, you know what.” 

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you dismiss him before changing the subject. He blinks, eyes narrowing warily at the way you switched between topics so quickly. There's no way you're done just yet. You're not. In fact, you only let the conversation go on for another five minutes before you try him again.

“Could you please pass me the dressing, pal?” 

That does it.

“Darlin’, I don’t think a pal would have done what I did last night,” he reminds you, taking his time with his next bite of food to keep himself composed. Oh, he shouldn't have said that.

“Mm, I don't know,” you bite on your bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to show itself, “I’ve been with a few buddies that do that, so…”

Jake’s fork clatters as it drops onto his plate. 

You shouldn’t have said that. 

He leans back slowly against his chair, dinner long forgotten in front of him. His gaze travels your form, like a predator seizing up his prey. His eyes darken with heat and warning as he all but dares you, "Say that again."

A shiver of anticipation and nerves runs up your spine, more electrifying than anything. You've come this far to back down now.

“I said that I've been with a few buddies that—" He doesn't let you finish. In seconds he's up and striding toward you. When you're within reach he's hauling you over his shoulder like some barbarian. You shriek, flailing in his hold as he takes you away, yet your heart stutters with a giddiness you can't ignore.

“Jake! What are you doing?” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he's got a tight hold on you. You barely register you're in your shared bedroom when you're tossed onto the bed. You gawk at him, but all he does is grin at you like you have no idea what's coming for you. “Reminding you exactly who I am to you."

Instantly he cages you beneath him, your rebuttal dying in your throat as he kisses you deep and feverish. That kiss a first sign of many that his patience is running thin. He wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes with expert precision, tossing them haphazardly around the room. His hands grasp at every inch of skin they can reach greedily, while yours get lost in his hair, tugging just enough to pull a deep groan from his chest.

“You and your little games," he nips at your bottom lip, shaking his head, "you enjoy riling me up too much.” It's not long before you feel the brush of his fingers against your core causing your lips to part in a needy gasp. He smirks against your mouth, feeling for himself how wet you've gotten for him. He traces a line up and down your slit with just enough pressure to have you stirring underneath him. "Not so talkative now, are we darlin'?" He mocks you with the smugness of a man who knows he's got you right where he wants you. You curse out his name which only serves to amuse him more. His lips connect with yours again, kissing you harder until its all tongue and teeth. One hand cradles the back of your head to keep the kisses deep while the other stays at your cunt. His thumb circles your clit, desperate little moans slip from your lips, and Jake greedily swallows every single one. He's kissing you like he wants to steal all the breath from your lungs until all you're breathing in is him.

It's not until your lungs beg for oxygen that he pulls away. He grins in satisfaction at your kiss swollen lips, but even more so at the way you practically whine at the loss of him. He gives you one quick chaste kiss before he starts traveling down your body. Every press of his mouth to your skin, every devout touch of his hands leave an ardent heat in its wake. Each one is full of a possessive reverence, one that only a man who knows and loves you entirely could give. It's enough to placate you until he reaches the place where you need him most.

When his mouth finally presses against your core, it's slow and torturous. He hikes up your legs, placing them over his shoulders to trap himself between your thighs—exactly where he wants to be. His tongue flicks slowly, lapping lazily, taking his sweet time exploring your cunt as if he doesn't already know every inch of it. Like he doesn't know exactly how you like it and in turn hits you in every way that leaves you wanting more.

You fist the sheets impatiently, hips bucking against his face for more friction, but the grip his hands have on your thighs holds you down. You call out his name in wanton frustration, but he elects to ignore it. His response comes in licking one long stripe up your slit until reaching your clit and mouthing at it, making your legs jerk like you're trying to get away. Jake's eyes shoot up at the action, his gaze locking with yours—dark and heady. "Stay still," he demands, voice muffled from where his lips refuse to detach themselves from your core. “I can’t—please—I can’t,” you beg in between broken breaths. You know what you're begging for, he knows what you're begging for. But he's not exactly inclined to give it to you just yet.

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me," he praises you, twisting his head ever so slightly to nip at your thigh, "Are you this good for all your pals?” That last word is said with a harsher edge, with a bit of ire at the thought of anyone else having you in the way he has. You shake your head immediately, “No! No, baby. Only you.” He hums, the vibrations against your thigh making the ache between your legs worse, “What was that?” He bites down a bit harder on your skin, clearly wanting to leave a mark. And every time you try to speak up, he bites and sucks another mark into your skin, rendering you speechless as your need hits a boiling point.

"Jake!" The way you say his name makes him pause. You're on the cusp of utter ruin in the best way and he keeps depriving you of it, and you're sick of it. He chuckles, a wolfish gleam in his eye as he decides he's toyed with you long enough. He removes his mouth from your thigh, preening at what he's left behind for you to discover tomorrow. The intensity in his stare and tone is almost too much for you, “Now darlin', you be good for me, 'cause if you don’t stop moving and I have to stop what I’m doing—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow with what I'll do to you.” You swallow hard, heart racing in your chest knowing he'd make good on that promise. So you decide to listen—for now.

It really does seem like Jake is done prolonging your punishment, as the next time his mouth connects to your cunt he goes at it harder, fervently. Alternating between suckling and fucking your core with his tongue, driven by the desperate sounds falling from your lips. Eating you out like you had starved him of this all day. Giving you exactly what you need to reach the peak he has been holding you back from getting to all this time.

“That’s it darlin’, give it to me.” You barely hear him grunt out the words as your own moans ring in your ears. You come hard, one hand reaching down to tangle in his hair like you need it to ground you from the euphoria he's taken you to. But he doesn't stop there. He continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm, and then some. Not even stopping when you tug at his hair to get him away, a deep growl falling from his lips at the mix of pain and pleasure.

Jake keeps going, pulling away for a moment only to readjust his position to allow two of his fingers to enter you. He pumps them inside you at a rhythm that drives you crazy, crying out in want. He curls them just right, hitting the spot that makes you see stars, lips sealing around your bundle of nerves and sucking hard. His free hand slides up your body to palm at your breast, stimulating you even further until you can't seem to form any thoughts. At this point, you're riding his face shamelessly, driven by pure desire.

You come a second time, covering his face in your essence. Mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as you're positively overwhelmed by everything you're feeling. From the top of your head to the tip of your toes, you're buzzing with an all consuming bliss. Jake finally decides to take a bit of mercy on you. He laps at you softly, easing you from your climax in a gentler manner than before. Dropping whispers of praises into your skin of how good you were for him and how much he loves you.

“You made a mess, baby. Look at you,” he groans in utter want, staring at how soaked you've left his hand and sheets beneath you. He's suddenly aware at how painfully hard his dick is straining against his pants. He's honestly surprised he didn't come undone with how badly you have him worked up.

Jake's clothes suddenly start feeling stuffy, so he reluctantly removes himself from you to get rid of his shirt. Even in your post orgasm haze you find yourself shakily sitting up, hands reaching out to help him remove his belt. He chuckles in disbelief at your readiness to keep going, hooded eyes looking up at him, tempting him to go all the way. But when your hands reach for the button on his pants he stops you. You frown at him, a pout starting to form that he swipes away with a soft brush of his thumb. He cups your face with both hands, your own landing on his bare chest, golden skin beneath your finger tips as he pulls you in for another kiss.

But this time its different. It's searing, full of worship. He holds you against him like only you matter. Like you need to understand this had nothing to do with your silly little prank, and all to do with something he needed to prove.

When the kiss breaks, he's staring at you affectionately, but there's a seriousness to his gaze that pins you in place. “I’m not your buddy, bud, pal—none of that. I’m yours. And I’m gonna remind you of that all night, darlin’.” He whispers a promise full of devotion and heat before falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. You know when Jake's determination has taken a hold of him there's nothing that can stop him.

You're about to have a long night indeed.

a/n: Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated my lovelies! ♡♡♡

You trace him to the on-call room, where he paces back and forth in anticipation of your arrival. He pauses in place when the locked door buzzes and creaks slowly open. A ray of white-blue fluorescent lighting pierces through the velvet darkness, pervaded only by a deep golden hue from the lamp on the desk and the soft purple night from the small square window across the room. Falling ice raps gently against the glass and fills the quiet with its wild cadence.

“Very clever, Dr. Abbot…” you lilt quietly as you step inside.

Darkness engulfs the room once more when you shut the door behind you. Jack’s towering figure returns to shadow, though a sliver of his scruffy face is still adorned by the dim, orange lamplight. It allows you to see the quiet smile he gives you — a mere hint of a grin that’s more expressive in his dark, mischievous gaze.

“Well, you know I pride myself on my subtlety…”

He closes the distance between you in a few short strides. You threaten to melt into a puddle at his feet when his fingers smooth over your waist, calloused palms sneaking beneath your scrubs to caress your warm skin. He swaddles you in his wide hands and his familiar scent — of lingering cologne, hospital soap, and distant sweat from the long day(s). The mixture fills your senses when he ducks down to kiss you.

His lips meet yours in a chaste, lingering kiss. His nose juts into the side of yours as his unshaven scruff scratches at your delicate skin. You exhale hard through your nose in a sigh of contentment and raise your hands for the stethoscope around his neck, grabbing either end and using it as a leash to pull him impossibly closer to you.

It’s the first time you’ve felt him like this in days — a bitter dry-spell that the storm is threatening prolong.

Jack’s mouth curls into a lazy smile against your wanting mouth when your warm breath fans over his cupid’s bow. You fall further into his chest when his wide hands hold you tighter by the waist. It takes everything in you to pull away from him, kissed mouths smacking quietly in protest.

“I can’t stay in here for long,” you tell him in a grieved whisper. “You know that, right?”

Jack jerks his chin back to peer down at you as his brows raise to his hairline, going lighter to match his greying curls. “I don’t know if you know this, honey, but our shift ended hours ago.”

“Yeah, and there’s no way I’m getting any sleep when I know I could be helping everybody out there.” You nod your head towards the locked door behind you, where the never-ending noise of the E.R. has been slightly muffled. It fills you with an unwavering surge of panic that prevents you from getting any real rest. “We both know I’ll just have a bunch of nightmares that’ll wake me up every hour, and it won’t be fun for anyone, so…”

“Well, how about just give me half an hour, then, huh?” Jack asks you in low murmurs, one step away from getting on his knees and begging. “I feel like this is the first time I’ve gotten to see you in two days.”

“Thirty minutes?” you echo, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “That sounds very generous for you, don’t you think?”

Even in the muted darkness, you catch his eyes flickering something playful as he tells you, “Well, I was talking about sleeping, but… Good to know your head’s in the gutter, Doc.”

Your face flares with embarrassment as you slide out of his hold. His quiet laughter follows you the short distance to the twin-sized bed by the window. The thin mattress squeaks softly when you drop onto it, slouching against the wall with your heavy head in your hands.

“Sorry… It’s just— It’s been a while, and it’s starting to mess with my brain…” you confess behind your palms.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

You peek through your fingers and find Jack’s towering figure sauntering towards you, with his strong hands curled around the edges of his stethoscope, and with a knowing smirk hinting at the very corners of his mouth.

“Don’t,” you say, still slightly muffled by your hands.

“Don’t what?” Jack shrugs with an air of feigned innocence. His knee digs into the edge of the creaking mattress as he looms over your slouching form.

“You know what,” you argue, peering up at him from beneath your lashes to hold his gaze. You drop your hands into your lap but make no move to stop him when his fingers reach for the drawstring of your scrubs, loosening the knot there. “Robby would flip if he found out we were fooling around in here—”

“He won’t,” Jack interjects in a gruff murmur, keeping his attentive gaze on your face as his warm fingers slip under the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitches when his fingertips brush the silk bow at the center of your underwear, and a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “But if he did, I think he would respect that I was taking time out of my day to assist one of our best doctors…”

Your mouth parts to speak, but nothing comes out as his hand creeps further between your thighs, which part instinctively to welcome his touch. A warm feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as his fingers slide over the coarse thatch of hair above your pussy and closer to the honey you leak for him, made far more sensitive after so many weeks without him.

Jack watches your eyes glaze over with desire as his own flicker with mischief. “‘Cause we can’t have anything messing with that pretty little head of yours now, can we?”

You shake your head slowly, wordlessly.

His tight-lipped grin widens as your velvety folds swaddle his middle finger in silk. “Want me to take care of it for ya, honey?”

Your whispered plea fills the golden, lamplit room. “Please…”

FRANK LANGDON X READER — after a brief fling with your coworker, you swore that you'd never spend another night with langdon. the snowstorm as other plans (enemies to lovers, one bed trope cw for very brief allusions to smut | 1k)

Frank Langdon is no stranger to spending his nights at the PTMC.

He’s come to know the hard cots and thin blankets quite well over the years — back when he first started his residency, and more recently, when he and Abby weren’t getting along. He told her that he’d already found a place to stay when she kicked him out some months back, which wasn’t totally a lie, because he was staying in the on-call room at the time.

So, while everyone else is grumbling about having to stay the night until the snowstorm passes, Frank is taking it all in stride.

“Do you know if there are anymore free cots?” he hears you ask Dana from across the work station.

“Uh. Yeah. I think so,” the older woman answers, half-distant, as her eyes flit back and forth between the overhead monitor and the tablet in her hand. “I’m pretty sure there’s only one left, though, so I’d get a move on if I were you—”

“Too late,” Langdon says, turning away from his computer to peer over his shoulder at you. His blue eyes are stern but no less playful when they lock with yours. “It’s mine. I already called it.”

“Wow…” you lilt, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And they say chivalry is dead…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank hums, spinning in his swivel chair to face you. He extends his long legs out in front of him and stretches his strong arms over his head. His biceps strain against the fabric of his dark black scrubs, the hem of which rides gently up his torso to reveal a faint sliver of his pale skin. His pink smile widens when he catches you staring. “I never said I wasn’t willing to share…”

Your eyes narrow into thin slits. “In your dreams, Langdon.”

“Holy shit, how’d you know?” he quips.

“Language,” Dana scolds on instinct, without looking at either of you.

Frank laughs quietly to himself and goes to turn back to the monitor until he catches you walking away in the corner of his eye.

He works with swift, practiced hands to save his chart and log off entirely before following after you. It doesn’t take him long to catch up on considerably longer limbs; though, in a feeble attempt to beat him there, you quicken your stride before you turn the corner into the presentation room.

The lights there have been dimmed to their lowest setting, a faint orange glow, to accommodate the sleeping bodies on the floor. The rectangular table and accompanying chairs have been pushed off to the side to make room for the rows of cots, where your coworkers try to catch some much-needed sleep.

You make a beeline for the last remaining bed, sitting empty by the window, where the swirling snowstorm blinds your view of the city and adds a bitter chill in the air. Frank, meanwhile, heads straight for the long table where the stack of pillows and blankets have been whittled down to one of each.

“Have fun sleeping on the on-call room floor, Langdon,” you whisper with a tight-lipped grin.

“Hey, I got the last blanket on the whole floor,” he retorts, voice bassy and low. Rogue strands of brown-black hair sway over his forehead as he saunters towards you, looming over your form as you lie back on the hard cot. “So, unless you wanna hike all the way up to the O.R., it looks like you’re gonna be freezing to death.”

“Honestly, Langdon…” you sigh. “I’m so exhausted— As long as I get to sleep, I don’t really care at this point…”

Frank exhales hard through his nose, jaw clenching in distant frustration as your eyes flutter shut and your arms fold behind your head. He drops his arms to his sides, with a folded blanket under one and a thin pillow under the other.

“Let’s just compromise here, alright?” he whispers. “Like the responsible adults we’ve never been.”

“No can do, Langdon,” you quip within a yawn. “Ever heard of the proverbial phrase, ‘you snooze you lose…’?”

“Jesus Christ…” you hear a half-asleep McKay scold from the opposite side of the room. “You guys are worse than children, you know that?”

“Sorry…” you grimace. “Frank was just leaving, actually.”

You flash the man above you a knowing look before turning onto your side. The thin, canvas fabric creaks under your weight as you turn away. You smile to yourself when you hear the man grumble like a storm cloud behind you. For a moment, you think that he might actually leave — until you hear a brief bout of shuffling, accompanied by a warm body sliding in behind yours.

Your head whips over your shoulder, and you flinch back when you find Frank’s face mere inches away from yours.

“What the hell are you doing?” you snap in a sharp whisper.

“I’m going to sleep— What’s it look like I’m doing?” he whispers back, squeezing the pillow under you with one hand and throwing the blanket over your bodies with the other. His long legs entwine with yours as he fights to keep himself steady on his shared sliver of the small cot. “Could you give me a little room here? Jeez…”

“There is no room,” you scold, but shift on the hard canvas anyway.

Frank settles further in behind you; a warm weight against your back, a firm shield from the cold window beside you. His taller body contorts instinctively to the shape of yours, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself. Your arms stay folded and tucked under your cheek as you struggle to rest with your giddy heart pounding against your ribcage.

“See? I fit perfectly,” he hums, warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear, making you fight back a shiver that crawls down your spine. Then, more quietly, he mutters, “Wow, if I had a nickel for every time I said that to you— Ow!”

He winces when your elbow digs hard into his ribs.

“You’d still be broke, Langdon,” you quip in a soft whisper with your eyes still closed. “Because that was just a one-time… two-time thing…”

Frank sighs hard through his nose in place of a laugh, relaxing further against your body and fighting back the feeling that he could spend every night sleeping next to you like this — hard cot and snowstorm be damned.

Even though you’re not looking at him, you can still hear the smile in his voice when he tells you, “Yeah, we’ll see about that…”

MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH X READER — the only time alone you get with robby during a snowstorm is in a jammed elevator (pitt crew!reader, secret relationship cw for very brief allusions to smut | 1.1k)

Michael Robinavitch waits by the elevator and, in his fatigued state, forgets to press the down button for an embarrassingly long moment. You catch him standing there, waiting for a lift that’s never coming, and make a beeline to put him out of his misery.

He blinks hard when you appear suddenly at his side, pressing your knuckle against the down arrow for him. It feels like it’s the first time he’s seen you all day, and he thinks it probably has been. The blizzard outside has turned the PTMC into your new home for the time being, and most everyone is floating around like ghosts, between working and trying to catch some much-needed shuteye.

Seeing you now feels a little like a shot of espresso.

“Can’t sleep?” you wonder with a teasing grin, despite the exhaustion sitting heavily in your own eyes.

Robby inhales sharply through his broad nose and crosses his arms over his chest to fight the primal urge to hold you. His hairy arms flex under the navy jacket pushed up to his elbows as he jokes, “Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all…” you scoff.

The elevator dings. The doors part. The two of you step inside in tandem. It’s all business as usual, despite the heavy tension that threatens to pull the two of you together like magnets.

“How’s uh… How’s the patient in central 14?” Robby asks, scratching at the gray patch in his brown beard with an absentminded hand.

“He’s stable. For now, anyway— I’m still waiting for his C.T. results,” you answer with a sigh and press the button for the E.D. floor. Your heavy head swivels to the man beside you as the doors whir to a close. “How’s the Jane Doe in pedes?”

“She’s good,” Robby nods with a distant smile, bracing his hands on the railing behind him as the lift carries you downwards. “She’s taking the formula really well, she’s going to the bathroom normally, she’s…”

He trails off, brows furrowing in a silent look of confusion as he watches you reach again for the button panel. The knuckle of your pointer finger presses hard into the bright red stop switch, and the elevator jerks to a harsh standstill a second later.

His wide eyes follow your form as you lean against the wall with your head tipped back and your arms crossed over your chest.

“What are you doing?”

“I just… I need a second…” you sigh, lashes dancing against your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. “I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and Frank’s snoring way too loud in the on-call room, and I just… I need a little quiet. Just for a second.”

Robby knows what you really mean. He always does. He has a way of understanding you without words. It’s why you work so well, he figures, and how you’ve managed to stay together despite the merciless job that often demands so much of your time.

So he doesn’t say a word when he reaches out for you, and you don’t say a word when you melt into his embrace.

He presses his scruffy cheek into your hair and wraps his strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheek squishes into his chest as your fingers curl into his jacket, all but melting against his warm body. You savor the sound of his heartbeat in your ear and the smell of his fading cologne in your nose.

You need to be in his arms like this far more than you want to be home, and god do you want so desperately to be at home.

“Any idea of when the storm’s gonna let up?” you ask him, half-muffled against his chest.

“They said two more days before the ice melts, at least.”

“Shit…”

“Yeah…” Robby huffs, cradling you gently by the back of your neck with one calloused hand, while his other scratches up and down the length of your spine over your scrubs. “I mean, we could always just say fuck it and hike through the blizzard together. And hope you don’t freeze to death in the process… I’ve already forgotten what our bed feels like…”

You part from him, just far enough to meet his brown-eyed gaze, gone all squishy around the edges from time and from how softly he looks down at you. Your chin bobs against his chest as you joke, “You’d really risk frostbite just to spend the night with me?”

“In a heartbeat,” Robby answers without a second thought.

“How romantic…” you lilt drily to compensate for the warmth swelling in your chest.

He shakes his head and ducks down to kiss you. It’s a chaste and fleeting thing, a coming and a leaving, but still the most affection you’ve gotten to share since you got stranded here a day ago.

“Mm…” Robby hums on an exhaled breath against you, pulling away to quip in a gruff murmur, “I almost forgot what that felt like, too…”

Your lips thin into a mischievous smirk that you cage between your teeth.

“Well, then, let me remind you…” you lilt and rise to the tips of your toes to close the distance between you once more.

You kiss him deeper, hard enough to bruise. You press your lips to his like you’re stamping hot wax on paper, leaving a mark on him that’ll hopefully get you through another agonizing shift that’ll inevitably force the two of you apart again.

His soft beard scratches gently at your delicate skin when Robby smiles against you. His mouth parts from you with a soft click as his glittering eyes turn down between your bodies, where your hands trail down the zipper of his jacket, headed straight for his scrub bottoms.

“What are you doing?” he wonders lowly with a cautious gaze, brows raised until his forehead wrinkles.

“Reminding you,” you lilt with an innocent shrug.

His large hands wrap around your wrists before you can untie the drawstring on his pants. His long fingers cage you firmly there as he flashes you a stern, dark-eyed look that makes your stomach do a backflip.

“Not here,” he tells you.

“I can find us a room, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“We don’t have time for that—”

“Well, I know you, Robinavitch,” you squint. “And I know you can be pret-ty quick…”

“Oh, you are just asking for it, aren’t you?” he quips playfully.

“I’m about half a second away from begging for it, actually, yeah.”

You share a pair of knowing smiles and another languid kiss. You can taste spearmint gum and coffee on his tongue when you lick into his mouth. You sigh heavily through your nose and melt further against him. Neither of you realizes that the elevator has started moving again until it’s too late — until the doors are dinging open, and you’re jerking back from him like he’s burned you.

You’re wiping Robby’s spit from your mouth with the back of your hand when you find yourself face-to-face with Dana, who wears a tight-lipped smile and a knowing look behind her heavy glasses. If she’d caught the two of you in the act, however, she makes no mention of it now.

“Hey, I was just looking for you guys,” she says in her usual raspy voice in lieu of an actual greeting. “Dr. Santos has been lookin’ for you, Dr. Robby— And here are the test results for Mr. Campbell in central 14.”

She passes you a clipboard, and you flash her a wavering smile, praying you aren’t wearing the evidence of Robby’s kisses all over you now. “Oh. Great. Thank you. I’ll, uh… I’ll look ‘em over.”

You give her a curt nod as you step out of the elevator, flashing Robby a wide-eyed look over your shoulder as you go. You almost think you’ve made it out scot-free until Dana’s voice follows you: “I saw that, by the way.”

Your head whips in her direction. Robby pauses mid-stride behind you. You guys couldn’t be casual if you tried.

“Saw what?” you wonder in a voice an octave higher than normal, and with a mouth more swollen than usual, too.

“You know what,” Dana answers drily.

“Actually, I don’t,” Robby chuckles with his brows raised to his hairline. “I think the cabin fever’s starting to get to you, Evans.”

The older woman scoffs in response. “Yeah, you aren’t lyin’ about that, at least…”

She heads in the opposite direction, and Robby falls into step with you. You exhale sharply through your nose — a breath you didn’t realize you were holding; a breath that catches again a second later when Robby ducks down to mutter in your ear.

“Meet me on the eighth floor. Thirty minutes.”

℘ DR ROBBY

making out w ur ass જ deepthroat જ deeper n deeper જ such a tease જ kneading ur ass જ spread ur legs wide open for him જ

ᯤ DR WHITAKER

inked!dennis જ dryhumping જ after shift video જ hasnt seen you in weeks જ involuntary hip movements જ god he loves when u control him જ slow and soft જ

⚡︎ DR LANGDON

loves watching you squirm જ at your mercy જ early morning before his shift જ he loves ur strap જ laid out before him જ loves how you look at him જ

ᝰ DR ABBOT

“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”

You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”

“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“

“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not-“

“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.

“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.

“Congratulations.”

You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-

Get a fucking grip.

“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”

Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.

You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.

It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.

“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.

That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.

You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.

As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.

Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.

The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.

“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.

Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.

You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.

“I was busy.”

“Too busy for your job?”

“It’s not my job-“

“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.

“Have you been carrying that around all day?”

“That doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it really does-“

Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“

“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“

“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“

“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”

Bucky blinks, recoiling slightly. “Defer? What, you-“

“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.

But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.

“Why’re you skipping.”

You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.

“I have a date.”

“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.

“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.

Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.

“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”

“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.

“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“

The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.

“What’s-“

“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.

“No, he’s not-“

“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”

Then he’s gone.

And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.

You just need to know what the fuck that was.

There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.

You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.

And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.

“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.

You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.

At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.

“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”

He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.

The mission is over.

Two days early.

Your jaw tightens.

Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.

Something went wrong, and they have to come back.

You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.

But they’re back early.

And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all. 

You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.

Maybe they really did just… Finish early.

You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.

Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.

“You need to go, Buck-“

“I’m fine-“

“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“

“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“

Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.

He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.

His hand is hot.

Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.

He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.

“Hi.” You whisper.

His throat bobs. “You’re back.”

“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“

“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”

Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.

“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.

He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.

“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.

“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“

“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.

He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.

“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”

Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.

“How was your date?” He grunts.

“Bucky-“

“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.

The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.

You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.

Get a fucking grip.

“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”

And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.

But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.

“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”

Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.

Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.

Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.

You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.

“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.

You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.

“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”

Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.

That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.

You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.

Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.

He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.

You somehow—just barely—fight it.

“Why can’t I access these files.”

Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.

“Barnes-“

“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”

You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“

“Steve should change that.”

God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.

“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”

Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.

“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”

You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.

And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.

You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.

Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.

Instead, you find Bucky. 

He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.

You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.

“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.

He just nods.

You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.

“You want hot chocolate?”

A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.

And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.

His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.

“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”

You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.

But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.

You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.

That he wants to be here.

Near you.

He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.

Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.

It’s almost a moan.

You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.

But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.

You feel almost sick.

It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.

His fever is building again.

You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.

When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.

You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.

If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘

But it is Bucky.

And he’s never going to make anything that easy.

You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.

“Hi.” You say lamely.

He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“

“Bucky, are you-“

“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.

You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.

But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.

“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“

“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”

You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.

And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.

“Bucky-“

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”

You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.

But you do go right to Steve.

“What happened on the mission.”

Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.

“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“

“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”

Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’

“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“

“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”

You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”

Steve sighs. “Is it you?”

“Yep.”

He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.

“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“

“I really don’t care.”

“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.

You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.

“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“

“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.

“No, you just won’t tell me-“

“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“

“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“

“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”

“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.

“I know how it sounds-“

“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“

“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”

You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole. 

“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve-“

“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”

You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.

“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”

Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.

“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“

You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.

And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.

“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”

You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”

Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”

You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.

But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.

“What are the symptoms?”

Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”

“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”

“But- Bucky-“

“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”

“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”

Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”

“Before or after the mating?”

Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“

“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”

“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“

Steve says your name plainly. You blink.

“What-“

“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”

You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.

“Steve-“

“I didn’t say anything-“

“Yes, you did-“

“Nope.”

You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”

Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.

“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”

This is a bad idea.

Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.

But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.

After you fix this for him.

If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.

Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and  move to Indonesia.

But if he doesn’t turn you down…

You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.

“Fuck off, Stevie-“

“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response. 

Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.

He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.

His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.

You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.

“You shouldn’t be here-“

“Steve said you need me.”

You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-

“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.

“I- I made him.”

He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”

“I was worried about you-“

“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“

“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”

Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.

“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“

“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”

He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.

“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“

“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“

“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.

“Who says?”

“You’re an ass to me-“

“You’re an ass to me.”

“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”

Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.

“Me neither.”

You nod. “But…”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”

You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.

“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“

Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.

It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.

Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.

You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.

“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”

And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.

But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.

You didn’t know you could want him more.

“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”

For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.

Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.

“You- You got no idea, do you?”

Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“

“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”

And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.

“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.

“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”

He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.

“Didn’t you?”

You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Bet I imagined more.”

And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.

You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.

“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”

You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.

“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”

Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.

You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.

“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”

He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.

“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“

Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.

“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“

He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.

Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.

You can’t have that.

“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”

Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.

“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”

You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.

“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“

You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.

“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.

“How?”

“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“

His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.

“You think this is funny?” He rasps.

You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”

He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.

“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“

“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.

He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“

Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.

There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.

A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.

Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.

“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.

Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.

Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.

You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.

He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.

“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.

And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.

You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.

Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.

“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”

You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.

Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.

“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”

You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.

You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.

“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”

And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.

So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.

Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.

“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”

You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.

“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”

He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.

“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”

You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.

Permission to go further.

His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.

“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”

In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.

A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.

Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.

“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“

“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“

 His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.

Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.

“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”

He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.

“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“

Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.

He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.

Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.

You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.

“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”

You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.

“Aren’t you?”

“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“

“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”

You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.

“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“

He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.

And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.

“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“

The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.

Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.

He’s jerking off while he eats you out.  He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.

Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.

Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.

“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“

Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.

You don’t want to.

With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.

“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“

Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles

“Good girl.” He coos.

You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.

“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.

You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.

“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”

You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.

But you’re at an advantage.

Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.

You want him to give in.

So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.

Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.

His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.

“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”

You almost beam. Yes, please.

Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.

He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”

If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.

The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.

“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“

Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.

He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.

You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.

“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“

His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.

That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.

Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.

“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.

He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.

“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“

“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“

Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.

And he’s not even done.

The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.

You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.

He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.

You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.

Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.

“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.

You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”

You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.

They’re blue again.

“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.

He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.

“I’m back.”

 You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.

You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.

He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.

God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-

Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.

He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-

“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”

Oh.

Or that. That’s nice.

You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.

Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.

“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”

You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.

“Yeah. I’m staying.”

✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

Frank knew he wasn't supposed to have favorites. 

Really, favorites—or any sort of personal bias—is unprofessional. It’s especially unprofessional in his line of work, where you’re expected to be able to operate with anyone regardless of your own personal feelings or partiality. And, for a while, Frank understood and abided by this rule. Sure, it was hard sometimes to work alongside Santos after he finished his leave from rehab, but even their strained relationship had morphed into something more respectable these days. Frank liked to believe he treated everyone the same. In Frank's eyes, he has no favorites. 

Well, except you.  

You’re a different story. Something a little more... complicated. You’re a difficult thing to describe, Frank thinks, and an even more difficult thing to behold. You’re impossibly smart, witty, quick on your feet, hard when you need to be and sweet when you can. All of these things draw Frank to you, and he has a hard time understanding why. 

When Frank came back to the Pitt after his leave of absence, terrified out of his mind about jumping back into the environment where he once fell down a hole too deep, he was convinced maybe his return was a bad idea. Maybe, after all this time, the voices were right. He shouldn’t be allowed to be a doctor. 

These whispers swirled in his head like poisonous ivy on brick walls, growing their way to the core of his brain where they planted and nursed the most horrid of self loathing thoughts. Frank was halfway through his first shift back, contemplating the validity of what the voices had been saying to him, when he saw you for the first time. 

You were tucked away into a corner, medicine bottle in hand as you bit your bottom lip, listening intently as Mateo rattled off some unimportant patient details. You nodded every once in a while to prove you were paying attention, your dedication shown through your body language and intense facial expression. 

It didn't take long for Frank to realize you were a nurse, and a new one at that. You still had that anxious air surrounding you—one that Frank knew all too well. 

He attempted to listen to what Collins was saying to him—really, he was trying. But his eyes kept drifting to the side of your face, the curve of your hips, the small smile that escaped you when he overheard Mateo trying to soothe your nerves. He couldn’t look away.

From then on, it was difficult for him not to treat you differently. 

If there was any opportunity to have a nurse on a case, whether that be administering medication, patient assessments, or monitoring vitals, your name was the first thing out of Frank's mouth. Yes, he knows there are many talented nurses in the Pitt, but none of them were quite like you. None of them worked so well with him, none of them understood and returned his playful banter the way you did, none of them could take one look at his facial expression and determine exactly what was necessary for him to succeed in the way you always did.

It was almost magical the way he felt around you. In between stolen snacks from the staff lounge, shifts that ran overtime, and shared caffeine addictions, Frank grew fond of you, against his best wishes.

But it was so hard for him to fight it. He attempted, he really did. For a while he didn’t return your morning smiles, he feigned annoyance at your weekend updates with Mohan, but it was all futile. You were intoxicating—funny, gorgeous, sarcastic, and most unfortunately for him, engaged. 

That was the second thing Frank had noticed about you his first day back: the sparkling rock on your left hand. He had to admit, it was a sizable ring, which made it all the worse. It was salt in the wound. Frank, a man who had just gotten over his marriage, enthralled with you, a woman about to enter into hers. The irony was not lost on him. 

He watched in the following months as you let loose a few small details about your fiancé. Things like how you met (at a coffee shop, boring if you asked Frank), what he looked like (blonde, Frank never trusted grown men with blonde hair), and his name (Chad. Don’t get Frank started).

With every mention of your wedding, with every compliment of your ring, it felt like someone was dragging nails across a chalkboard directly in Frank’s ear. Chad’s presence irked him in a way he wasn’t able to understand, or rather, in a way he didn’t want to accept.

One sided affection was growing increasingly difficult for him. He felt crazy, desperate, running his fingers through his hair at night and asking himself, why didn’t he meet you sooner? But Frank knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to change the fate of your relationship. You were happily engaged to a man you loved, who loved you. It didn’t matter that he noticed the way your lips tugged into a smile the first time Frank caught your eye during the day, or the packet of goldfish you’d slide his way halfway through his shift, or even the quiet moments you two have had in the stairwell together after a particularly difficult case. There was no hope for him. 

So, Frank took what he could get. Sure, it was blatant favoritism, but Frank couldn’t bring himself to care. 

//

“Okay! I think you're all done.” You smile, patting your palms on the tops of your scrub clad thighs. The elderly woman in front of you, staring at her freshly dressed numb burn wound, beams back at you with a grateful expression as her frail hands clasp together in appreciation. Her young daughter that sits right by her side looks at you before saying, “Thank you, miss. For being so kind.” 

“Absolutely, my pleasure.” You respond, beginning to clean up the materials around you. “And, Ma’am, do you remember your steps for after you're discharged?”

“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” The mother begins to reply. “No harsh chemicals, only soap and water before the antibacterial cream, and then change the bandage daily.” 

“Yup, you got it. If there are any complications, if the pain suddenly becomes unbearable or if there's any swelling or pus, come right back here and we’ll get you sorted.” You explain.

The kind woman thanks you again as her daughter helps her up and out of the room, making sure to give you one last smile on her way out. You give a small wave back just as a familiar face approaches you.

“Feel like helping me today?” Langdon asks as you turn to look at him. His brown hair falls in front of his face as he angles his eyes down to meet yours. Something swirls in his irises, something familiar and warm, and you find yourself feeling clammy at the sight. 

You roll your eyes in fake annoyance, clearing your throat. “It’s only 11 and you're already asking for my help?”

“Pretty please?” He says, his voice turning syrupy and low. His bottom lip juts out into a pout. You find your eyes trailing over his oh so soft looking mouth. “Robby and I have a patient in Trauma 1 that I need you for, like asap.”

You laugh and shake your head as you give him a silent nod. You’ve never been able to say no to Frank, and he knows it. He grins in response, flashing you his million dollar smile before turning around, motioning you to follow him.

You try not to let his words swirl around in your head as you trail behind him, but somehow they find their way to the forefront of your mind. 

I need you.

For the next thirty minutes, you and Frank are glued to each other's side as you work in Trauma 1. Where Frank goes, you follow. You’re there for it all—the first time the patient codes, the blood transfusion you assist on, the frantic calls from Frank as Robby rushes into the room, it all swirls around you and him like a complex symphony. 

Frank watches you in admiration, though you’re so engrossed with the task at hand that you fail to see it. His eyes follow as you skirt around the room, listening to every order Robby gives you, nodding and jumping into action. This is one of the things he admires the most about you—your dedication. The silent way you accept direction without hesitation.

The thirty minutes pass like seconds. Before you know it, the patient is stable, and you watch as Frank and Robby chat quietly. You don’t feel like interrupting their seemingly private conversation, so you take your leave and head to the staff lounge, rubbing the soreness out of your shoulders as you walk down the halls. 

In the privacy of the staff lounge, you take a quiet minute to yourself. You crack open another redbull and give a sigh of relief at the taste. You need the boost this morning—you felt restless last night, tossing and turning in the comfort of your bed. A million things were running through your mind as you attempted to sleep. You tell yourself to get a grip, to shake it off. There are more important things to worry about, better things to do with your time than lament on things you shouldn't be thinking of.

When you think you’re beginning to take too much time, you force yourself back on to the floor. You walk fast towards the direction you last saw Dana, hoping to chat with your charge nurse for a few minutes before tagging along with Perlah and Princess. You’re so engrossed in your own mind—still replaying the same thoughts that kept you up last night—that you don’t see the shine of the floor below you, somehow missing the bright yellow bucket full of soapy water.

You don’t see the puddle of liquid in front of you until you’re slipping in it, falling backwards and smacking your head on the linoleum tile with a gasp. Pain blossoms at the base of your skull as your body lays on the ground. Your eyes flutter softly, vision turning blurry before, eventually, it fades to black.

//

Your ears are ringing. 

Someone is faintly yelling words you can't quite pick up somewhere in the background. You feel a pair of hands behind your neck as someone is propping your head up, and just when you think you may have escaped this incident unharmed, just as your eyes begin to squint open and you make out the face of Dana and Robby, the back of your head throbs.  

“Oh, motherfucking christ—” You sputter, attempting to sit up. “Jesus that hurts.”

“Hey hey. Take it easy, kid.” Robby orders, grabbing one of your arms to help steady you. 

Dana crouches down beside him, immediately handing you an ice pack that feels freezing against your palm. You accept it gratefully as your eyes continue to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting of the ED. 

“Quite a fall you took there,” Dana starts. “Here, let me check to see if your head's bleedin’.”

You groan as her hand ghosts against the back of your skull, hissing when the tips of her fingers barely come into contact with your pulsing skin. When she removes her fingers to examine them, they’re dry, which is a relief—at least you won’t need stitches.

“Do you know where you are?” You hear Robby ask. 

“I’m in hell,” you reply. You watch as a little of the concern melts from his face, a small smile replacing the serious expression he had been sporting since he watched you slip. 

“We should examine you for a concussion,” he continues, beginning to stand back up. Your ass is still firmly planted on the floor, one hand propping yourself up as the other ghosts the ice pack against your temple. Your entire head feels like it's on fire, like someone just took a wooden mallet and went crazy against the inside of your mind. 

You're just about to take Robby’s helping hand up when the sound of rushing footsteps catches your attention.

“What the fuck?” You hear Langdon say, and you don’t have to turn to know the way he’s looking at you. Your head starts to pound even further. “What the hell happened?”

“I acquainted myself with the floor,” you mumble, finally taking the aid to get yourself back on two legs. You feel like a baby deer finding its footing for the first time, wobbling slightly back and forth as you try and steady yourself. 

“Are you okay?” Langdon asks, his arms finding their way to yours, attempting to help stabilize you. 

“I’m fine, totally good. Just embarrassed.” You laugh, immediately regretting it as you wince from the pain.

“How hard did you hit your head?” He asks, eyes scanning over your face. He turns to Robby before asking, “Has anyone assessed for a concussion?”

“No, not yet, I was just abo—”

“Someone help me!” A voice cries out. 

Robby, Dana, and Frank tense immediately. Your reaction time is a little slower, and you’re still a little confused until you see Whitaker on the floor, attempting to stop the convulsions of an elderly man currently laying on the floor. 

“Jesus, we got people dropping like flies!” Dana yells before running over to help the poor fourth year med student. Robby isn’t far behind her, grumbling to himself about how he can't catch a fucking break, how its always one thing or another. 

“Langdon!” He booms from across the room. “Take over for me. Check her for anything, I gotta go.”

Frank gives him a wordless nod, taking no time before leading you towards an empty room not too far away. You feel like a grandma being walked across the street. Langdon’s hands are wrapped around your body, guiding you towards the seat of the bed before they remove themselves, shutting the door behind you both. 

“It’s a fucking shit show out there,” he breathes as he swiftly brings up a stool, positioning himself in front of you. “We’ve got doctors cracking their skulls open, patients seizing on floors—it's not even lunch.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t planning on practically seeing god today.” You huff. “Holy shit my head hurts.” 

“Yeah, let’s make sure you didn’t give yourself permanent brain damage.”

He wheels himself around the room in a comfortable manner, like he's done so many times before. His fingers wrap against the cool metal of a flashlight, and before you know it he's shining it in your face, making you flinch.

“Jesus! A little warning, please?” You hiss.

“Sorry, sorry.” He smiles sheepishly. “Just let me check out your pupils and then I’ll turn it off.”

He scooches his stool closer to you, finding a respectable place that is semi in between your legs. There's still enough distance that it's professional, but it's just close enough that it makes you sweat. 

“Can you tell me your name?” He finally says, clicking the flashlight off. You assume that means your pupils are fine, and he’s moving on to the cognitive aspect of his makeshift exam. You roll your eyes. You're almost positive you don’t have a concussion, just the makings of an incredibly nasty bruise and bump, yet you answer him anyway.

“And what day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“The…?” 

“The twelfth, jesus. Do you want the year too?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

You playful wave your hand, dismissing him. The pain in your head has slowly receded, not as prominent as it originally was. It thrums slightly in the background, though, not completely over.

“Alright, can you look at my finger?” He starts again, breaking the small silence. He holds his index finger in front of your face. “I’m just gonna move this around, and I want you to follow it, okay?”

“Yes, Dr. Langdon,” you attempt to tease, but your voice comes out lower than expected. You watch as Frank swallows hard.

“Tell me what you did this morning.” He stares intensely into your eyes as he asks the question, still moving his finger around the peripheral of your vision. You follow your order, eyes never leaving his hand as you think of your answer, hoping you don't seem as frazzled as you feel. Did he get closer or are you imagining things?

“Woke up. Ate breakfast. Came to work. Helped on a couple different cases before the one with you and Robby. Went to the staff lounge to down a redbull and before I knew it I was slipping on the wet floor.”

“Good, okay.” He breathes. He stops moving his finger around which allows you to look at him once more. His stethoscope hangs loosely around his black scrub top, the white of his undershirt peeking through his collar as his chest slowly rises and falls. He looks handsome today. Yet again, he always looks handsome, and you find yourself biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from telling him that very same thing.

“You were great this morning. With Robby and I, I mean. You handled it like a champ.”

“Thanks,” you whisper. You never know what to do when Frank compliments you. “It’s all you guys. You’re easy to work with.”

“Yeah, but you were collected. Purposeful. Calm. Even when Mateo almost threw up.” He chuckles.

“I try.” You say, and it’s true. You always try. You always give it your best, but it's just easier with Frank. You’re not sure why.

“I’m gonna take your temp now.” He decides, rolling away from you for a second to get a thermometer. 

“That feels a little unnecessary,” you say. You don’t want to be a bother—Frank’s a busy man, a coveted one at that. You know he could be helping someone else right now, and you'd hate to think that you were stealing him away from people who needed him more.

“Nope, don’t even.” He replies. “I’m checking off every box.”

He brings the electric thermometer that reads your temporal artery to your forehead. He clicks the button and watches for a few seconds as the device seems to think for a moment, giving you a small smile when a normal and acceptable number flashes on the screen.

“Thank you, again. For checking me for the concussion.”

“No problem.” He responds. “Can’t have you getting worse. Don’t know what I’d do if I had to ask Jesse to do anything instead of you.”

You try not to think too much about what he says to you. You try to pretend you don't notice the way he favors you over other nurses. You try to pretend you don't care. You try to pretend it doesn't kill you.

When Frank finishes putting away the thermometer, you think he's done with his exam. Yet, he doesn't get up to leave. Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms in the air. His shirt riles up, a sliver of his skin between the tops of his pants peeking out. Your eyes scan down the hair on his abdomen. 

You clear your throat. Looking at Frank like that is wrong, for many different reasons. When you get up to move, Frank puts out a hand to stop you, wordlessly communicating that he doesn't want to leave yet—that the exam isn't over. 

“What are you checking right now?” You ask as Frank sits in front of you, seemingly doing nothing.

“Your responsiveness.” So, bullshit, basically.

“And how is it?” 

“Well, for starters, you're responding.”

You give him a small chuckle. You feel appreciative of the calm moment between you two—you’re only halfway through the day, yet you feel like you’ve been going one hundred miles per hour all morning, never stopping to catch your breath. Especially with your newfound head wound. The rest and ice will do you good, you’re sure.

“How have you been?” Frank asks in hopes of breaking the silence. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you give the normal response. I’m good, smile. Work is crazy, cheek bite. Thank god I’m off this friday, chuckle.

Through your painfully normal response, Frank watches as your eyes betray you. Your body plays the part perfectly, posture open and inviting, smile bright and cheerful, but something distant swirls in the dark parts of your irises. Frank catches it all. 

He frowns. He wants you to be open with him, but he doesn't push it. 

“And your—” He coughs, choking on something oddly shaped like his pride. “Your fiancé?”

Your eyes widen. Right. You have one of those.  

“He’s.. fine.”

“Good. That’s good. Have you been telling him about all the amazing shit you do here?” 

“Um… No. Not recently. We’re actually…” You try to think of how to phrase it. “We’re having a little bit of a disagreement right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s stupid, nothing serious, obviously,” you lie. “I just feel bad. I feel like it’s been distracting me.”

Frank tries to act like he's not enthralled. Obviously, he's sad that you’re feeling inadequate with yourself and distracted at work, but Chad can go kick rocks.

“You’re not off your game. Not at all. You were amazing this morning.”

“Thanks.” You reply, still deflected. You toy with your slightly melted ice pack, squishing around the slushy-like gel between your fingers. Your eyes bounce around the room. You don’t want Frank to see the discouragement in them. 

“I mean it. You’re a great nurse, and partly the reason why I’m a great doctor. I… I couldn’t do this without you, I hope you know that.” He whispers. 

It hasn’t been the easiest thing for him, coming back. There have been so many demons he's had to face, so many challenges he's had to overcome. The cold glances he's had to brush off his shoulder and the shame of his actions all seem a little more bearable when you’re by his side.

He smiles when you look at him again. There's a slight awe in your eyes, like you can't believe what you've just heard, but it's true. Frank thinks the world of you. 

“Can I ask what you're fighting about?” He says, lying to himself about his intentions. God forbid a nice doctor care about his a nice nurse. “We’re… friends, so I guess I can ask.” 

You sigh. You don't want to let on too much, to make him worry about you or anything. “He’s staying with a friend right now. We’re just disagreeing on stuff about the future. Really, it’s nothing.”

He can see the way you’re downplaying your true feelings in real time as arguments replay in your mind. Harsh words being tossed around, all about how you’re too busy, you never see me anymore, we never have sex anymore. 

You don’t tell Frank any of this, obviously. You would be mortified if he knew about the state of your relationship. (Or secretly enthralled, depending on how honest you want to be with yourself.)

“Well, he’d be an idiot to fuck this up with you.” He confesses.

You laugh. It’s heartfelt, Frank can tell. He’s proud of himself for pulling it out the depths of your lungs. After a second, your eyes fall back to the ice pack that's now fully jelly in your hands, feeling a similar melted sort of emotion. You start to speak, but feel like your words fail you.

“I don’t—” Want him. Love Him. “I just—” Want you instead. “It’s—” Easy. Kiss me. “—Complicated.”

“Well,” he starts again, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to. And, anyways, I have to finish your exam.”

“There’s more?” You groan. This has been the longest concussion assessment of your life.

“Mobility. I’m just gonna check around your neck, see if anything hurts. That sort of stuff.”

You gulp. “Sure.”

Frank rolls his stool in front of you once more, a pair of plastic gloves now hiding his hands from the fluorescent lights of the room and the soft feeling of your skin. He inches slowly towards you, trying to find a compromise between the space he knows he should give you and the space he wants.

Quietly, he brings up his fingers to the side of your neck, lightly brushing against the area where your jaw meets your throat. You swallow thickly. 

“I’m gonna press lightly on the sides of your throat, and then I’m gonna ask you to move your head around. Let me know if anything I do hurts you, okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

You watch as his gaze leaves your face to focus on the task at hand. He’s gone from being Frank, to being Dr. Langdon. It’s sexy admirable.

You feel the light pressure of his two fingers as they make their way down your throat. You wait patiently for his instructions, trying not to gasp when his grip changes from two fingers to five, his hands practically engulfing your neck.

“Mkay,” he murmurs, cocking his head. “To the left… Good. Now the right.”

You feel yourself getting hot. Your heartbeat is spiking, you're sure of it. What a horrible time for Frank to have his hand on your carotid artery.

“You seem flushed? Are you alright? Is it hurting?” 

“Jesus—No. It’s nothing. Sorry.” You cringe. 

He halts his movements. You feel his hands soften around you, feeling lighter around your throat. Oh great, you think. He thinks he's hurting me.

When you finally get the courage to open your scrunched up eyes, you see that he’s back to Frank now. Frank, whose hands are around your throat, his latex clad fingertips barely brushing against the small hairs on the back of your neck. Frank, who’s the closest he’s ever been before. Frank, whose eyes are bouncing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. 

It’s wrong. You know it is. It’s bad to want it. It’s bad to think about it.

It’s even worse to do it.

But it happens anyway.

You don't know who starts it. One minute you’re trying not to crawl out of your skin in embarrassment of the way your body betrays you, the next your heart turns to putty as you feel his lips brush against yours, soft and slow with hesitance.

You kiss him back. You don’t think you could pull away if you tried. He tastes like the peach-nectarine red bull he drank this morning. He smells handsome, if that's even possible. Like the ocean. Your hands itch to cradle his face, to make their way into his dark brown hair that always looks perfect, no matter how many times he runs his fingers through them.

It’s deep. It’s sweet. It’s everything you’ve wanted since the first day you saw him. 

You play with your fingers to distract yourself reaching out to touch him, as if he’d turn to gold and crumble from your midas touch. Your fingertips run over something hard.

Your ring.

And suddenly it's over.

You pull back from him. You're breathless, you feel disheveled. Your lips feel swollen. Your head hurts worse than when you practically slammed it on the floor like a basketball.

“Are you—shit. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“We shouldn’t. I can’t, I have—”

“Yeah, yeah, obviously. Shit.”

“Yeah. Um. I should… go.”

“Yes,” he breathes, “You’re all good. No… no concussion. Or brain damage.”

“Thank you,” you say, scrambling to stand up. “For… Yeah, okay.” You find your footing faster than you did in the halls. You’re not sure what you would do if Frank tried to help stabilize you, but you imagine it can't be anything good. 

You leave the room without looking back. 

//

For the rest of his shift Frank is torn into pieces.

He feels awful. You came to him, hurt—possibly concussed—and what did he do? Kiss you. Stupid idiot. You had trusted him. Confided in him about problems you were having in your personal life, problems you were having with the man who put that rock on your finger, and Frank just couldn’t help himself, he had to ruin it. 

It was clear you were avoiding him. Painfully so.

You immediately walked away in the opposite direction if he spotted you, never giving him the chance to ask you for help with a patient. Every time you caught his eye, you were deep into conversation with whoever was around you, always managing to avoid his gaze he so desperately wanted you to see. 

You’re nowhere to be found when he’s roaming the halls, right as Frank is in between cherry picking cases. You’re somewhere in a room down the hall when Frank sits down to log some information, pretending to look busy as he clicks the mouse around an empty screen. He feels like a kicked puppy. 

The worst part is he knows he did it to himself. He knew at the beginning of your friendship that he wasn’t capable of knowing you without loving you, and he worked with you anyway. Now it's all ruined, he thinks. You’ll never speak to him again. You’ll probably never want to be in the same room as him, especially alone. It’ll be horrible to work with him, you’ll hate every minute of it.

He’ll be a gentleman about it though, transfer to night shift. Never speak to you again. Wishing you and your future toddler twins a good life as you cradle a new baby that looks just like fucking Chad. He can see it all play out in his head. He’ll die alone. The cat he doesn’t have will eat his face.

The hours pass by quickly as Frank loses himself in his head. He goes through the motions. He’s done it all before. It’s not good to work distracted, but there's no use in trying to clear his mind. He wants to talk to you desperately, but he doubts he’ll get the chance. 

And he’s right. You take off like a shot when your shift ends, leaving a trail of dust behind you. No one seems to notice but him. Frank feels so twisted inside, like he’s fucked everything up beyond repair. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits in the driver's seat of his car. He let himself get too comfortable, be too hopeful that anything could change between you two. 

He drives home in disappointed silence. 

//

When Frank finally makes it back to his house, to his sparsely decorated apartment that's just a little too small and a little too dark, he collapses with exhaustion. His bag is tossed somewhere haphazardly, his lanyard with his medical ID thrown loosely on his kitchen counter. He slides off his scrub top and doesn't bother to look where it lands. 

A hot shower should fix everything. 

He stands under his showerhead moments later, his shitty water pressure doing an even shittier job at getting the shampoo out of his hair. He tries to distract himself with miniscule things in order to prevent thinking of you. This ends pathetically, however, when Frank realizes he doesn't have much of anything else to distract himself with.

He’s not married anymore. He barely has any friends. All he does is work, and if Frank thinks of work, then Frank thinks of you.

“This is pointless,” He mutters to no one. 

When he finally deems himself clean, appreciative of the small relief that the shower has given him, Frank tosses on an old pair of sweatpants that ride low on the bony parts of his hips, sliding over a black steelers t-shirt to go with it. He reheats some leftovers from the night before, going through the motions of being too eager and burning his mouth over and over with every bite. 

He’s impressed with himself about how his cooking skills have grown. Now that he lives alone, all of the decisions fall to him. It wasn't like he never cooked when he was married or anything of the sort—Frank always helped out. But now, he’s on his own. He wonders briefly if you’d like the meal he’s eating. If you’d like his cooking. 

He stands in the kitchen for longer than he should. His plate is clean now. The dishes are washed and dried, put away in their respective cabinets. But Frank can’t bring himself to move. From here, he can see the entirety of his home as it lies before him. His small living room with a couch and a TV he got on sale. The door to his bedroom cracked slightly askew, allowing for the tiniest bit of light to bleed in from his bathroom.

His apartment is cold. Empty. It feels lonely and like salt in the wound. It’s times like this when Frank misses you the most. He closes his eyes and selfishly imagines you in his kitchen, smiling softly at him as he cooks for the two of you. The way you’d look on his couch, watching a movie so scary you’d have to turn to look away, burying your face in his chest. 

He tries not to think about you in his bed. It never ends well for him, and he feels all the more shameful the next time he sees you. 

When he’s done playing pretend in his mind, he makes his way to his couch alone. He turns on some shitty reality TV show to distract him, and make his space less quiet. He rots in the same position for what feels like hours. 

Frank’s eyes just begin to flutter shut when he hears the faintest knock on his door. 

At first he thinks he’s imagining it. It’s late, and Frank doesn't talk to his neighbors. It must’ve been from down the hall.

But then it happens again. He pauses the show and groans as he stands, stretching out his arms and legs before he rubs his eyes. He knows he didn’t order anything, so maybe someone’s just got the wrong house?

He contemplates a few different possible scenarios until he opens the door, and it’s clear the person in front of him is at the right place. You stand anxiously, toying with your fingers like you did that morning. You look at him like a deer in headlights, almost as if you weren't expecting him to answer. Neither of you say anything. 

He breaks the uncomfortable silence. “How the hell did you get my address?”

You seem relieved when he speaks, like you were afraid he might shut the door in your face. “I have my ways.”

“That's… frightening.” He admits. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

“Yeah.”

He maneuvers his body and opens the door widely for you, allowing you to step inside. You slowly creep into his living room, looking around and taking in his scarce decor, his degrees hung on the wall. He barely has any photos in frames. 

His apartment radiates the same sort of Frank-esque smell that graced your senses earlier that morning, and you find yourself inhaling deeply, as if you were running out of breath. You hope he doesn’t notice.

When Frank shuts the door behind you, he leans against the kitchen counter in order to give you some space. He thinks maybe you’re here to yell at him, to tell him you’re transferring to Presby or even moving just to get away from him. 

But he can’t help himself from worrying about you, which is why he ends up asking, “Are you okay?”

You don't answer him, which only puts him on edge more. He's always been used to easy conversations between you two. He hates this switch. He hates himself for it even more. The guilt that starts to bubble in his stomach again at the sight of you suddenly feels unbearable. He thinks he may just die if he doesn’t try to make amends in some way, he can't bear the thought of losing you because he couldn't control his desire. 

“I’m so sorry,” he begins to say, “For this morning—”

“No, no. That wasn’t your fault at all. Don’t apologize.” You confess. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. That’s—That’s what I want to talk to you about. If you have a second.”

“O-Of course, yeah.”

“Um… so I left work really fast. As I’m sure you saw. Partly to avoid you and partly because kissing you made me realize some things that I had been ignoring. So I went home and got into a really big fight with Chad.”

Langdon gulps at your confession. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he decides against it. 

“We fought about… well about everything. He said that I wasn't in love with him. And… he's right. I’m not. And also, apparently he was sleeping with the ‘friend’ he was staying with, so. Tried to tell me it was my fault because I wasn't giving him any attention.” you whisper. 

You stop yourself to catch your breath. You feel overwhelmed talking about something so fresh. You feel almost embarrassed in a way to admit this—that you had been so in love with Frank that it ruined your already crumbling relationship. 

“I ended things with him. Gave him his stupid ring back and told him to get the hell out of my house. I gave him the night to pack a bag but I couldn’t be there any longer, so I just left. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

Frank stays quiet as you explain the situation you find yourself currently in. He watches as your eyes dart around the room once more—you're nervous. You're worried he’ll kick you out, make you go back to your home where you have to come to the realization that the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with is a cheater.

“I’m so sorry.” He says. He hears the way his own voice cracks. He hates seeing you emotional, and it’s getting to him. “He didn’t deserve you at all. And fuck him for trying to say it was your fault.”

He watches as you take a shaky breath. You look up at him.  You’re dressed more casually than when he last saw you, a pair of low rise jeans and some old band t-shirt covering your body. You look nice for someone who's just had their world turned upside down. 

“Believe it or not… I’m actually not that torn up about it. In his defense, I don’t think I've mentally been there for the past six months. I’ve been distracted.” You admit. Your stomach does a somersault when you watch as Frank clenches his jaw. You have to admit being cheated on feels shitty, but there's a certain feeling of freedom blooming in your chest as you stand in your favorite resident’s living room. 

“By what?” He asks. His voice is low. His arms are crossed, and his fingernails dig into his arms. They leave tiny crescent shapes in his skin. 

You gulp. “By you. Always by you.”

Frank freezes. The hair on the back of his neck stands up straight, sending a chill down his spine. He can’t believe the words that are leaving your mouth. He feels like he must be dreaming. It just isn't possible for you to be standing in front of him after all this time, newly single, saying you’ve wanted him just as much, if not more, as he’s wanted you. 

Your confession hangs heavy in the air. Frank gets flashbacks to this morning. The feeling of your neck in his hands, the shape of your lips as they slotted so perfectly against his. He starts to understand that he was so worried after the kiss had happened, so convinced that he had screwed everything up, that he forgot to see the way you’d melted against him and moved your mouth against his.  

“About this morning… Did you mean it? Did you mean to kiss me?” you whisper. “Because if not, I’ll go, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Frank pushes himself off of the counter and walks towards you. He gets closer than he did this morning, yet his hands make their way to that same spot on your neck, just below your jaw. You exhale shakily as you wait for his reply.

“All I do is think about you. Every goddamn day.” He breathes out. “I’m sorry about how that fucking asshole treated you, but I’m not—I’m not sorry you’re not with him. You deserve to be with someone better than that. Who wants you.”

Something crackles between you two. Now that you both know where the other stands, it’s hard to not act on it. 

“And do you want me?” You ask lowly.

“Yes.” He replies, not missing a beat.

“Then kiss me. Please.”

Frank moves you closer with one small tug at your neck, bringing your face to his as his lips lightly brush against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh into him as you let your hands wander. As your hands move up towards his hair, his move down your torso, resting lowly on your hips. He feels the rough material of your jeans underneath his palms. He hooks his fingers around your belt loops and pulls you closer, your body coming flush with his. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says once he breaks away from you. The last thing Frank wants to do is rush you and scare you away, so he’ll let you dictate how far you go tonight. He’ll take anything he can get, even if it's just a kiss. As long as it's with you. 

“Please, Frank. Haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” you confess against his lips. 

The admission makes him rock hard. You feel like play-doh in his hands, so soft, so willing. You look at him in a way that makes him flush. You’re so perfect, he thinks. And by some miracle, you want him just as much as he wants you. 

So how could he refuse you?

He slides his hands down your ass to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up around his hips as he carries you to his bedroom. You feel his erection press through his sweats, and when he lays you down gently, you bite your lip at the sight of his outline through the sweatpants. 

It doesn’t take long before his hands are tugging at the hem of your shirt, signaling to you that he wants it off. You work on sliding it over your head as Frank removes his own shirt, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes rake down your body. His lips find their way to your neck as they kiss on your pressure point, causing you to squirm. You run your fingers through his hair as a way to distract yourself from the pleasure. He kisses his way down your chest until he comes to the swell of your breasts, reaching behind you to unclasp the garment. He groans as you help slide it off your body. He takes one nipple in his mouth and you gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue swirling around your areola. 

He gives both of your nipples a little bit of attention, suckling slightly, watching the way they gleam with his spit in the moonlight before he keeps moving down your body. When he reaches the top of your jeans, you give a little hip lift in desperation. He gets the hint. His fingers undo the button and zipper, grabbing both your pants and underwear before sliding them down your legs. He discards them somewhere in the darkness of his room before his eyes are back on you. Your thighs are pushed together in slight embarrassment of how wet you are. A flush creeps its way down your neck as Frank slides his hands up and down your hips, trying to coax you open for him. 

“You don’t have to,” you breathe out. 

“But I want to. Please let me, baby. Been thinking about it forever.”

You melt at his words. You’ve never been able to say no to him, not at work and not between the sheets of his own bed. His pleas cause your legs to spread open. He moves his head down to the same level as your soaking pussy, grinning when he sees how wet you are for him. He takes a moment to admire how you practically drip onto the sheets. 

You cry out when his tongue finally licks a fat stripe up your cunt. Your fingers tug at his brown curls, his name leaving your lips in small whispers as he moves his mouth against you. It’s sloppy, and the sound he makes against your pussy is obscene. He wraps his hands around the outside of your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders. This changes the angle of your hips, allowing his tongue to dive deeper into your core as your back arches from the sensation.

Before you can register him moving, Frank’s middle finger breaches your entrance. He pushes it in slowly, watching in awe at the way your tight walls engulf his digit whole. You groan at the intrusion. He curls it ever so slightly, a chuckle caught in his throat as your hips begin to grind down on his palm. 

Frank wants to tease you, he really does. But for your first time together he can barely contain his excitement, let alone make you wait any longer than you have to, so he slides his ring finger in as well, developing a smooth rhythm that has you crying out his name.  

He presses his tongue up against your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers work to bring you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night. You feel the familiar ache in your abdomen as he picks up his pace. 

“Frank, fuck, fuck—” You whine. “‘M close.”

He groans against you in response. He wants nothing more to have you cumming into his mouth, your sweet slick dripping down his tongue as he licks your pussy like it was made for him. 

Your thighs begin to tremble and shake around his head. You scrunch your toes in pleasure as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You see stars as Frank brings you to the edge. When you cum, it's with a gasp and an arch of your back. You throw your head back against his pillow, and Frank doesn't let up on his movements as he works you through your orgasm.

When you finally come back down from your high, you see Frank with a shit eating grin between your legs. The lower half of his face shines with your juices. 

“Oh my god,” you blush, bringing your hands up to your face to hide your embarrassment. 

“Fuck, that was hot.” He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your leg.

He climbs back up your body, wiping his mouth before kissing you softly. His tongue runs over your top lip, sliding its way into your mouth. You taste yourself as he deepens the kiss. Your hands run up and down his shoulders until your palms come flush with his chest. You feel the softness of his hair over the sharp edges of his muscles, sneaking your fingers down to the drawstring of his sweatpants. You undo them as Frank suckles at your neck. 

You gingerly slip a skilled hand down his pants until you feel his erection through the thin fabric of his boxers. He hisses through his teeth at the relief the pressure from your hand gives him. You bite your bottom lip before cupping him gently, then raking your nails over his lower stomach once more before slipping your warm hand into his underwear. You gently grab his cock, watching as he shudders into your body. An involuntary whimper escapes his throat as you slowly begin stroking him up and down, feeling how hard and angry he feels even in the dark.

“‘M not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He groans. 

You can't help but smile at the way his face scrunches up in pleasure as you continue to tug at his weeping member, occasionally running your thumb over his slit, gathering the precum before spreading it down his base.

“Can’t wait anymore. Need you.” He states plainly, grabbing your wrist and removing you from his pants before he stands up, removing his sweats and underwear in one motion. 

His cock, now free from the restrictive fabric of Frank’s boxers, pulses red between his legs. You drop your head back onto the mattress. He’s big. 

“Need you to fuck me, please,” you beg as he leans over to his bedside table, ripping open a condom. He throws his head back as he slides it over his penis, eventually lining himself up to your dripping entrance. He drags his mushroom tip up and down your soaked folds, tapping your clit lightly. Your legs twitch at the stimulation.

“You're my favorite, you know that?” He teases. 

You drag him down for a kiss. Your nails scrape down his back as he slowly begins to push himself in, watching with hooded eyes at the way you take him so well. It's lewd—down right pornagraphic the way you sound. You feel yourself stretch around him, chest rising and falling as he kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans as he begins to move his hips. 

He’s slow at first—calculated, like he’s thought long and hard about each stroke. His hips find a rhythm that makes your mouth fall open and leaves your mind blank, only one thing running through it—Frank, Frank, Frank. 

Your hands fall from his back onto his soft sheets, scrunching them up in between your fingertips. Frank leans back and grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder before pressing his torso into yours. You gasp at the change in angle. Suddenly, with each thrust he reaches deeper and deeper, grunting each time his thick head brushes against the spongy part in your walls, enthralled at the way it makes you moan. 

His pace feels unrelentless and unforgiving. For a man whose admitted to liking you and respecting you so much, he sure fucks you like he doesn’t. It only brings you closer to the edge.

You watch his face in a haze. The way his lips part slightly, the small beads of sweat that have gathered on his forehead due to the physical activity, the way those piercing blue eyes that you love so much suddenly look pitch black with lust. 

He reaches his thumb down to circle your aching clit, biting his lower lip as he watches your back arch, pushing your tits into his face. He wants this burned behind his eyelids forever, buried alongside him in his grave. 

Your high pitched whines and hics let him know you're close again. He feels the way your walls clench around him, gushing out your arousal with each slam of his hips. You move your legs down to wrap around his hips, linking your ankles together to pull him impossibly closer to you as he continues to pistol into your pelvis. You cum unexpectedly, like a white hot blaze bubbling in your stomach, shooting down your veins before you even realize it's happening. It renders you speechless. Tears prick the sides of your eyes as Frank works you through it, his encouraging yet incredibly sexy voice whispering praise in your ear. 

When you come down from your high, you feel the way his hips stutter. Their movements, once precise, now feel erratic and dangerously close to finishing. You watch in amazement as his eyes squeeze shut. He grows louder and louder, slurred words leaving his lips as he tells you how good you’re doing, how nice you feel, how he could fuck you forever. His hips slam and eventually stall, a growl making its way into your shoulder as he releases his warm load into the latex of his condom. 

Your fingers find the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck as he pants above you. You two laugh gently before Frank’s arms give out, leaving him to lay on top of you. You bear the weight of his body for the light neck kisses he gives you in return. Something tugs at your heart. The moment is slow, hazy in the best way. It's yours to share and hold. 

When he finally pulls out of you, you whine at the loss of contact. You could have stayed like that forever. With Frank, forever. 

“I know,” he whispers. He can already read your mind. 

He walks to his bathroom and is gone for a moment, discarding his condom and cleaning himself up slightly before wetting a washcloth to wipe you down as well. It’s warm and comforting as he cleans up the mess you made between your own thighs, a mixture of the condoms pre-given lube and your own arousal. 

When you hear the start of his shower, you smile softly. It feels so domestic, like what you’ve always craved with Frank. Like what Chad never gave you. 

He helps you up off the bed, cracking another joke about you slipping as your legs try to find some balance. All you can do is give him an annoyed look before his lips are on yours again, dragging you from his room to the shower. 

You fall asleep in his arms afterwards. You're dressed in an old shirt of his, a pair of his boxers clad on your lower half. His sheets smell like you and him. You two speak softly about what this all means, how long you’ve wanted this, how much Frank has needed you. About how he’ll never let you go now that he has you, and no Chad is changing that. 

You kiss him gently. A thank you, an I’ve missed you, and an I love you seemingly all said with one small peck. 

Frank doesn’t fall asleep immediately. You’re slumped against his chest, softly breathing in and out as his fingers curl against your lower back. From here, Frank begins to memorize the slope of your nose from up close, the fluffiness of your eyelashes that flutter occasionally. He’s thankful for this moment of peace. He always wants this, he realizes. You, in his arms. His ring on your finger. Your toothbrush next to his. The smell of your shampoo on his scrub tops that will no doubt distract him. 

He drifts off thinking of his rule that he followed dutifully for a long time. He’s still following it as far as he’s concerned. He knows he’s not supposed to have favorites, and he doesn’t.

Well, except for you. 

//

Y/n always woke up at around 6 in the morning. Ever since Theo started preschool, her internal alarm clock always rang at 6. Whether it was the weekend or a weekday. Whether she slept early or late. Her body didn’t know the difference—or maybe it did, and it just didn’t care. Either way, today was no different. 

Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she checked the time. 6:05 AM. Exactly 25 minutes before their actual alarm would go off.

Glancing beside her, at her husband still fast asleep, Y/n sighed. It was tempting to let her heavy lids close once again and enjoy a few more moments of rest. Unfortunately, as nice as that would be, she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Not when there was still a laundry list (laundry included) of things left to do.

Today, Frank and Y/n were taking the family out to the lake for a weekend full of sun, sand and some quality time together. They usually try to make the trip out at least a few weekends throughout the summer. But with a new project at work forcing Y/n to work odd hours, Frank having to pull overtime with the hospital short-staffed (as always), all on top of getting the kids to and from their summer programs, they just haven’t been able to make it work. 

After updating the communal calendar with their schedules for this week, Frank and Y/n turned to each other in shock. The stars finally aligned. For the first time in what felt like forever, they shared the same days off.

They knew exactly what they needed to do. More specifically where they needed to go—Lake Eerie. Not only was a long weekend out on the lake well-deserved, it was also well overdue. 

Back when it was just the two of them, it had always been their favorite way to get some quality time in and unwind after a grueling work week. Wading out in the water all day with a pack of beers. Returning to shore only once the sun began setting, and the clouds above them turned cotton candy pink. Afterwards they’d usually chill out on the cabin deck, grill up some burgers. Sometimes, when things inevitably got hot and heavy between them and they were too lazy to head back inside, they’d even end up in each other’s pants, right there under the stars. 

Of course, once they had the kids, lake weekends became a lot less practical and therefore a lot harder to come by. Now whenever they did manage to get out there, their itinerary evolved into a sanitized, child-proofed version of it once was. They traded in boozed up bonfires for building sandcastles. Their cooler was now filled with juice boxes rather than beers and seltzers. But the most notable difference was that it was far more work packing, unpacking, then packing everything all back up again, now that it was four of them rather than just two. But hearing the kids’ soft snores and seeing their content little smiles from the rear view mirror on the drive back home made it all worthwhile.

Frank and Y/n stayed up pretty late the night before getting things ready while the kids were in bed. It was around 11 PM when they finally threw in the towel, deciding to leave the rest for their future-selves to figure out in the morning. 

Now that it was said morning, Y/n cursed her past-self for making that selfish decision. She moved to get up and get a head start on it all but was held down by the arm draped over her stomach. “Too early,” Frank murmured. His morning stubble scratched her skin as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, urging her to stay in bed. 

Already set on starting the day, she ignored him. But the harder she tried to pry his arm off her, the tighter he held on. 

Who could blame him for wanting a couple more minutes cozying up in bed with his wife when the chance to indulge in lazy mornings together were hard to come by as of late. His lips pressed a hot kiss against that spot on her neck he knew would have her folding. And in no time, Y/n relented with a sigh. In part because, yes, he knows just what buttons to press to get what he wants. But also because she wasn’t willing to exert any more energy fighting a losing battle with him this early. They had a long day ahead of them.

Turning over her shoulder, she shuffled closer into him. His arms wrapped around her tightly. He hummed in satisfaction as her fingers trailed up to the nape of his neck to rake through his messy head of brown hair. They stayed like this tangled under the covers, basking in the peace and quiet till their alarm finally went off. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

Rolling right on top of Y/n, Frank groaned as he reached over to shut it off. The ringing and buzzing stopped, but he stayed in place, hovering over her, taking her in with his eyes. There was something about being the only one to see the beauty of her totally undone, to be the only one with the privilege of waking up beside her like this every morning, that stirred something within him. His eyes traveled hungrily down the delicate skin of her neck, to the swell of her breasts and the peak of her nipples hidden under one of his old college shirts. Then they went lower, admiring the curve of her hips and waist, stopping at the cheeky pair of striped panties peeking out from under the ratted hem of his shirt. When his eyes traveled back up her body, landing on her face once again, he was met with a disapproving look. 

“No,” Y/n said plainly. 

“What? I didn’t say anything.” 

“You don’t need to.” If his intentions weren’t already painfully obvious by the look on his face, his knee nudging her legs apart gave him away for sure. Luckily Y/n slipped out of his grasp before he could press the other buttons he knew would have her in the palm of his hand.

“You had your chance to get a quickie in earlier, before the alarm went off. You chose to sleep instead,” she said, already halfway to their bathroom. “It’s too late now.”

Their white sheets ruffled under the weight of Frank plopping himself down on them face-first. She was right. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Stubborn as always, he rose from the bed quickly to join her in the bathroom. He came up behind her, hands resting low on her hips, pulling them against him as she stood up. She continued with her skin care routine unphased, ignoring both the stiffness pressing right against her ass, and the dull aching between her legs as a result.

“Y/n,” he hummed in her ear. His striking blue eyes looking at her through the mirror. A wandering hand slid up her waist, across her stomach, cupping her breast greedily. “C’mon, we both needed the extra sleep, but we’re up now— ” 

“Yeah, we’re not the only ones up,” Y/n joked, reaching behind her to palm him quickly, teasingly.

Frank threw his head back, swearing under his breath, trying to get a hold of himself. The pained look on his face almost made her feel bad if it weren’t a) so funny how easily riled up he got and b) such a turn on seeing the effect she had on him. 

“That’s not very nice,” Frank said, shooting her a sharp. His free hand came down on her ass with a smack. 

The sound of her laughter cut off abruptly as she yelped in surprise. “That wasn’t very nice either,” she said, peeking over her shoulder to see a red hand print on her left cheek. 

“You started it,” he groaned, burying his face against the side of her head. He inhaled deeply, hooked on her scent, as he kneaded her breast in his hand. “C’mon baby. Please.”

“We don’t have time,” she said, closing a jar of moisturizer. “There’s still a lot left to do.”

“It’ll be quick baby, I promise.” His other hand wrapped around the front of her waist now, pulling her impossibly close to him. “You feel that? How fucking hard I am for you right now? I’m not lasting long.”

That dull aching between her legs started pulsing harder, and faster. It would be so easy to give in right now and satisfy both their needs. But Y/n stayed firm. His utter desperation for her was its own form of satisfaction that she wasn’t done enjoying yet. It gave her just enough willpower to keep him yearning for her a little longer.

“How about,” she started, offering a compromise, “You take care of the kids, get them all ready. I’ll get breakfast started and finish the packing. And if—and this is only if—you can get the kids all ready by 8:15, we can get a quickie in before leaving at 8:30.”

That was all Frank needed to hear. 8:15? He’ll make sure they’re set to go by 8, on the dot, if that’s the case. 

—

Frank crossed the hallway to Theo’s bedroom, light on his feet, a spring in his step. His little deal with Y/n, aside, he’s been dying to share their weekend plans with the kids. They’d kept it a secret all week long, wanting to surprise them on the day of. To see their faces light up in excitement. To watch them rush to get ready because the sooner they are, the sooner they’ll get there. 

Like their parents, Theo and Emmie loved going out to the lake. They’d splash around all day in the water till their little fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruned. They’d scavenge for shells and treasure along the shore. They’d usually end the night roasting marshmallows under the moonlight listening to Frank tell them spooky stories around the fire pit. 

The hinges of Theo’s door creaked lightly as Frank stepped into the dark room. The only source of light came from the color-changing dinosaur lamp sitting on the bedside table. Knowing what a mess the room usually is, he treaded carefully. One wrong step meant tripping on a toy or slipping on a stray shirt laying on the ground. Drawing the curtains open, and seeing the mess he’d just traversed, Frank made a mental note to tell Theo he needed to clean up before they leave today.

The boy’s peaceful expression scrunched in confusion as Frank shook his shoulders gently. Groggy eyes fluttered open adjusting to the light. Little arms stretched out as he woke. Mouth opened wide to let out a yawn. But what came out instead was a scratchy, dry, cough. Quickly followed by another, then another after that, until the poor boy was doubled over in a fit of them. 

Leaning back instinctively, avoiding the cloud of germs now floating in the air between them, Frank placed the back of his hand against Theo’s forehead. The boy was hot to the touch. 

“I don’t feel very good,” he said in a nasally voice. And taking a closer look at him, Frank saw that he didn’t look very good either. Red, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks to match.

Frank tucked the boy back into bed, telling him to just go back to sleep before quickly crossing the hall to check on Emmie. He had a strong feeling she was probably in the same state as her brother. If one of them got sick, the other was not far behind. And unfortunately, he was right. Emmie was burning up too and a bit lethargic when he tried to wake her. 

“Just lay back down bug,” Frank assured her, pushing tangled strands of hair away from her face. “I’ll be back up to check on you in a little.”

–

Transferring all the bacon onto a platter, Y/n was too preoccupied to notice Frank enter the kitchen. 

“So,” he started grabbing her attention. Uh-oh, Y/n thought turning to face him. That tone was was a forbearer of bad news to follow. And when she saw his lips pulled in a tight line, she put the tongs down to brace herself for it. 

“The kids are sick,” he said, leaning against the counter, grabbing a hot piece of bacon from the platter. Y/n swatted his hands away but not before his sticky fingers got a of slice.

“Frank,” she scolded. He was no better than Theo and Emmie sometimes. The kids would often come in while she was cooking to ask for a “free sample” (a phrase they learned from their trips to Costco) of dinner before she’d even turned the stove off. Their impatience was clearly a trait they inherited from their father. 

“How bad is it?” Y/n asked.

“Pretty bad."

“Like Halloween 2023 bad?” Y/n asked.

The kids gave Frank and Y/n a good scare that Halloween. At the beginning of the week, they had both come down with a flu that hit them so hard by Tuesday, aka Halloween, they were off to see Uncle Robby at the emergency room. Frank knew they needed medical attention beyond what he could give them at home. Emmie with a stubborn fever that refused to go down and Theo with labored breaths that paired with his asthma could be dangerous. Safe to say there was no trick-or-treating for the Langdons that year—aside from the bowl of candy on Auntie Dana’s desk that she insisted they both take two large handfuls of once they were cleared to go home. 

“No,” Frank shook his head in horror at the memory. “Definitely not that bad. But bad enough to cancel our weekend plans for sure.”

Y/n sighed, already switching gears to make a batch of chicken noodle soup, scouring through the cabinets for the ingredients resignedly. It was just their luck that the one weekend they finally had together as a family was going to be stuck at home. Not to mention it was too late to get their money back for the cabin or the boat they rented. But on the bright side, since they were both off they could at least tag team nursing her poor babies back to health together. 

“I’ll have some soup ready for them in a bit. Can you go find where we stashed the humidifier? I don’t remember where we put it after…” Y/n trailed off as she felt Frank coming up behind her. She froze in place. His hands rested low on her hips, in the same needy, urgent way he had in their bathroom not that long ago. And his voice, still thick with that morning gravel, was low in her ear. 

“It’s in one of the storage bins in the garage. But before we get to all that, I was thinking—” 

“About getting your dick wet while our kids are upstairs sick?” Y/n cut him off. “Really, FranK?” 

“Well, when you put it like that, I sound terrible. But yeah. We made a deal.”

“The deal is obviously off.”

“No. I kept up my end, now you’ve gotta hold up yours.”

“Okay, even if the deal was still on—which it's not—you didn’t keep up your end,” she pointed out, turning to face him now. 

“Techincally, yes, I did,” he said. Each word punctuated with a step forward, till he had her pressed up against the counter. 

“How so?” she asked. Inhaling a sharp breath, she kept her composure. Though there wasn't much of it left to keep. Not while they stood chest to chest. Their lips separated by a hair’s breadth. His arms, on either side of her, trapping her against the counter, not letting her slip away from him as easily as she had in bed. Ignoring that dull aching starting up again, she reminded him, “The deal was you get the kids ready. And they’re not. They’re not even out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting her onto the counter with ease despite her lame protests.

Their counters just happened to be the perfect height for him to settle between her legs. His hips lined up perfectly with hers, and he took full advantage of that, pulling her right to the edge, wrapping her legs around his waist so she could feel all of him. So she could feel how badly he needed this, how badly he needed her.

“I checked their temperatures, and tucked them back in. I got them ready to stay in bed and rest,” he explained.

“You think you're so clever, huh?” 

“I think a deal’s a deal. And that you’re playing hard to get.”

“So what if I am,” she challenged. Though her voice had no edge. She was losing herself in the sloppy kisses he laid along on her neck, hitting that spot, that button he knew would have her like putty in his hands, again and again. 

“We share two kids and a mortgage. It’s a little late to be playing hard to get. I’ve already got you. That rock on your finger is proof,” he went on, hands roaming over every inch of her he could get his hands on. From her ass, to her hips and waist. But feeling her just wasn’t enough. He needed more. “I mean what’s a man gotta do to get in his own wife’s pants? Beg?”

It was a joke, but he felt her breath hitch and her muscles tighten at the word. Beg. “Is that it baby? I have to beg?” 

Y/n hadn’t quite put it together herself till now—that begging is what she was after. All she knew was that she loved whenever he got like this. So shamelessly desperate for her, cock literally throbbing for her. The high of knowing that even after all this time together, he still wanted her as badly as the first time made her feel so good. So sexy. So desired. Things she doesn’t often feel when she’s busy in mom-mode or doing chores or stuck behind a desk at work. So, yes. Some begging would be nice.

“Cause I’ll do it, y’know. I’ll get on my knees and beg,” he said, proceeding to do exactly that. 

Their eyes locked as his lips grazed the inside of her knee, traveling up her thigh one feather light kiss at a time. There was no escaping him now. Not that she wanted to. She wanted all this just as much as he did. In her fight to resist him thus far, her insides had coiled up so tight they were about to snap. And the seams holding her together were on the verge of busting wide open. But she was too deep into this game that she started to back out now. She couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not before she had him truly begging. 

So before Frank could dive any deeper between her legs, Y/n grabbed a handful of his hair pulling his head away. “Uh-uh,” she said, looking down at him in disapproval. “I don’t hear any begging”

Frank let out a dark chuckle. “You really want me to beg? Want me to tell you how bad I wanna rip these panties off of you, hmm? How I just wanna bury my face between your legs and get a taste? Will you let me, baby? Please? Please, let me eat your pussy out baby. C’mon.”

He’d inched his way closer to her core, to the damp spot on her panties like an X marking the spot, hoping his words were enough. And they seemed to be as Y/n lifted her hips, allowing him to pull her panties off and place her legs over his shoulders. Spread out bare before him, Frank groaned at how wet and ready she was. Licking his lips, ready to finally receive some form of gratification, Y/n tugged on his hair again. 

“You’re killing me,” he complained, throwing his head back. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration either. If his blood started pumping any faster he just might burst an artery.

“What do you say?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair just the way he liked, as if it would coax the right answer from him. “What do we always tell the kids to say when someone gives them something they want?”

“Thank you,” he said. The second her hand eased its hold on his head, his tongue was at her entrance, licking a thick strip up and through her folds. He groaned, coating his tongue in her. “Thank you so much, baby. Thank you for letting me have this sweet, pretty pussy.”

He continued lapping her up, starting off slow, savoring her intoxicating taste. “God you taste so fucking good,” he said, speaking his praises right into her.

The vibration of his voice against her. The vice grip on her thighs, keeping her right where she was. The way he gradually increased his pressure and speed bringing her closer to unraveling totally. It was all too much. Y/n had turned into a moaning mess. His fingers spread her folds apart, paying special attention to her swollen clit. A shockwave of pleasure shot through her as he circled and sucked on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her head fell back against the cabinet with a thud and her hand dug into his hair again, this time pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. 

“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Just like that.”

In that instant, with those three words, the power dynamic shifted. She was at his mercy now. He pulled back, just far enough to lose contact but still close enough for her to feel his hot and heavy breath. 

“What do you say? What’s the magic word baby? ” he taunted her, throwing her own words back in her face. 

“Please,” she said softly. Eyes shut tight trying to hold onto the fading feeling of his mouth on her.  

“I didn’t hear you,” Frank said. “What was that?”

“I said, please.”

Langdon smirked at the bite in her tone. Turns out the little game she started wasn’t as fun now that they’d switched courts. “Please, what? Tell me what you want?” he said, torturing her the same way she tortured him. 

“Please, put your mouth back right where it was,” she said. “I’m so close, baby. Don’t stop. Please.”

“Look who’s begging now,” Frank teased. “And why should I give you what you want?” “Because I promise to get on my knees next.”

Now those were the magic words Frank liked to hear. Without warning, he dove back between her legs. Like a man starved, he was relentless and insatiable. Y/n had lost all her senses to him. All she could hear were the wet, lewd sounds his lips and tongue were making. All she could see were stars as her eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. All she could feel was him bringing her closer and closer. Until finally the chord inside of her snapped. 

Her thighs clenched around his head, holding him hostage as she rode through her climax. When she finally opened her eyes, Frank had stood up and they were face to face. Immediately their lips met in a hungry, heated kiss. Still reeling from her own high, she had barely noticed Frank lifted her off the counter till her bare feet touched their hardwood floors.

She knew what he was trying to get at. And she obliged. He deserved it for being a good sport in all this. He played along when he could’ve easily just bent her over the counter and taken her the way he wanted to. 

Her lips trailed over his stubble and down his neck. Her hands moved further down, running across his chest and down his abdomen appreciating each curve and dip of lean muscle before reaching his sweats. Keeping her hands on the band of them, she got on her knees. She paused, looking up at him through her lashes, enjoying the view of him from that angle. Parts of his chin still glistening with the evidence of her climax. The veins on his neck straining in anticipation. His blue eyes glazed over with lust.

Frank cupped her cheek with one hand, running his thumb across it, then over her soft lips. Y/n took it in her mouth eagerly, her tongue swirling around it, giving him a preview of what was to come. He didn’t think he could get any harder until he heard his thumb leave her mouth with a pop. 

Mouth watering and core slickening thinking about wrapping her lips around him, Y/n started pull down the his sweatpants finally setting free his—

“Mommy?” a small voice called out from just around the corner. 

Wide-eyed and frantic, Frank and Y/n scrambled to look presentable. When Emmie walked in just a moment later, Frank was still adjusting his sweatpants into place and Y/n had just kicked her underwear, that had been lying in the middle of their kitchen floor, out of sight. 

“What’s wrong sweetie,” Y/n said, picking the girl up into her arms. Emmie whined and mumbled about not feeling good. Frank rubbed her little back gently. Despite being a doctor, there was nothing in his arsenal of knowledge that could solve the common cold. It just had to run its course. 

“I’ll bring her back to bed,” Y/n said.

“And then we can finish what we started, right?” Frank asked, just above a whisper. Y/n looked over her shoulder to see him gesturing suggestively at the on-going issue beneath his sweatpants. 

Taking a page out of his book, Y/n took the upper hand once again. “What do you mean? We are finished?”

“No. Deal’s a deal—”

“Exactly. Deal’s a deal. I said I’d get on my knees, and I did. Didn’t I?” 

Frank rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Real clever Y/n.”

You smiled automatically at the sight of him.

Because you always did.

Unfortunately, every remaining seat was taken.

You frowned slightly, scanning the room.

“There’s nowhere left.”

“Sit on the floor,” Sam suggested immediately.

“You sit on the floor.”

“I was here first.”

Tony pointed toward Bucky without looking away from the TV.

“Tin Man’s got room.”

The entire room went briefly quiet.

Because technically yes, there was room.

Bucky occupied one corner of the sectional entirely alone.

But sitting beside Bucky Barnes and sitting on Bucky Barnes were two catastrophically different things.

You looked at Bucky hesitantly.

He looked back.

For one terrible second, neither of you said anything.

Then Steve—traitor that he was—shifted slightly farther into Sam’s side.

“Looks full here.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Coward.”

Steve smiled innocently.

Natasha looked deeply entertained already.

“You could always sit in Barnes’ lap.”

Bucky choked on absolutely nothing.

You stared at her in horror.

Natasha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“What? Efficient use of space.”

“You are a menace.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky still hadn’t spoken.

Which somehow made this worse.

You glanced at him carefully.

“…Would that be weird?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly like he hadn’t expected you to genuinely consider it.

Truthfully, neither had you.

You and Bucky weren’t exactly touchy.

Not because you disliked each other.

Quite the opposite.

There was just always this… awareness between you.

Every accidental brush of hands lingered too long. Every moment standing too close felt charged somehow.

And now everyone was looking at him expectantly while you stood awkwardly beside the couch.

Bucky swallowed once.

Then muttered:

“I mean… if you want.”

Natasha immediately smirked.

“Oh, he’s doomed.”

“Romanoff,” Bucky warned.

But his voice sounded rougher than usual.

Your heart beat stupidly hard as you carefully lowered yourself onto his lap.

At first it was incredibly awkward.

Not because Bucky made it awkward.

Because he went completely motionless.

Like if he moved too suddenly he might combust.

You tried very hard to ignore how warm he was beneath you.

Which was difficult.

Super soldier body heat should honestly count as a weapon.

Your back pressed lightly against his chest. One of his thighs bracketed yours naturally. His metal arm rested rigidly beside you like he was terrified to touch you accidentally.

The room immediately erupted.

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered dramatically.

Clint pointed at Bucky.

“He looks like somebody held him at gunpoint.”

“He does,” Natasha agreed.

Bucky glared at all of them.

You were trying very hard not to laugh.

“This is fine,” you said weakly.

“No it’s not,” Sam answered instantly. “Barnes forgot how to breathe.”

“I’m breathing.”

“You haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”

Bucky finally looked down at you.

Your eyes met.

And suddenly the teasing faded into background noise for one dangerous second.

Because he looked…

Overwhelmed.

Not upset. Not uncomfortable.

Just intensely aware of you.

You smiled slightly before you could stop yourself.

Bucky’s expression softened immediately in response.

Then, cautiously, his flesh hand settled against your side.

Not gripping. Just there.

Steadying.

Your stomach flipped violently.

“Oh, he’s touching her now,” Clint announced.

“Everybody shut up,” Bucky muttered.

The movie finally started after that.

And slowly, impossibly, the awkwardness faded.

Because sitting with Bucky felt…

Nice.

His chest warm against your back. The low rumble of his voice when he occasionally commented quietly. The way his hand shifted absentmindedly against your side whenever you laughed.

At some point during the movie, you relaxed fully against him without even realizing it.

Bucky noticed immediately.

Every muscle in his body softened.

Like your trust physically melted tension out of him.

By the end of the night, his metal arm rested loosely across your lap while your head leaned comfortably against his shoulder.

Nobody missed it.

Especially not Natasha.

“You two are revolting,” she informed you both pleasantly.

You lifted your head sleepily.

“What?”

“You’re cuddling.”

You looked down.

Oh.

Bucky’s arms were around you.

Fully around you.

At some point that had happened without either of you acknowledging it.

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

Bucky looked down too.

But instead of pulling away—

His grip tightened slightly.

Just slightly.

Like he didn’t want you moving.

Natasha’s smile turned positively vicious.

“Oh, this is going to get worse.”

It did.

Very quickly.

The second time you sat on Bucky’s lap, it was deliberate.

The common room was crowded again.

There were other seats available this time.

You ignored them automatically and crossed straight toward Bucky instead.

He looked up from his book immediately.

Eyes tracking you instinctively.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hi.”

Then, without really thinking about it, you settled into his lap naturally.

Like it was normal now.

Bucky went still for exactly one second.

Then his arm wrapped around your waist automatically.

Comfortably.

Like his body had already memorized yours.

Sam stared openly from across the room.

“No.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“There are literally empty chairs.”

You looked around.

“…Oh.”

Bucky’s chest rumbled quietly behind you.

A laugh.

“You can move if you want,” he said softly.

But his arm tightened infinitesimally around you when he said it.

Liar.

You smiled slightly.

“I’m comfortable.”

Bucky’s entire posture relaxed immediately.

Sam pointed dramatically.

“Did everybody see that?”

Steve looked deeply amused over his book.

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“What’s obvious?” you asked suspiciously.

“The fact that Barnes is one missed nap away from carrying you around in a baby sling.”

Bucky flipped him off without hesitation.

You laughed so hard you nearly slid sideways.

Bucky caught you instantly.

Strong hands gripping your waist securely.

“Careful.”

His voice dropped lower when talking directly to you.

Softer too.

Natasha noticed everything.

Of course she did.

“You know,” she mused one evening while watching you climb into Bucky’s lap during a briefing despite several empty seats nearby, “at this point I think she just likes making you malfunction.”

Bucky looked at her flatly.

“She’s sitting.”

“You stare at her like she invented oxygen.”

Your face immediately burst into flames.

Bucky looked mildly alarmed now too.

“I do not.”

“Barnes,” Clint said. “You literally stopped listening to Fury because she fixed your collar.”

Bucky frowned.

“It was crooked.”

The room erupted instantly.

You buried your face in his shoulder laughing while Bucky glared at everyone over your head.

Which honestly only made it worse.

Because now his hand was rubbing absentminded circles against your back.

Possessive. Comforting.

Intimate enough that Steve quietly hid a smile behind his coffee mug.

The problem was that nobody realized how bad it had gotten for Bucky.

Not even you.

Because somewhere between movie nights and briefings and lazy afternoons tangled together on couches, sitting on his lap had become second nature.

You did it constantly now.

Reading reports. Watching TV. Scrolling through your phone.

Sometimes you sat sideways across his thighs while talking to the others. Sometimes you leaned fully back against his chest while he wrapped both arms around you automatically.

Bucky never complained.

Never hesitated.

In fact, he started unconsciously making room for you before you even crossed the room.

Like some part of him expected your weight settling against him now.

The terrifying thing was how much he needed it.

Because every time you sat with him, the world quieted.

The noise in his head softened. The hypervigilance eased.

You grounded him without even trying.

And Bucky—

God.

Bucky was so deeply in love with you it physically hurt sometimes.

He knew exactly when it happened too.

One rainy afternoon in the tower.

You’d fallen asleep on him during a movie.

Curled against his chest with one arm looped lazily around his neck.

The others had long since filtered out of the room, leaving only the soft sound of rain against the windows.

Bucky looked down at you sleeping in his lap.

At your relaxed face. Your soft breathing. The absolute trust in the way you melted into him without hesitation.

And suddenly it hit him with horrifying clarity.

Oh.

Oh no.

He loved you.

Not casually. Not halfway.

Completely.

The realization should’ve terrified him.

Instead it just felt inevitable.

Like he’d been falling for you slowly every single time you smiled at him across the room. Every time you chose his lap over empty seats. Every time you trusted him enough to curl into his arms like it was the safest place in the world.

Bucky brushed a strand of hair carefully away from your face.

You stirred slightly against him.

His chest tightened painfully.

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself.

“What?”

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin.

You blinked sleepily up at him.

Still half asleep.

Still warm and heavy in his lap.

Bucky stared at you.

Then sighed softly through his nose.

“Nothin’.”

You narrowed your eyes lazily.

“You’re doing the overthinking face.”

“I don’t have an overthinking face.”

“You absolutely do.”

Your fingers drifted absentmindedly along the back of his neck.

Bucky nearly stopped breathing.

“You okay?” you murmured.

There was so much genuine concern in your voice.

So much affection.

And suddenly Bucky couldn’t do it anymore.

Couldn’t keep swallowing the feelings down every time you curled up in his lap smiling at him like he mattered.

His hand slid carefully against your waist.

“You know,” he said quietly, “most people don’t sit in their friends’ laps this much.”

You blinked slowly.

Then your expression changed.

“Oh.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped immediately.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you interrupted softly. “No, I just…”

Your cheeks warmed visibly.

“I thought maybe you liked it.”

Bucky stared at you.

“You thought maybe—”

“You always hold me.”

“Because I like holding you.”

The words slipped out too fast to stop.

Silence.

Then your eyes widened slightly.

Bucky closed his eyes briefly.

Great.

Perfect.

But when he looked back at you, you were smiling.

Small. Soft. Almost shy.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m kind of in love with you.”

Bucky’s entire brain short-circuited.

“You—what?”

You laughed quietly at his expression.

“I figured that was obvious.”

“To me?”

“Yes?”

“Doll, I thought you just really liked sitting down.”

You burst out laughing fully then.

The sound hit Bucky right in the chest.

God, he loved you.

You cupped his face gently.

“I love sitting with you because it’s you.”

Every protective wall Bucky carried cracked apart instantly.

He kissed you before he could overthink it.

Slow at first. Careful.

One hand cradling your jaw while the other tightened around your waist instinctively, keeping you close in his lap.

You kissed him back immediately.

Warm and certain.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

Both of you breathless.

“You know,” you murmured softly, “I’m still gonna sit on your lap constantly.”

Bucky’s mouth curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen from him.

“Good.”

Then he kissed you again just as Sam walked back into the room.

Sam stopped dead.

Looked at the two of you tangled together on the couch.

Then groaned loudly.

“I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and that weekend we had,” your friend confessed. “You know what I was like back then. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, but it was like he saw past that. Like he saw my soul and made me feel alive for the first time in, god, so fucking long. I appreciate you letting me vent, but tell me more about how Frank’s being a total douche canoe to you.”

You laughed and Alice cracked a smile. You hadn’t felt in a laughing mood all week. You’d been counting down the days to seeing your friends and getting drunk, and in true fashion, Alice was the one to break you out of the mood you’d been in and actually laugh.

“Aside from him, the job is great, you know? I feel appreciated for the work I do, and it’s a great place to be. But Frank…he’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s fine one minute then chewing me out over little shit the next. And it’s not over shit in my control, anyway, so I usually tune him out. I think he’s waiting for some other kind of reaction, like tears or something, but I’ll never cry. And he doesn’t bother me enough to make me cry. So I tune him out and it just makes his rage worse, but I still have a job? I don’t know what his angle is. Like, does he expect me to quit? Sue over abuse in the workplace? I don’t know. But it pisses me off more than upsets me or anything. I don’t know, dude.”

“He’s hot, right?”

“So hot.” You groaned, wishing you had another drink. “Another round? On me this time.”

Alice nodded, so you walked off to the bar to get a couple more drinks. And two more shots each. If you were going to divulge your crush on one of your superiors, it called for more alcohol. 

When you returned to the table, your other friends were gearing up to go home. Wishing you both a good night and to get home safely before leaving you to your own devices.

“How long have you had a crush on Frank?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” You asked, while she simply grinned and reached for a shot. You picked up another, cheersing before throwing it back. “I don’t know, maybe a month ago? I caught him on a good day, well, good for me because he wasn’t nitpicking, but bad for him, because he had some shit going on. I overheard a call—lawyers, I think—and something about divorce papers. He apologised about the call, whatever I overheard, and I told him I didn’t care what shit he had going on in his personal life, but not to take it out on me. And he’d been pretty good since then. Asking me how my day was, and actually seems like he’s interested in the answer, and if I say it’s been a good day, he’ll say something along the lines of ‘you didn’t piss me off today, so it was a good day for me too.’ Cunt.” 

“You know when we were little and you’d be told that the boys are only picking on you because they think you’re cute?” Alice asked.

You threw a balled up napkin at them. “Don’t say he’s picking on me because he thinks I’m cute. He thinks I’m incompetent.”

“You’re a resident, incompetent is par for the course until you complete your residency and pass your boards,” she pointed out, brushing the napkin aside. “You go back tomorrow, yes?”

“With a raging hangover, most likely. Why?”

“Wear that blouse you think is too skimpy because it shows too much boob. I want to see if he says something about the way you’re dressed, even though you change into scrubs.”

You sighed, reaching for the last shot and throwing it back without waiting for her. “If he says anything about my clothes, I’m calling him the fuck out. I’ve had enough of his shit, and at this point, I don’t give a single fuck if I have a job the next day or not.”

“Atta girl!” She cheered, downing her shot. “I’ll bring dinner over tomorrow night so you can tell me how it went.”

You felt rough. And it was your own fault. But you forced yourself to get out of bed and changed into the outfit Alice suggested the night before. Picking up a coffee and bagel on your way to work before heading into the locker room.

“Woah, mama.” Trinity whistled lowly. “You look hot. Late night last night?”

“Something like that.” You laughed, leaving her imagination to run wild. 

You didn’t have the desire to tell her why you were really dressed up, but your interest had been piqued by Alice’s observation. You wanted to see if there was any weight behind it, and you were probably still dealing with alcohol lingering in your system which gave you the courage to actually go through with it. 

Before you could doubt the stupid decision, the door to the locker room swung open and you were staring at Frank.

“Langdon,” you said, turning your back to him as you unbutton your blouse and grabbed your scrub top from your locker. 

He mumbled your surname, for what it was worth, making his way to his locker to drop his bag. Still, you watched him—the tightness in his posture, the way he clenched his jaw like something pained him. 

Maybe there was some truth to Alice’s theory. 

Changing into your scrub pants was next, struggling your way out of the tight denim you couldn’t believe you actually got on this morning, before slipping into the more comfortable blue scrubs. Shoes swapped for your comfy trainers, pen in your scrub pocket, stethoscope around your neck, and your notebook between your teeth as you stuffed your clothes into your locker. 

You blew out a breath, tucking some hair behind your ear before hastily leaving the locker room, ready to start your day. 

“Morning,” Dana greeted. “Surprised to see you standing.”

You laughed. “Me too, honestly,” you replied. “Caffeine and spite are very powerful motivators.”

Dana simply grinned. “There’s a kid in bed four who swallowed a marble.”

“Glass?”

“X-rays should be back soon,” she replied. 

“Thanks Dana,” you told her, heading to bed four to check in on your first patient. 

The kid was in good spirits, for the most part, it was the helicopter-mom that was doing your head in. The way she hovered, the way she didn’t move out of your way so you could do a proper exam. 

“Well, the good news is that the x-rays don’t show any sign of blockage, meaning the marble will likely pass by itself,” you informed the mother and child. The mother, who exhaled like swallowing a marble was a death sentence, finally seemed to relax. “The bad news is we’re going to have to monitor your son for another few hours, at least until the marble passes naturally.”

“I’m going to poop the marble out?” The child asked. 

“You sure are! Well clean it before we give it back to you,” you assured him, and he pounded the air with his small fist. “Just promise me you won’t do this again, okay?”

“I promise.”

You didn’t believe him. Neither did the mother, who launched into a lecture the child was probably too young to understand about how much this trip was going to cost them. 

As you moved on to the next patient, a woman complaining of abdominal pain, you tried your best to ignore the looming figure hovering behind you. Langdon had called for an assist, the patient requesting a female doctor, and you were it. 

“Are you comfortable with Doctor Langdon observing?” You asked the patient. “As I’m still a resident, I require a senior doctor shadowing some of my cases.”

“That’s fine,” she said, flinching in pain before you even had a chance to ask if you could examine her. “I just feel more comfortable with a woman examining me.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you assured her. “Is the pain more centralised to one area, or is it everywhere?”

“Lower right,” she explained. “I have a history of ovarian cysts.”

You nodded as you donned a pair of gloves. “Does this pain feel like the last time you encountered it? Or is it new?”

“Same but worse,” she replied. 

“Do you mind if I touch your stomach to examine you?” You asked. 

“That’s fine.”

As you palpated her abdomen, you were aware of some bloating. She was in agony as you apologetically pressed down again. 

“Any spotting or bleeding?” You asked. 

“Heavy bleeding, nausea, vomiting,” she listed off her symptoms. 

“We’re going to need to do an ultrasound to be sure, but it’s very likely that you’ve had a cyst rupture, in which case, we will need to send you upstairs to have the surgeons make sure there’s no abdominal bleeding or ovarian torsion that’s causing further complications.”

Langdon handed you the bottle of jelly before powering the machine up. 

“This jelly will be cold at first, which I apologise for,” you said, applying some jelly to her abdomen before grabbing the small wand and pressing it to her stomach. “Langdon.”

“Calling an OR,” he replied. 

Her right ovary was riddled with cysts, a large one which looked like it had burst and now there was fluid causing the symptoms. 

“One of the cysts has ruptured,” you told the patient. “That’s likely the source of your pain and nausea, so we’re going to send you up to surgery.”

You grabbed a cloth to wipe the jelly from her stomach. 

“This is just what I needed today,” she groaned. “Can you get my phone? I need to call my boss and tell her I won’t be in for the rest of the week.”

You passed over her purse, quickly leaving the room with Langdon while the nurses finished up. 

“You did good,” Langdon admitted. 

“Compliments feel weird coming from you,” you replied, taking a seat at the nurses station so you could type up some quick notes in the patient’s chart. 

Frank huffed. “Whatever.” 

You stifled a laugh. “How the hell have you dealt with this behaviour for over four years?” 

Dana looked at you over the rims of her glasses. “Believe me, I ask myself the same question every day,” she replied. “It’s like herding cattle sometimes.”

“Can’t say I know what you mean.”

“Don’t shut down when he’s throwing his weight around,” she said, and you knew you weren’t talking about cattle anymore, but about Frank. “He’ll respect you more if you give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“It’d be easier if he wasn’t a cunt.”

Dana laughed as he crossed in front of you, giving you both a quizzical look. “Who’s a cunt?”

“You.” As if it wasn’t obvious. “Don’t you have patients to offend with your presence?”

“I’d rather be a cunt than arrive for my shift dressed like a hooker,” he replied.

“I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee,” you quipped, barely giving him time to process his own jab before you dealt your own blow. 

Fire raged in his eyes as they found yours again, holding your gaze while Dana laughed beside you, doing nothing to help the situation or hide her own amusement. She did, however, make herself scarce. Leaving you to deal with Frank by yourself, however you saw fit.

You’d already admitted to calling him a cunt, and then followed up by calling him a bitter divorcee. You knew the situation was only going to escalate. Suddenly, you wished for an audience. Someone to witness the demise of Frank Langdon. Luckily, you knew it was only a matter of time before the nurses station filled up with witnesses. You were just hoping you’d be balls deep in your argument for him to even notice the crowd. 

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. The rage burning inside you had your blood boiling—vision red. And you laughed because it was funny that he thought you’d just take it. That you’d get a blank look on your face as you stared through him, never listening when he goes off on these rants.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he exploded, and you’re quick to your feet. Like hell you were going to take this sitting down. 

You’ve never snapped back before. Not when he’s talking about your piece of shit car. Not when he’s trying so hard to get under your skin to get some kind of reaction from you, any kind, that you never seem to give. But today you’d had enough. Today was the day. 

You know the type. He’s waiting for a reaction, the one you know he’s desperately looking for; your tears, a trophy of his success in being the worst person you’ve ever met. The person who makes your life so much harder than it needs to be. 

Because this is what he does. He finds a weakness and picks it apart. Except he hasn’t found yours yet, and you don’t know if he ever will.

The only way to deal with bullies is to beat them at their own game, much like Dana said. You’d always been a firm believer in treating people the way you’d like to be treated, but kindness can only get you so far.

It was time to be a ruthless cunt. and Frank didn’t know what was about to hit him. 

“What’s not fucking funny is how you think you’re such a nice guy, but the second something doesn’t go your way, you’re quick to criticise and pick apart every little fault of a person, when really you’re just a vindictive, little old man yourself. You want to know why I’m laughing? Because it’s pathetic, you’re pathetic. You’re a fucking snake, spitting venom and using your words to choke your victims. Constricting them. Tightening the fucking noose around their necks until they break under the pressure. You’ve tried with me for two fucking years and I’ve taken it because I’m a fucking snake too. I see through the façade, and you’re not going to fucking break me. No wonder your wife is divorcing you.”

You could see the anger in his eyes. The twitch of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“While I’ve got your full, undivided attention, there’s a patient that needs your immediate attention. I’d suggest you use some of that rage that you’re feeling towards me right now and use it to do some good. Go on. I’m sure there’s some lesser man worthy of your insults.”

Then there’s the silence. You could hear a pin drop, and you know everyone heard you. You know they’re waiting for Frank to snap back, really drive home the final nail in your coffin.

Except it never comes, but Robby’s laughter does. It rings out loud and true, and you know why. Of course you do. Because if anyone knew Frank the best, it was Robby, and if he heard any of what you just said, he’d know the context. He’d know that it was called for, and that while many people had tried to go toe to toe with Frank in a verbal sparring match, not a single person had left him without an argument. 

You turned with a smile and looked at Robby, who’s laughter has caused a few nervous chuckles to fall past other bystander’s lips.

“Hey, Robby,” you greeted. “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, it’s much better now,” he assured you. 

As you walked back to your desk to finish some notes, a building full of your coworkers, and patients, staring at you in horror, the only sound that rang out beside Robby’s laughter was the loud slam of the locker room door. 

Success. 

“Um…what the fuck just happened?” Dana asked you. A few other people were waiting for your answer that never came. Eventually, Robby clapped his hands, ordering everyone back to work. 

You were counting down the minutes until you were asked to pack up your things and leave, except it didn’t come. 

“I got Frank an apple turnover as a peace offering,” Ciara told you, placing the tray of drinks at your desk alongside the bag that held the turnover. The drinks started disappearing as nurses and doctors alike grabbed their order. 

“Fuck him,” you dismissed, opening the bag and taking a bite out of it. “Thanks, Ciara. Want to get a drink after work? I think I need it today.”

“Only if you tell me what the hell that was about earlier?” She countered.

“Done,” you answered. 

Dana’s voice rang out, directing you to the incoming trauma. You thanked Ciara as she headed off to make the rounds, while you moved towards the doors as your next patient was wheeled in. 

“Ciara got my order wrong.” Langdon, always complaining about something. God, he drove you insane. 

You sighed, grabbing the other cup from the tray and showing him the name on the side. Frank was scrawled along the side, plain as day. “That’s because it’s my drink, this is your one.”

You took a sip of his coffee that you held, immediately spitting back into the cup. Dana tried to hide her smirk behind the rim of her own cup, while Princess and Perlah watched the interaction with a carefully blank expression.

You offered him the cup, turning to look at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t. He was so close you could smell his cologne. His jaw ticked as he grit his teeth and debated with himself whether he should keep the tea that he’d spat back into the cup, or swap for the latte which you’d treated the same way.

“You’ll be able to taste the apple turnover mixed with the latte. I think there might even be floaties. My gift to you,” you said as if this was a normal conversation to have. “Maybe even a hint of teriyaki chicken and avocado.”

“I’ll keep the tea,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent choice. Lemon balm is a great tea. Helps with stress,” you told him. “Drink up.”

Dana’s stifled laughter broke the death glare Frank bore through your skull as he turned his attention to her. Rolling his shoulders as he took a tentative sip of the tea.

The rest of the shift passed by in a similar manner, though Langdon did his best to keep his distance. The rumour mill was churning, wondering who was at fault this time. Yet another argument that caused tension between the two doctors who were always butting heads. 

By the time your shift finally came to an end after a grueling day, a few of the nurses and other residents had heard about your invite to the bar. They all made their own way,  which gave you time to gossip with Alice before anyone from work showed up and learnt all about your crush on Frank Langdon.

Though you assumed they already knew. 

“Hey, can I see you for a minute before you head home?” Frank asked politely and you wondered who gave him a tune up. His attitude had changed dramatically, and you were half inclined to hear him out.

“Do I need an audience for this chat?” You asked hesitantly, watching him shake his head.

“It’s not like that.”

You followed behind him but kept your distance. The sooner this was over with, the better. He led you to the break room and you closed the door behind you.

“If this is about earlier…I’m not apologising,” you started.

“I don’t deserve an apology, I’m trying to give you one,” he replied.

You hummed, not trusting yourself not to stay something that pissed him off and wanted to take the apology back. 

“I was cruel earlier, saying you looked like a hooker. I’m sorry,” he said. “And you’re right, I am a cunt and everything else you called me. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Did someone from HR feed that to you?”

He chuckled. “If they did, they’d be in here,” he replied matter of factly. “I wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry. And I understand if you want to take this further.”

“Why did you single me out?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m just a vindictive bitter divorcee stuck in my ways.”

Your lips twitched into a smile but you quickly wiped it off your face. Still, he saw it. You know he did.

“Thank you for apologising. I’m late for drinks with my friends,” you said, wanting to leave before you completely put your foot in your mouth.

“First round is on me,” he told you. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks.”

At the bar, you fell into the chair beside Alice, a drink in front of her, with another one waiting for you.

“See, I knew you’d look hot in that outfit.” She grinned. “What the hell happened today?”

“He said I looked like a hooker, so I called him a vindictive divorcee. Ate his apple turnover, spat in his coffee, and he apologised to me.”

“From the beginning,” she begged.

“I was talking to Dana and called Frank a cunt. He asked who was a cunt, and I confessed that it was him. He said he’d ‘rather be a cunt than look like a hooker’ so I said ‘I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee.’”

Alice laughed as you sipped your drink.

“I was already seeing red at that point, so I laughed because I could see he was gearing up to say something else. So I just…didn’t give him the chance. I said exactly what I thought of him, minus the crush obviously, and the entirety of the pitt heard. Then, when I thought he was going to kill me, Robby started laughing, so I asked him how his day was going, walked back to my desk, and then heard the locker room door slam shut,” you recounted. 

“I can’t believe you actually did it,” they said. “Do you still have a job tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it seems like it.”

She nodded, watching you sip your drink before continuing.

“Anyways, I was about to leave when he asked me to talk. The kicker? He apologised. He actually took ownership of his behaviour.”

“Jesus, and I just thought he’d be too busy ogling you to formulate an argument,” they replied with a laugh. 

“Oh, he got a good eyeful of my cleavage when entered the locker room,” you assured them. “I wasn’t sure if he called me a hooker because he’s attracted to me, or because I actually look like a hooker.”

“He’s attracted to you,” she confirmed.

“He’s a tool.”

“So fuck the bratty attitude right out of him, what do you have to lose?”

By the time everyone showed up to the bar, you’d already had a couple of drinks. Your inhibitions were loosened, and most of the nurses had already pieced together the context of the argument—they just wanted confirmation. 

Santos and Garcia were apparently right on the money, Langdon said some misogynistic shit and you snapped. Alice got a proper run down of the events—a more detailed explanation—even though you thought you did pretty well. Everyone else had a more colourful picture to paint, from the flare of your nostrils, to the shade of pink his cheeks turned—not from embarrassment, but from anger. 

“I swear he had steam coming out of his ears,” Garcia said with a grin. High praise, coming from her, when she had her own battles to fight with him. Sure, it seemed more playful than the arguments you had with Langdon, but that just proved to you he didn’t play well with others. 

“There he is,” you said. “Thomas the Frank Engine.”

Laughter greeted you as everyone turned his way. Frank, who might have heard Garcia’s quip about him, didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. 

Exhaustion. Each shift took a lot out of everyone. To unwind, you often found yourself talking shit with Alice and some other friends, trying to decompress as best you could. Sometimes you hit the gym, trying to work out your anger in a more productive way. Today, you drank, and so did several of your colleagues—even Langdon, true to his word—bought a round for everyone.

There was something about the man that made you take pity on him tonight—all jokes aside, he looked terrible. Friends weren’t an easy thing to come by, and from your own experience with your parents’ divorce, you assumed they’d picked sides.

And Langdon looked like he needed a friend.

“Assholery aside,” you said, sliding onto a seat next to him at the bar. “Are you okay?” 

He blew out a breath. “Been better, honestly.”

You nodded sympathetically. “They all picked her side, huh.”

Langdon laughed flatly. “Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense. They were my friends first.”

“They only know one side of the story if they chose her to stand by,” you replied. “And even so, they’re clearly not good enough friends if they dropped your ass so easily. You can make new friends—friends she’ll never get to meet. Friends she’ll never get to poach.”

“Do you want to be my friend?”

“Friends can criticise, but only if it’s done out of love, not malice,” you told him. “I don’t know if I can be friends with someone who is cruel and judgemental to a woman based on her looks.”

He nodded. “Suppose I deserve that, huh?”

“A piece of advice?” You offered, earning a nod in response. “You need to get over her, and the best way to do that is to get under someone else.”

It wasn’t an offer, you told yourself, but somehow Frank wound up at your apartment, lips attached to your own as your fingers tugged the long, dark strands of his hair. The kiss was frantic—desperate. His hands groped at your hips and ass, tugging you closer to him as his mouth dominated your own.

Frenzied, like he hadn’t been touched in months. Every moan you pulled from him, every gasp you gave him, only spurred him on more. Barely registering that you were backed up against a strangers’ car, or that he was just as gone as you were.

“Langdon,” you moaned, his hips pinning you to the side of the car doing nothing to hide the raging hard on he was packing.

He groaned lowly as you bit his lip, grinding his hips against yours, desperate for some kind of friction. “Fucking hell.”

You laughed, tipping your head to nip at his jaw. The soft spot where his neck met his ear. Little kisses—harsh sucking—earning a hiss from the slightly older man who’d been making your life hell. 

Your mouth stilled as he popped the button of your jeans, denim like a second skin, barely enough room for his fingers to ghost over your panties. 

“Now you have nothing to say, hm?”

Arrogant. Cocky. Bastard. 

The thin fabric did nothing to hide your arousal. Wet soaking the material, his finger seeking your most sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You’re an ass,” you huffed out, crashing your lips back to his as he applied the slightest pressure, your hips rocking to meet his hand. 

His laughter was muffled, as was your moan. 

Frank grabbed the waistband of your jeans, fighting the material over the swell of your ass. He tugged your panties to the side, nimble fingers slipping between your folds and applying a delicious pressure around your clit.

“Fuck,” you panted, rolling your hips desperately trying to seek more friction. ”Please,” you begged, cupping his erection over his jeans.

Frank groaned, earning a gasp from you as he pressed a finger into your pussy. “You’re soaked,” he marvelled, hooking his finger inside you and stroking the spongy wall that had you seeing spots. “Fuck, there she is.”

You fought to undo his jeans, forehead resting against his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to your high. Fingers tugging his boxers down, freeing his cock, and earning a hiss as the cool night air hit his leaking tip. 

“So fucking needy,” you tutted, earning a groan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed, gritting his teeth as you started stroking his cock. 

“You will,” you quipped, breath catching on a moan that took you by surprise. “Fuuuuck.”

Frank growled, your hand moving against him, his own inside you—both desperate not to be the first to let go. Your body was betraying you with each passing second—the coil in your lower abdomen tightening, your legs feeling weak, the gasps and moans that fell past your lips—yeah, Frank was sure he was going to make you cum first. 

His hips bucked as you slowed your motions, tugging his mouth back to yours to stop him saying whatever smartass comment he was thinking. His kiss was frantic, teeth clashing, his tongue mingling with your own. Your grip tightened in his hair, stilled around his cock, as your orgasm hit you with a vengeance. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You threw your head back, your cunt clamping down around his fingers, hips grinding against his palm. He dipped his head, chuckling as he nipped at your exposed neck, rutting against your palm. 

“Are you on birth control?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t come here tonight expecting to get laid,” he pointed out. “So no condom.”

“Are you clean?”

“What the fuck?”

“Your ex wife was cheating on you,” you stated. “It’s a legitimate question. Are you clean?”

“Yes, I’m clean.” He huffed. 

“Good, me too. And yes, I’m on birth control, but you better pull out.”

Frank pushed your jeans down further, hooking one of your legs over his arm as he positioned himself between your legs. Thick head sliding through your slick folds, notching at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, both of you watching the way your body welcomed him with ease. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, and then you were kissing him again. Rolling your hips for a slightly better angle as he slowly withdrew himself and slipped right back in. 

“So fucking hot,” he mumbled. “Gripping me so tight, feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

You gasped as he picked up the pace, the time for savouring the moment now over. Hands wound tightly in his hair, kisses being disrupted by moans and groans. 

“Frank,” you panted, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit, attempting to bring you closer to your high again. “Fuck you, I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he groaned. “Be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm? Milk my fucking cock.”

You let your head fall forward, biting down on his neck to muffle your moans. He grunted, pace sloppy and relentless. You whined, screwing your eyes shut as your orgasm crashed over you once again. Body convulsing, pussy clenching around him oh-so-good. Fuck, he was a goner. Grunting as he stilled, cock twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

“I thought I told you to pull out,” you snapped.

“Fuck, sorry. ‘M sorry,” he apologised. 

“Felt too good, hm?” You teased. 

You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face once you heard your name being called to hand over the gift to your Secret Santa. You had been holding in your laughter all day, sneaking subtle glances to gauge his expression, because the gift you had picked out was absolutely inappropriate—potentially fireable—but when the opportunity to give your boss one big “FUCK YOU” presented itself, how could you resist?

The moment you locked eyes with Congressman Barnes and handed him the perfectly wrapped present with your brightest smile, you could practically see the stress lines deepen around his eyes as he accepted it with cautious hands.

“You’re my Secret Santa?” he asked, blinking up at you from his seat.

“Yup,” you grinned, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying innocently, even though every item in that box was anything but. “Merry Christmas, Congressman.”

Bucky gave you one last skeptical look before turning his attention back to the gift now resting neatly in his lap. Carefully, he untied the ribbon, peeled back the wrapping paper, and lifted the lid of the box.

Staring back at him was a HOW TO: SEX FOR DUMMIES, Volumes One and Two.

And a packet of the smallest size Trojan condoms.

The moment you saw his eyes darken, his jaw clench, and his eyebrow twitch, you knew you had won.

After months of constant bickering and endless arguments about ridiculous schedules and a growing workload, you had finally gotten your sweet revenge, and what better way to deliver it than through the art of gift-giving, where everything is supposed to be merry and bright?

“Well,” Gary said, grinning with anticipation, “are you going to show the rest of us, Barnes?”

Bucky forced a smile so bright it looked painful. “No. I think I’ll be keeping this one to myself,” he teased, placing the lid back on the box before carefully setting it on the floor.

Whistles broke out around the room, everyone riding high on holiday spirits.

“Well, whatever she got you, it must be a keeper,” one of the press assistants chimed in. “Probably why she’s managed to stay your trusty assistant for so long—despite all the bickering.”

That earned a round of perfectly polite, coworker-forced laughter that grated on Bucky’s nerves, and only made his gift even sweeter.

“That’s exactly right,” Bucky said, exhaling through his nose. His tone was so flat no one could tell whether he was joking or actually annoyed. But then, he looked up at you with a smile and eyes that seethed You’re fucking fired.

“Thank you. I love it.” Bucky lied. “I guess it’s my turn?”

Everyone nodded, and Bucky lifted an equally nicely wrapped present—which surprised you, because he never had the diligence to wrap his own gifts. He always left you, his assistant, responsible for all of that.

He stood up with an old man’s groan, his eyes wandering around the room, taking in all the people sitting in their respective seats.

Before they landed back on you. Again.

You blinked as he closed the distance, his expensive shoes hitting the floor as he presented the gift.

“Merry Christmas,” he said. You could see the way the corners of his lips twitched from the soreness of his forced smile.

“Wow,” the press assistant cooed. “What are the odds of getting each other for Secret Santa?”

“Goes to show how meant to be they are,” another person teased.

You looked up at him, dumbfounded. A part of you felt guilty for getting him a gag gift, especially after seeing how pristine the wrapping was—meaning he took the time and effort out of his already busy day to make this presentable for you.

“Congressman Barnes,” you started softly, your face flushing with guilt as you reached for the present. “I… I don’t know what to say—”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said, nodding toward the gift. “Open it.”

There was something about the way his eyes looked that made you second-guess yourself—but you gave him a quick, brief smile as you started to undo the perfect bow, your fingers gently tearing the wrapping paper. Bucky’s eyes were on you the entire time, examining your expression as you slowly lifted the lid.

You looked down. Staring back at you was a purple vibrator with the words “Womanizer Next Duo Clitoral Stimulator and Vibrator” listed loud and proud on the box. But there was also something underneath it. You pushed the vibrator box aside with your finger; beneath it was black, lacey lingerie that left little to the imagination.

Your face flushed—first with embarrassment, then with a burning hot anger. You didn’t dare to lift any of the items up.

What the hell was the Congressman thinking?

Your eyes met Bucky’s again. He was standing above you, an obnoxious smile on his face at your subtle reaction. Not noticeable to the others, but obvious to him.

“Well?” he taunted. “Do you like it?”

Your throat felt tight. The vibrator’s glossy purple plastic seemed to mock you from inside the box, alongside the lingerie that looked like it belonged in a hidden drawer, not an office holiday party. You forced your jaw to unclench.

“I—”

“Come on!” Gary called out, smiling in his seat. “Show us! What’d he get you?” he elbowed the woman beside him. “He’s a terrible gift-giver, so this has to be good.”

Bucky’s eyes never left yours, despite the amused chatter and whispers around the room. His smile widened, because deep down, he knew you didn’t have the guts to reveal what he’d gotten you. And he was right.

Payback. Triumph.

And check-fucking-mate.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the box, your nails nearly digging into the cardboard. Heat climbed up your neck and spread beneath your collar, and you could only pray no one noticed as you forced a smile.

“I don’t think I should show this one,” you said with a forced laugh.

Bucky also laughed. Not with you, but at you.

“Aww, come on!” someone whined. “Stop being so secretive!”

You inhaled slowly, deeply, and slipped the lid back over the box. “It’s private.”

“That’s right,” Bucky nodded. Then he leaned in just slightly, his voice taunting. “Aren’t you going to thank me for such a thoughtful gift?

In other people’s eyes, they thought it was hilarious that the usually stoic and broody Congressman had cracked an office-friendly joke. But to you, you wanted to do nothing more than take this purple vibrator and shove it up his—

“Thank you,” you said through clenched teeth instead. “You’re so thoughtful, Congressman.”

The next few days were uncomfortably tense between you and the Congressman.

Whatever bickering or passive-aggressive back-and-forth the two of you usually exchanged had somehow multiplied tenfold. The paperwork he dropped on your desk were thicker than usual with dense briefing packets, endless policy drafts, constituent letters that normally would’ve gone to the interns. He had you doing redundant tasks the front desk or staff assistants could’ve easily handled; reorganizing files you had already organized, reformatting reports that didn’t need reformatting, double-checking things you’d triple-checked yesterday.

And the schedule.

The goddamn schedule.

He had you listed for more overtime than you had seen all year. Fielding late-night calls, managing back-to-back meetings, arranging interviews he refused to reschedule despite his calendar already being overloaded.

And his excuse?

“That’s politics.”

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case. This was because of that goddamn Sex for Dummies book and the extra-small condoms you gifted him. This was him getting his sweet revenge, as if the lingerie and vibrator hadn’t been insulting enough.

You had gone home several nights in a row exhausted—tired, stressed, and in desperate need of some kind of relief. And every time you walked through your front door, that purple vibrator box sat there waiting for you—taunting you. Haunting you.

The glossy packaging felt like Congressman Barnes himself was delivering another slap to your face. And because of that, you never touched it. You refused to use it, because opening it would mean letting Bucky win.

So, since it was the start of a brand new week, you did the mature, responsible thing that even the Congressman wouldn’t find himself doing.

You packed the gifts he had given you into a neat little gift bag—stripped of all the festive wrapping paper he had miraculously folded with before. Your plan was simple; return the gift. Tell him, professionally, how wildly inappropriate it was. Then apologize for your own wildly inappropriate gift.

A clean slate. A truce, even.

Except the chance never came.

You were already drowning in tasks he had piled onto your desk. Three constituent reports, two briefing summaries, and a stack of letters he somehow wanted “proofread, printed, signed, and mailed before lunch.”

And, as always, you grabbed the letters with a smile and said, “Yes, Congressman.”

Later in the day, you were halfway through drafting an email when Bucky stepped out of his office and into yours with a folder in hand.

“Need you to handle this,” he said, placing the folder directly on top of the open one you were already working on.

Your hands paused on the keyboard as you looked up. “Congressman,” you addressed him slowly. “I’m still working on the policy revisions you asked for. I’m not finished—”

“This takes priority,” he said, pointing a finger at the file. “I need the whole packet organized, footnoted, and ready before my meeting with the Oversight Committee—”

You blinked, looking at the time at the bottom right of your monitor. “That’s in—”

“Forty minutes,” he confirmed, looking down at his watch and not at you. “Better get to work.”

It was like the devil himself was standing right in front of you—all six feet of him in an expensive suit and tie that probably cost more than your salary. Before Secret Santa, he already made your work life a living hell, and now he seemed to be taking even greater joy in kicking you while you were down.

You couldn’t take it anymore. It was like something inside you snapped—your face immediately felt boiling hot, and your heart beat faster than you could think. Being in this very office with this man taunting you triggered your flight or fight response.

And you were choosing fight.

You quickly stood up, your chair rolling back and hitting hard against the wall. This finally made him meet your eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” you scoffed. “You’ve been dumping extra work on me all week. Redundant tasks. Unnecessary overtime. A schedule that’s fucking impossible to keep up with,” you jabbed a finger at the folder on your desk. “And this? You want finished in forty minutes? Are you serious right now?”

Bucky froze and glanced over to the window. When he caught people staring, they immediately looked away.

At this point, you were on the very precipice of getting fired. You didn’t care who was watching anymore.

“What the hell is going on, Congressman?” you demanded. “Are you punishing me because of the Christmas gifts I got you?”

You saw Bucky’s jaw clench in the dim light of your office. He didn’t say anything, nor did he even blink. Without a word, he turned and stepped away from you. He walked straight to the window that separated your office from the hallway and—under the eyes of every staffer pretending not to eavesdrop— he pulled the blinds shut with one, easy motion.

Then, he walked to your door, closed it softly, and quietly clicked the lock into place.

Bucky turned back toward you slowly, his hands tucked in his pockets and his expression completely unreadable.

“Excuse me?” he asked, and you still couldn’t discern his emotion.

It felt like you were poking the bear, and suddenly, being in this office where you were supposed to feel most productive felt suffocating. You probably should’ve apologized, but you knew you were already in deep shit. You just hoped he had any ounce of understanding in that cold political heart of his.

“I said,” you cleared your throat, not backing down. “Are you punishing me because of the Christmas gifts I gave you? You know, the one with the How to Sex for Dummies and the small condoms—”

He raised a hand. “Stop right there.”

You scoffed again. “What—”

“You want to talk about the Christmas gifts? Fine,” he said, meeting you back at the other side of your desk and staring you down. “But as your boss, I think I should go first.”

Before you could even say anything else, Bucky continued.

“Let’s talk about the oh-so-pleasant gift you gave me for Secret Santa. Did you even read what I put down on my wishlist? Did you even look at it?” he asked, his voice surprisingly calm and quiet despite the biting tone.

And despite him asking you a question, he continued without waiting for an answer.

“No, I don’t think you did. So let me tell you what I asked for,” he added, stepping closer and resting both hands on the table, leaning forward so that he was eye-level with you across your desk.

“I wanted gray socks and an assortment of neckties,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Not a goddamn Sex for Dummies book and…” he grimaced before continuing, “… extra-small fucking Trojan condoms.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Bucky gave you a look. “You’re laughing? You’re actually fucking laughing?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, sir. It’s just—”

His eyes trailed to your desk. “What is that?” he interrupted suddenly, nodding toward the plain gift bag sitting on your desk.

You looked down at the bag, clearing your throat and trying to choose your words carefully before digging yourself into an even deeper hole. “Okay. You know what? You’re right, Congressman. I shouldn’t have done that. I’d like to—uh, actually apologize for the gifts that I gave you.”

He stood up straight, crossing his arms and raising a skeptical brow. “Apologize?”

You nodded again, your teeth strumming your bottom lip to keep from laughing at his man-child outburst just a few seconds ago. You picked the bag up with gentle hands.

“I understand that the gifts I gave you were highly inappropriate, especially for a work setting. I also understand that you’ve been feeling… on edge because of… well, said gifts.”

Bucky tried to ignore the subtle taunt in your voice, but he couldn’t.

“I thought I’d give you the gifts you gave me back, and the receipt for the… sex education books. Condoms aren’t returnable, though. So…” you handed the bag to him. He grabbed it, opening it slowly.

“I didn’t use any of the things you got me—so if you wanted to return that as well, you can. And you can use the money to get the gray socks and neckties you wanted instead.”

Bucky set the bag down on the desk, pulling the receipt out slowly. He mentally read your purchase back, the Sex for Dummies Volume One and Two and the small condoms taunting him yet again.

“So, I guess we can consider this a clean slate?” you rested your hands primly in front of you, flashing the most innocent-looking smile you could muster in front of your asshole of a boss.

“A clean slate…” he scoffed. “Is that what this is now?”

“Look, Congressman. Since Secret Santa, you’ve been working me to the bone. Things have been tense between us, and I know now it’s because of the gifts I got you,” you sighed. “So… can you just please take this as a peace offering so we can move on—”

Your voice trailed off as you saw Bucky dig into the bag, fishing out the vibrator box and holding it up for you to see. Your face immediately burned.

“You really didn’t use this?” he asked, even though the wrapper was still intact.

“No, sir.”

He kept his eyes down at the box, unwrapping it. He nodded toward the lingerie inside the bag. “And you didn’t wear that?”

“No, sir,” you repeated, your face flushing.

A deep, almost disappointed exhale escaped his nose. “That’s a shame,” he mumbled, unwrapping the plastic layering and tossing it somewhere on the floor. “I carefully hand-picked these items because you always seem so tense and worked up around the office—I figured this could’ve helped you relieve your stress.”

Your face was crimson as you watched him unbox the vibrator, pulling out the toy slowly and carefully before setting the box gently back down on the table.

How the hell was he not dying of embarrassment right now? To say this was inappropriate would be an understatement. You loathed your boss—you guys weren’t even friends, and his actions in front of you, knowing how flustered you were getting while he kept his cool, only seemed to pour salt right into the open wound.

“Help me?” you recoiled, making a face. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Congressman, but how the hell could this ‘gift’ possibly help me—”

“Don’t act smart,” he cut in sharply. “You don’t mean any disrespect—but that’s all you’ve been throwing in my face since I walked in here.”

He lifted the toy up so you could see it, though you wanted so badly to look away from how shameful this was.

“I drag my feet into this building every morning,” he continued, “because I know you’re going to be here—already in a mood, rolling your eyes at every little task I give you. You stomp around like there’s a permanent raincloud hovering over your head, always trying to make my already stressful workday a living hell.”

Your jaw almost hit the floor.

You were making his workday a living hell? Meanwhile he strutted around with a permanent stick wedged so far up his ass? You couldn’t take it anymore. Here you were, trying to make amends, and he had the gall to say this to you as if he weren’t the problem.

“I’m sorry,” you scoffed. “What did you just say to me?”

You snaked around your desk, your heels clicking angrily against the floor before you could think. When you finally met him face-to-face, body-to-body, you jabbed a finger square into his hard chest.

“I have a permanent rain cloud over my head?” you laughed, humorlessly. “You make my life hell. You treat me like crap compared to the other staff. You act like I’m some dispensable, mindless assistant who’s on-call twenty-four seven to fix your crises, clean up your messes, and read your mind.”

Each end of a sentence was exaggerated with a hard jab to his chest—a jab that left him unwavering and unmoving, as he stood completely still with the vibrator tucked between his fingertips.

“So, I’m sorry—actually, no. I’m not sorry for getting bitchy when you push me around. I act the way I do because of how hard you keep pushing me! ”

He looked down at you, his expression still unreadable, brows slightly narrowed. “Sit down.”

You huffed, moving your finger away. “What?”

He tapped the edge of your desk with two fingers. “Sit. Down,” he repeated. “Let’s take a breath and talk like two functional adults. Can you do that for me?”

You gave him a doubtful look, but you listened. He was your boss, after all.

Hesitantly, you took a seat on the desk, perched awkwardly as you tried to pull your skirt down. But despite the vulnerable position, he kept his eyes on yours.

“You’ve been stressed, I see that. And these gifts,” he lifted the vibrator again. “You were supposed to use them to make yourself feel better.”

Your eyes flickered to the toy, then back to him. He continued speaking as if it were a lecture.

“You were supposed to go home that night, unwrap this box, and take care of yourself.” He walked around to the other side of the desk.

You looked over your shoulder to watch him, and he caught you.

“Keep your eyes forward,” he instructed, and you did.

He stood behind you, his presence large and heavy as he leaned in, his breath tickling against your ear as he spoke. “And the lingerie? You were supposed to wear that when you took yourself out for a night out. Maybe show it off to a lucky man after he took you to a fancy dinner. But you didn’t use any of my gifts, and that hurts, you know?”

“Funny for you to say,” you mumbled. “I bet you didn’t use any of the gifts I got you either.”

“You mean the extra-small condoms? No. That wouldn’t fit. I would burst right through,” he sighed, shaking his head disappointingly. “But I’ve read the book you got me. How to Sex for Dummies? I’ve gotten through the first few pages, and I gotta say, I’ve learned quite a bit of… valuable stuff.”

You barked out a harsh, mocking laugh.

“You actually read the book?” you snorted. “I bet the lucky lady you used those ‘skills on’ had a great time.”

Bucky planted his vibranium hand on the empty space next to you with a heavy thud. You flinched at the soft, metallic whirring sound it made, and how much closer his body was now pressed to yours.

“That’s the problem,” he rasped against the sensitive shell of your ear. “I don’t have anyone to practice what I’ve learned. But you’re right here, and I have this.” He lifted the vibrator from behind so that it was clearly in your peripheral view. “How about I help relieve my poor, overworked assistant’s stress? Show her, firsthand, what I’ve learned from this very important book she gifted me?”

You swallowed hard, a shiver shooting down your spine at your boss’s indecent proposition.

“Sir—”

Your words got cut off, replaced with a startled yelp as he wrapped his left arm around your body, dragging you away from the edge of the desk and closer to him. Your skirt rose up as your back pressed against his chest.

“Congressman!” you gasped as you squirmed awkwardly, but his vibranium arm kept your body tight and close to his hard body. “Congressman, someone might see—”

“No one will see,” he murmured, low and raspy against your ear—it was ticklish. “I’ll make sure of it.”

With one strong vibranium arm holding your body still, he reached over with his other hand and let his knuckles trail down the smooth surface of your leg, nudging them open and teasing the vibrator along your inner thigh.

“Open up, doll,” he gruffed. “Let your Congressman relieve your stress.”

Your entire body was shaking with humiliation and a shameful, dreading arousal from the close proximity and the exposed position he’d left you in. As much as you hated him—he was right.

These past few days, you’d been nothing but a pent-up mess waiting to explode. And with your conventionally attractive—and equally annoying—boss’s body pressed up behind you, touching you in places you normally hadn’t been touched other than by yourself, the bomb was ticking by the minute.

“Congressman,” you let out a breathy sigh. “We can get into so much trouble for this.”

“In trouble?” he clicked his tongue. “How could I get in trouble? When I’m just your boss, looking after my sweet, little assistant?”

A soft little gasp left your lips at the sound of the vibrator being clicked on.

“Would you look at that? It came already charged.” He said, amused.

Bucky felt you tense up, and his metal arm gave your body a reassuring squeeze, cool vibranium fingers splaying over your clothed stomach.

“Relax,” he cooed into your ear. “You need to be taken care of. I can feel your tension here…” His vibranium fingers trailed down from your stomach to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up and letting his fingers play along the fabric against your thigh.

“Oh,” he sighed. “You’re wet. That means you like this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his fingers insistently pressed against your panties, already damp and sticking to your sensitive folds. It was embarrassing, almost humiliating, but what was worse was that you actually liked it.

“Yeah?” you mocked, trying to act unfazed. “Did the book tell you that?”

A harsh, low laugh rumbled from his chest as his left hand hooked the side of your panties, trying to push them aside, but he ended up shredding the thin fabric with one hard, unexpected tug. You let out a sharp gasp as your warm, wet cunt was immediately kissed by the cool office air. He was completely indifferent to the fact that he’d torn your underwear clean off.

“It did,” he said. “The book also told me that this—” with his other hand, he pressed the vibrator against your clit “—was a woman’s sweet spot. Is that right?”

“Ah—!” you whined, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle your moans as you felt the cool, vibrating silicone stimulate your core.

“Oh, look at you,” he chuckled, pressing the vibrator harder against your hypersensitive spot—making you squirm. “Finally staying quiet for me. Got nothing smart to say with this toy pressed against you, huh?”

You shook your head, still defiant. “Fuck you, Congressman.”

With a low groan, his vibranium hand found your blouse, his fingers fumbling clumsily at the buttons. Lacking patience, he instead gave your top a harsh tug, sending one or two buttons flying and clattering to the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasped, your body moving with his rough movements. “Are you out of your mind? That shirt was expensive!”

“There’s that goddamn mouth again,” he snarled. “You’ve always got something to say that’ll piss me off.”

He moved the toy up and down, your mouth falling open into a helpless O-shape as he stimulated your sensitive folds. The silicone toy was soaking up your arousal, making embarrassingly wet noises you wished you could drown out.

“Fu-fuck, Congressman!”

He pressed the toy against your clit again, making your head tip back against his shoulder. His fingers coyly probed against your entrance, and you immediately started fluttering around him. Your hips moved before you could control them—bucking up to meet his fingers, wanting him, begging for him.

“Please,” you breathed so quietly, as if it were a plea to yourself.

His fingers stilled, tucked between your folds and pressing against your entrance—but not with enough pressure to slip inside.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re begging?” he smiled cruelly. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘please’ in the office.”

He upped the speed of the vibrator, and your eyes shot open wide. You moved your hips in rhythm with the vibration, your cunt fluttering against his finger, trying to sink yourself onto his touch.

“I hate you,” you hissed through clenched teeth. “I fucking despise you—”

“So, now you hate me?” he cut you off, his voice disappointed as he turned the vibrator off and pulled it away from your clutching heat. “I can never get through to you, can I?”

Bucky took a step back from the desk, and the warmth from his arms and chest that had once enveloped you disappeared, leaving you immediately aching for him. You quickly turned around, your clothes rumpled and your legs trembling.

“Hey! W—wait, what are you doing—!” you gasped.

Before he could take another step back, your hand shot out to grab his tie.

“Don’t go,” you hissed, frustrated. “You can’t just—touch a woman like that and leave her like this. For fuck’s sake, did the book teach you nothing, Barnes?”

Bucky looked down at you, his eyes trailing over your body sprawled out on the desk. Your hair was tousled, your skirt was pushed up messily around your thighs, your blouse was torn open, and you were wet.

Soaked. Dripping all over the desk.

Yet, here you were, a hand tight around his necktie, demanding him.

“I’m sorry?” he narrowed his brows, setting the vibrator down on the desk. His hand circled around your wrist, giving it a tight squeeze to pry your hand away from his tie. “You’re barking demands at your boss?”

You swallowed hard. Your eyes dropped to his hand—his fingers wrapped around your wrist making your pulse thud faster. The contrast was startling as his grip was firm and steady, while your wrist looked almost delicate between his fingers.

You hated that. You hated feeling small next to him.

And yet, your stomach flipped anyway.

His expression didn’t help either. Bucky’s face was tense with irritation. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes so dark in a way that should’ve warned you to stand down. But instead, it only made you want to test him more.

You wanted to see how far you could get under his skin, after all the times he had gotten under yours.

Even though you were clearly in the more vulnerable position, a wicked little smile tugged at your lips.

“I see how it is,” you spoke coolly. “You’re chickening out because you don’t have it in you to finish a job you started.”

Your eyes trailed down from his brooding face to his chest, then lower, to the unmistakable tent straining against the fabric between his legs. He was hard—that much was painfully obvious. The heavy outline of him twitched against his slacks, almost as if he were begging to touch you as much as you were begging for him.

“Is it the lack of confidence,” your eyes fluttered back up to his, meeting a gaze that was equal parts angry and hungry, “or… the lack of experience?”

An agitated tick in his eyebrow caught your attention. It was small, subtle enough that anyone else could easily glaze over it, but to you, it was a victory—motivation to keep going.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grinned wider, voice turning into a purr. “Did I upset you—?”

Before you could finish, the vibranium hand around your wrist tightened. He hauled you forward until your chest collided with his, and then, with a sudden force, he shoved you backward. You let out a small cry as your back hit the hardwood of the desk again, the impact rattling the pens and papers scattered around you.

By the time you blinked your eyes open, he was already over you. His metal arm slammed onto the desk right next to your head, caging you in while he supported his weight. He leaned even closer, his full, heavy weight pressing into you—right in between your legs, pinning you flat against the surface. His other hand came up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Lack of experience?” he snarled.

He rocked his hips, the feeling of his erection pressing against your bare split making you gasp.

“You think that’s what this is?” He rocked his hips again harder this time, making your body jolt against the desk. “You think I’m some pathetic, incompetent man who gives you tasks all day—that I don’t have the ability to please a bratty woman like you?”

“Barnes—”

He released your face, standing up straight as his hands flew down to the buckle of his belt, then to the zipper of his pants. With a clumsy, eager fumble, he pulled himself out, one strong hand circling his shaft as he gave himself slow, steady pumps.

You tried to sit up to get a good look, but he was back on you before you could move. His left arm caged you against the table again, his body completely enveloping yours as he pressed his weight into you. Bucky rubbed his cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your sweet arousal.

“That book wasn’t meant to taunt me,” he rasped, his eyes locked on yours as he continued torturing you with his teasing. “It was an invitation—an invitation to fuck you. Is that right?”

His tip would catch against your entrance, but it was never enough to push himself in. Every time, you would buck your hips up for that sweet sensation, but he never gave it to you.

You choked out a laugh despite your desperate movements. “You’re so full of yourself, Congressman. I would never—”

He pushed his hips forward. You were already so wet—it was easy for him to slide right in. Once his tip stretched past your entrance, your walls immediately fluttered around him.

“Oh my god,” you gasped quietly, still desperately refusing to let him hear you.

“Fuck,” he grunted in frustration. “You’re wet, but you’re still so tight. Too damn tight.”

He tried pushing his hips forward, trying to let himself sink deeper into you, but your walls were restricting around him, clenching instinctively. You hadn’t pleased yourself in a long time, and you hadn’t let anyone else do it for you, either. The sheer size of him suddenly stretching you out like this was almost more than you could take.

But you would never admit defeat in front of your boss.

“Maybe you just—” you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, “don’t know how to put it in right.”

Another irritated snarl escaped his lips as he bucked his hips harder this time. He pushed himself halfway in with one shallow, punishing thrust that made you arch your back against the desk. Your chest pressed flush against his as his heavy body completely covered yours.

“That stupid book told me to go slow,” he mumbled against your skin. “That I gotta ease my way inside. Be gentle with you. Savor you. Make it last—but fuck, when you’re taunting me like that, I don’t want to be gentle.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes defiantly locking onto his. “Oh, please. I don’t think you know how to fuck a woman hard, even if you wanted to.”

“You goddamn brat.”

Without a second of warning, Bucky pulled back slightly. Your cunt was already grasping for him as just his tip remained inside, and then he slammed his hips forward, burying himself in one heavy, punishing stroke. He bottomed out so hard your breath hitched in a silent, high-pitched scream. The impact rattled the desk, the wood groaning under the sudden violence of his weight.

“A woman like you doesn’t need ‘gentle,’” he hissed, his body collapsing on top of yours as you were sandwiched between his heavy frame and the cold hardwood.

“A woman like you, with that smart mouth and fucking attitude, needs a good dick inside you—fucked so hard until you’re a babbling mess.”

Bucky didn’t wait for an answer.

He began to fuck you with a desperate, angry rhythm, each thrust growing deeper and more frantic. He wasn’t being gentle; he wasn't easing his way in like the book told him to.

He was claiming every inch of you, his large frame smothering yours against the desk. His vibranium hand clamped down on the edge of the wood right next to your head, the metal clicking sharply as he used it for leverage to drive himself even deeper.

“Is this hard enough for you?” He hissed, his voice ragged. “Answer me, doll,” he growled, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. “Does this feel like I don’t know what I’m doing?”

You couldn’t answer.

Your hands, which had been jabbing a finger into his chest moments ago, were now clawing desperately at his shoulders, your nails digging through the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

You were a mess of contradictions—hating him, hating the position he had you in, but your hips were bucking up to meet him with a shameful, starving urgency. Every time he slammed into you, your head knocked back against the desk, your eyes rolling back in sheer overstimulation.

He was relentless. His other hand found your waist, his fingers bruising your skin as he held you still, forcing you to take every inch of him. The sounds in the room were a chaotic blur—the wet, frantic slapping of skin on skin, the creak of the desk, and his heavy, jagged breathing in your ear.

“You piss me off more than anyone I’ve ever worked with,” he rasped, his pace turning fast and mean. “You’re a nightmare. And that should make this easy. It should make you disposable—fuck, but it doesn’t. It only makes me want you more—and I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.”

“Congressman,” you gasped, trying to collect your words, but only a rambling mess came out instead. “I—ah!”

He shifted his grip, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up even more. The new angle was devastating. He was hitting so deep it made your entire body vibrate, a white-hot pressure building behind your navel that made you want to shatter your pride once and for all.

“Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me who’s in control in this office.”

Even with your body shaking and your walls spasming around him, you forced a sharp, mocking sound from your throat—a jagged imitation of a laugh.

“Did… did the book tell you that you had to talk this much during sex?” you wheezed, trying to sit up with your elbows. “You should—hah—spend your efforts learning how to talk right in interviews instead of wasting them here, buried deep inside your assistant—”

The sound that left Bucky wasn’t a growl or a pant. It was a pure, animalistic snarl of rage. His hand shifted from your waist to the center of your chest, pinning you down.

“Jesus, you never fucking learn.” His hips snapped harder and faster against yours, the velocity so intense it made your vision go white. “You want to see what happens when I stop caring about being a Congressman and start being the man who owns you?”

He leaned down, his mouth inches from your ear. His voice was smooth and calm, a terrifying contrast to the way he continued to punish your body with every heavy slam of his pelvis.

“I’m going to fill you so deep that you won’t be able to stand straight,” he rasped, his teeth grazing against your earlobe.

“I’m going to pump you so full of my cum—I want to see it drip down your pretty legs while you take notes in the next meeting,” he hissed, his thrusts becoming short, shallow, and violent. “I want every man in this building to smell me on you. I want you to feel it sliding down your thighs while you look them in the eye, knowing that your Congressman claimed you right here on this desk.”

You let out a broken whimper as he hit your sweet spot again and again, his pace becoming a blur of friction and heat. The way he was filling you, combined with the nasty, filthy litany of words leaving his lips, was enough to make you feel dizzy.

Bucky groaned, desperate and uneven breaths hitting the crook of your neck as he felt you clench around him.

The book mentioned that the man would likely feel a fluttering, uneven clenching sensation around his manhood when the woman was close to climax—it was hard to imagine that when he jerked himself off with his hand, but now, deep inside you, he was feeling exactly that.

“God, you’re gonna cum for me, baby?”

But despite how close you were, you remained stubborn. You squeezed your eyes shut, a jagged, defiant breath catching in your throat as you fought the sensation off. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, you hissed through clenched teeth.

“No,” you shook your head, glaring up at him. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that.” You added, your voice trembling slightly.

Bucky gave you a sharp, threatening look. He realized exactly what you were doing—denying him the one victory he wanted most. “You think you can play games now?” he snarled, his vibranium arm shifting to pin both of your wrists above your head. “You think you’re in control of your own body right now?”

His other hand swept across the desk until his fingers brushed against the silicone toy he had discarded earlier. He snatched the vibrator, thumb clicking it onto the highest setting.

“You’re going to cum,” he threatened into your ear. “And you’re going to do it while I’m buried deep inside you.”

He pressed the buzzing head of the toy directly against your sensitive, swollen clit while simultaneously slamming his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt. The double-sided assault was overwhelming. The vibration combined with his thickness stretching you out sent a violent jolt through your body, your fingers grasping helplessly at nothing as he pinned your wrists down.

You writhed pathetically beneath him, trying to keep yourself from coming—but fuck, it was impossible.

“Ah!” you cried out, your legs shaking uncontrollably from the pleasure as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not—I’m… not…”

“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he commanded, his own face twisted with the sheer effort of trying to hold back. He kept the toy pinned on your clit, vibrating relentlessly against you. “I feel you getting close, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. Shit—I’m going to cum too—”

Your pride was the first thing to go, followed immediately by the control of your own body.

A loud, broken cry ripped from your throat as your whole body tremored beneath him. You clenched down, convulsing as you came hard and violently around his cock. It was hot, blinding, and enough to make your head spin.

But Bucky didn’t stop.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your body bouncing against the wood as he kept fucking you deep.

He kept the toy pressed against your clit. The overstimulation, the way his cock was twitching inside you and hitting you in all the right, oversensitive spots, was enough to make you cry out. You looked at him, your brows furrowed in a silent, desperate plea.

“C-congressman,” you gasped, the sound ragged. “P-please…”

Bucky’s eyes, which had been burning with rage, suddenly glazed over with a desperate, almost hopeful look. He didn’t hear the word please; he only registered that your defiant voice had finally broken.

“Goddamn,” he grated out. “I love it when you sound broken like that.”

He pulled the vibrator away, tossing it aside, but only to free up his grip for the final, ruinous thrust. He grabbed your hips and slammed into you one last, violent time, his thick shaft hitting your core as he completely unloaded inside you.

“Fuck—take it, doll. Be a good girl for once and take it all for me.”

He shuddered uncontrollably, tucking his nose into your neck as his muscles tensed. Your body shook as warm cum pumped deep into your core, spilling down your slit.

You could feel his cock twitching deep within you, pulsing the last of his seed inside, marking you in the way he promised. He stayed buried, his breathing turning into rough, staggered gasps.

You figured he’d pull out soon and leave you here to clean up the mess he made.

That was the kind of boss he was.

But instead, he lifted his head to meet your eyes. One hand trailed up to your face, his thumb swiping gently to wipe a tear that had trickled down your cheek without you even noticing.

“Are… are you okay?” He asked, voice shaky.

And for some reason, the sudden tenderness in his voice—that soft, shaky tone coming from your usually cold-hearted boss—made a silent sob hitch in your chest.

“I’m okay.”

His body stiffened, his eyes going wide at the sudden sight of tears slipping down your cheeks from his simple question. He slowly slid out of you, the wet, suctioning sound of his withdrawal replaced by the immediate, empty rush of cold air. His big, strong arms circled behind you and hauled you up, settling you gently at the edge of the desk. His metal arm gently supported your back as he pulled your ruined blouse closed over your exposed chest.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his fingers moving from your chest to cup your face gently in his palm. “Don’t cry. Shit. I’m sorry for hurting you. Fuck—”

“You didn’t hurt me, Congressman,” you shook your head, the denial weak. “I just—I didn’t expect—” You hiccuped. “I didn’t expect you to stay.”

“You didn’t expect me to stay,” he repeated, the words slow and hollow.

His mind raced back over the last several months; the impossible deadlines, the late nights, the constant demands and dismissive tone he had used with you in the office.

He had treated you like a machine, not a human, and certainly not the person he now had ruined on this desk.

“Fuck. I am an idiot,” he muttered, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been working you like a dog. I’ve been crushing you with all this meaningless work, I know. I can see it now. I see you in here at six a.m and still here at ten. You’ve been living in this office because of me.”

He looked at you with deep regret in his eyes, his lips tugging down into a faint pout as he ran his fingers over your cheek reassuringly.

You instinctively leaned into his touch.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his voice quiet and soft. “I’m sorry for all the work. I’m sorry for the immature gifts. And I’m sorry for—” he swallowed. “Ruining you. And I’m even more sorry for making you think I was the kind of asshole who would just leave you like this.”

He sighed softly as he leaned in, his touch now entirely different. He was gentle and soft, as if you were a fragile little thing.

Hesitant, he settled his lips softly on yours—a slow, sweet kiss that held none of the demands and frustration he had earlier.

It was a kiss that told you he was truly sorry, and it was an apology you knew you were going to forgive.

He pulled back, looking into your eyes, but as you lifted your head to look into his, your gaze snagged on the clock perched right above and behind him.

“Sir,” you quickly scrambled up, but his arm held you still. “Your Oversight Committee is in less than ten minutes! I need to finish the packets you—”

He held you tighter against his chest, the air nearly knocked out of your lungs as he practically crushed your frame against his.

“No,” he mumbled into the top of your head, his nose tangling in your hair. “No meetings. No packets. Just relax, and stay with me. Okay?”

The last gasp of air escaped your lungs in a shaky sigh of surrender and relief. You didn’t fight his hold; instead, your arms slowly rose from your sides, circling his waist and pulling him closer. You nestled your face against his collarbone, allowing yourself to be utterly supported by his strength.

The silence was uncomfortably thick, very awkward, and filled only by the uneven rhythm of your joined breathing.

The tension, however, was too profound to last.

The need to regain some semblance of normalcy, some piece of the defiant, joking assistant he thought he’d crushed, finally came crawling back.

“I guess that vibrator isn’t returnable now, huh?” you mumbled against his chest, trying for lightheartedness, though your voice was still shaky.

A slow smile, one you felt stretching against your temple, spread across his mouth. “Never planned on returning it,” he murmured. “And especially not the lace lingerie. I’m still planning on having you wear that for me.”

Your face flushed, but your pride—though crushed a long time ago—couldn’t help but want to tease him right back.

“Are you sure the extra small condom won’t fit—”

“Shut the hell up.”

chest naurts roapin on an open pire.... merry christmas, erin. i hope you enjoyed this fic thank you for being my friend and thank you for reading. hit that like and subscribe button while you're at it. jack prost nipping at yur nosee.....

you should be focused on better things. things like how deep his cock is pressed inside of you, stretching you wide with the tip kissing your cervix. or maybe you should be focused on his face, staring right down at you, his hair all messy from your fingers running through it and sharp blue eyes cloudy with desire. those are a couple really good things to focus on. 

“hey,” you feel it more than you hear it, frank's mouth pressed against the side of your face, hair brushing your temple. he presses a couple of wet kisses to your cheek before speaking again, this time pulling back enough to catch your eye and make sure you hear him. “what’re you thinking about, hm?”

he’s so sweet, checking in like that. you’re used to partners who take and take and take, not ones who check in during sex and treat you like you’re made of the most delicate china. your eyes tear away from the meat of his bicep and find his own, a small smile forming on your lips just from the sight of him. your hands reach up and push his messy hair back, which causes him to moan softly.

“nothing,” you mumble out, shaking your head. you’ve already decided that it was stupid, to be focused so intently on his bicep while you’re having sex. he’s stopped moving at this point, just seated deep inside you as he keeps himself propped up on his forearms. “c’mon, move. wanna feel you, frankie”

he stays still, a small frown on his lips. frank has never been one to just drop anything, especially when it comes to you. he tilts his head, one of his hands coming up to stroke along your cheek. you lean into it without question. “not gonna fuck you until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, baby.”

you let out a frustrated little sigh, face turning to nuzzle more intensely into his hand. you squeeze your eyes shut before mumbling into his hand, a small, “i was thinking about your arms.” you hear him laugh softly, and you grumble under your breath.

“my arms? what about them?” you could hear in his voice how he was trying to avoid laughing again, and it made you wanna roll your eyes. you felt his hand push gently against your cheek, rolling your head so that you were looking at him. “speak up if you want something, sweetheart.”

you were easy for him, and you knew it. with a small puff of air from your lips, you gather up enough courage to ask for what you want. its just frank. your frank. “your biceps are all…distracting and stuff.” you finally mumble out.

he raises his eyebrows and smiles at you, which makes you squirm. he places a hand on your waist to still you, before pulling out. your eyes widen, immediately freaking out. is he leaving? did he think that was weird or something? you clench around nothing and quickly move to sit up, throat closing up like you might cry.

you don’t even get to ask why he pulled out before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, warm hands manhandling you around. again, you clench around nothing, head turning to look at him over your shoulder. he lays flat against your back, chest hair scratching against your skin in a way that makes your whole body shiver.

“frankie-“ you try and squeak out, cut off by his arm moving around your neck, pulling you up into a loose headlock. you feel like your brain has melted and is dripping out of your ears. he’s so close, and big, and his bicep is right in front of you now. frank usually prefers missionary, prefers being able to see your pretty face, but you can admit that this much better.

he reaches down to help guide his length back inside of you, feeling somehow even deeper than before. you let out a pathetic whine and drop your forehead to his arm, eyes rolling back in your head. he lets out a low grunt, tightening his hold on you slightly. his free hand is kneading at the flesh of your ass, moving to your waist to keep a good hold on you.

“is this what you wanted? huh?” he speaks directly into your ear, lips brushing against the lobe and voice melting right into your bones. you let out a hum mixed with a whine. “wanted my bicep around your pretty throat? yeah, thats what i thought. gonna take it like a good girl.”

he begins fucking you again. hips thrusting against your ass, pushing himself right up against the tender spot inside of you. you can feel yourself getting lightheaded. when his free hand trails under your body to catch against your clit, thumb rough against the sensitive bud, thats when you finally lose it. 

he’s breathing hot and ragged against the side of your face, and all you can feel is him. you lift your head slightly, teeth just scraping against the muscle at first. one more rub of his thumb against your clit gets you to sink your teeth in, getting a mouthful of his bicep. he winces, but it quickly trails off into a moan when he realizes what you’re doing.

“ooooh, look at you, baby.” he breathes out, a chuckle falling from his lips. his body is sweaty, and you can feel his thighs trembling as he somehow drives into you even harder than before. “so desperate for it. making a mess all over my bicep. can’t believe you, honey. should’ve said something sooner.”

you’re drooling all over his skin, spit leaking all over his arm. he’s right, it is a mess. his words make you clench tighter around him. he lets out a soft curse into the skin of your shoulder. “g’nna cum.” you somehow pant out without removing your teeth from his skin. you’re sure it sounds all garbled from the spit leaking everywhere.

“i know, baby. can feel you squeezing me, so goddamn tight. just let go. i’ve got you.” his words do it for you, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. he’s not far behind you, a couple more thrusts before he’s spilling every last drop deep inside. the warmth is like no other. 

after a couple of minutes, he finally pulls his arm away from your mouth and pulls out. he laughs dryly at the small whine that leaves your lips, leaning back on his knees. his big hands spread you open, watching from behind as his cum begins to leak out of you. he turns your limp body over, spreading you even wider than before. you’re so fucked out, all you can do is whine.