forgive me my grief

"Not today," You say firmly, managing to ease out of his grip enough to sit up. "I need to look absolutely perfect tonight."

"Come on," He grumbles, looking up at you with half-shut eyes. "You look perfect no matter what."

You roll your eyes, swinging your legs off the bed. "Sweet doesn't look good on you, Thor," You tell him with the sheets held up to your chest.

With one fell swoop and a burst of energy, he snatches the duvet from you, grinning as your naked body is revealed to him. "And nothing looks good on you, honey."

Slowly, you begin to walk backwards towards his en-suite. Thor sits up, not even bothering to try to look you in the eyes. A few months ago, you would have found this a lot more exciting, but for some reason it seems the novelty of sleeping with him has worn off. Maybe it's because his divorce has been finalized, and the thrill is gone. Are you a bad person?

"Want me to order breakfast?" He asks as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

"No, thanks, I'm gonna shower and leave," You tell him bluntly. "No time to eat."

"Damn, you really are excited about this premier, huh?" He asks with a raised brow while scrolling through his phone.

"Duh. This is like... my Game 7 of the NBA Finals," You say, trying to explain it in basketball terms so he understands. "Now, shut up and let me shower."

"Without me?" He asks while standing up, revealing his impressive bare body to you. His dick's at half-mast, making you stop in your tracks. When he notices you looking at it, he chuckles. "C'mon, honey. Want me to fuck you against the shower wall?"

Maybe the thrill is still slightly alive.

"Over here, guys!"

"That's it, nice big smiles!"

"How about a kiss for the camera?"

Bucky's arm is snaked around your waist, his hand firmly holding your hip as if it comes naturally to him. It's starting to shock you less when he touches you, and now it just feels like any other role you've played before.

After walking the carpet, you're beckoned over to the press teams with their microphones and cameras.

"Here's the couple everyone's talking about!" Nina from Access Hollywood says with a wide smile. "This is your first red carpet together - how does it feel?"

"It's great!" You reply eagerly, smiling sweetly up at Bucky. "It's really nice to have his support tonight. I'm so very excited about this film."

"Now, you both look incredible. Did you help each other pick your outfits tonight?" She asks you.

"Oh, I love Y/N in black, so that was my only input to her outfit," Bucky answers smoothly before looking down at his suit. "And she picked this - she has a much better eye for fashion than me, so I just do as she says."

You laugh softly, resting your hand on his chest. "Well, you'd look good in anything, so it isn't too hard to dress you," You reply with a wink.

"How sweet," Nina gushes. "Bucky, are you excited to see your girl in action tonight?"

"Absolutely; I love all of her work, and I'm sure I'll love Sixth Night too," He replies, lying through his teeth like a politician. "And I know how hard she worked on this film, so I'm excited for the world to see it, and I'm incredibly proud of her."

His words make you cringe, but you do your best to keep a happy face on.

"That is so lovely," Nina says, before turning to you. "Y/N, are you a fan of Bucky's work?"

"Definitely," You reply immediately. "I've seen all of his films multiple times, but his performance in Sunset Lake was actually one of the main reasons I got into acting."

Bucky looks slightly surprised at your answer, though he plays it off well.

"And what a show that was!" Nina says with a grin. "Is it safe to say that Bucky was your childhood crush?"

With a laugh, you shrug. "He might've been," You say coyly.

"How sweet!" She says. "Alright, last question, I promise- is there any truth to the rumor that we might be seeing you two on screen together soon?"

"Is that a rumor?" You wonder aloud. "It's the first I'm hearing of it."

Bucky wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer. "I would be honored to work with Y/N," He says.

While Nina thanks you for your time, Pepper rushes over to whisper in your ear, "Alright, let's get a few solo interviews in."

Bucky is ushered away and leaves you to continue speaking to the press, thankfully about the film and your work rather than a fake relationship. About 30 minutes later, it's time to head inside for the screening, and you're surprised to see Bucky is still here.

"Thought you'd make an excuse and leave before having to watch me act badly for 2 hours," You say bitterly as he takes a bag of popcorn in a themed bag from the steward.

He puts a few pieces in his mouth before replying to you while the two of you walk into the theatre. "I like some of Hill's work, so I'll give it a shot," He tells you. "It's also in our contract for me to be here, and it probably wouldn't look great if your loving boyfriend left your big premiere before the film even started."

With a hum of agreement, you nod. "So, you're finally gonna see one of my films," You say with a raised brow. "Though you could've fooled me with that interviewer earlier; I almost thought you really were proud of me."

He snorts at that while eating more popcorn. "It's called acting," He says dryly, before lowering his voice and coming closer. "Hey, I just want to make sure you'll be okay later..."

Confused by the sudden concern he seems to be showing, you frown. "What are you talking about?" You ask him.

"With these films, and these big directors, so much ends up on the cutting room floor," He begins with a look of pity. "So, when you see that your screen time is around three minutes in total, don't be upset - be glad you got at least that."

You grit your teeth together and are in half a mind to cuss him out before you remember you're in a very crowded room. "You're a prick," You settle on saying lowly with narrowed eyes.

In the theatre, you're seated between Tony and Bucky. They greet each other warmly, having worked together before, while you take your seat and steal Bucky's popcorn.

"Great to see you, man," Tony says with a grin as he shakes Bucky's hand. "Hey - congrats on getting a chance with Y/N. She played hard to get with me the whole time we were filming."

Bucky just lets out a dry laugh, choosing not to comment.

"I know it's not real, but you never know; she might give you a chance if you play your cards right," Tony continues with a smarmy grin on his face as he sneaks a glance at you. "Bucky's a nice guy, baby, he deserves a little sugar, don't you think?"

"Shut up, Tony," You utter, glaring up at him.

"Don't be like that!" He says with a laugh as he sits down next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a tight hug. "You know I'm only kidding."

"Whatever," You say flatly, pulling out of his grip. "It's about to start."

Bucky sits down on the other side of you and steals back his popcorn, to which you gasp with offence. He rolls his eyes and reluctantly places the popcorn between the both of you, like a child being forced to share.

Maria Hill, the director, stands up and says a few words, introducing the film before it begins. You're usually a little nervous before a screening, naturally, but something about the fact that Bucky's about to watch you work for the first time has you on edge. He's already made his mind up about you being talentless, so he's going into this with a negative mindset and will likely focus on everything you do wrong. You wouldn't be surprised if he has a list of notes for you that he'll smugly read out while the credits roll.

Having already watched the film at the private screening for cast and crew, you're pretty confident you did a good job. The Sixth Night is set in the 1700s and sees Tony as Elias Brown; the leader of a small village being terrorized by an unknown being that leaves its victims bludgeoned and bloody. You play his unassuming wife, Mary, who wants nothing more than to leave the suffocating village and move to Philadelphia where he always promised to take you to.

After a grueling, dread-filled couple of hours, it is revealed that Mary herself is behind the deaths, driven by her desire to escape and the feeling of being trapped by Elias.

During your big scene; the monologue where the twist is revealed, you can't help but look over at Bucky. You've seen this scene before and will be able to see it again, but you'll never get the chance to witness his reaction to seeing it for the first time.

"You don't know how it feels to be bound in place, to be pressed in so tightly you can't breathe," Mary says. "I was meant for more than this village, with its men who fear the dark yet keep their wives in it. You pin me down and leave me here to rot. You call it love."

With his lips parted, Bucky watches the screen intently. He seems enthralled, and there's a hint of shock on his features, which is exactly how you wanted people to feel at this moment. Is he actually enjoying your performance?

"You've been trying to keep me safe, Elias, but who will keep you safe from me?"

At the end of the film, your character walks over Tony's lifeless, bloody corpse and out into the dark night. As the credits roll, the theatre bursts into applause. You're taken up to the front with Tony, Maria, and the rest of the cast to give the crowd a bow.

Once that's over, you walk back out into the lobby, and you're followed by Tony who pulls you over to quiet spot with a sly look on his face. "I forgot how sexy you were in that," He says with a smirk. "You got me rock-hard in that last scene, babe. What do you say to a quickie in the toilets?"

Taken aback and disgusted by his proposition, you physically move backwards. "What the fuck?" You ask lowly, wondering if he's kidding.

"Come on," He says between laughs. "You know I'm friends with Maximoff. He told me all about what it was like working with you on set. Why didn't I get that treatment, hmm?"

"Shut up, Tony," You grumble, wanting nothing more than to go home and never have to speak to him again. Though he's always been a flirt, he's never been a dick.

"Don't be a tease," He says bluntly, keeping a hand wrapped around your wrist. "It's not like Barnes is actually your boyfriend. Come home with me."

Managing to pull your wrist out of his grip, you glare at him and say, "No."

"We can go out the back, no one will see," He says, completely ignoring you. "And even if they do, it's only more publicity for you, isn't it?"

"What is your problem tonight?" You ask, looking at his dilated pupils. "Are you high?"

He lets out a sigh, clenching his jaw for a second. "You fuck everyone else you work with. Sue me for wanting a slice of the pie you seem to so happily be handing out."

"What?" You spit, abhorred by his words.

"That's how you made your name, isnt it?" He asks you, taking your wrist back and placing your hand on his crotch. "By fucking men like me."

Having heard enough, you rip your hand from his wrist and slap him across the face. It doesn't matter to you at all if anyone saw, but when you spin around to storm away, you see Bucky watching you from afar. Letting out a huff, you rush out of the theatre and make your way to the car park out back where people are filing into fancy cars.

Your phone buzzes just as you rest against a cold railing. When you take it out, you see a message from Thor. He's sent you a picture of yourself on the red carpet earlier tonight.

Thor

Fuck. If I'd had known you were gonna look this good, I wouldn't have let you leave.

Come back to mine once you're done. My bed misses you.

It's the last thing you want to hear right now, so with a frustrated grunt, you push your phone back into your purse and decide to let the cold air calm you. You watch as Instagram influencers and other C-Listers leave with big smiles on their faces. You should be the happiest person here tonight, not them. This movie was a huge deal for you. You've never really allowed yourself to be proud of you before, and you were hoping you'd receive the same sentiment from your colleagues.

"Everyone's asking where you are."

Bucky's voice pulls you back into the present, and you sit up with a slight jump. Looking over at him, you nod. "I'll head back in in a sec. Just needed some air."

He comes closer and you almost recoil, not wanting him to mention that he saw you slap his friend or that he thinks you did a terrible job in the film.

"Hey, I got more than three minutes," You say, wanting to get in before he gets the chance to insult you. "So suck on that, Barnes."

With a chuckle, he sits next to you. There's a few beats of silence between you before he turns to face you. "You were incredible," He says simply, and it's the most genuine tone you've ever heard him use when talking to you. "You made some really great choices.  Choices I wouldn't have thought to make, but were perfect."

You've lost count of how many times you've felt shocked tonight. Is this a dream? "Are you being serious?" You ask him.

"As a heart attack," He says, keeping his eyes on yours. "You're good, Y/N. Much better than I gave you credit for."

You're waiting for him to pull the rug - to burst into laughter and tell you that he wishes you could see the look on your face, and how pathetic you are for believing he could ever respect your craft.

"So... are you gonna apologize for being a dick?" You wonder.

"Don't push it," He returns bluntly, before standing up and turning to leave.

"Does this mean we're friends?" You yell as he walks away.

Without turning around, he replies, "Not in the fucking slightest."

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Chapter Four >

You shrug, watching as Bucky and Natasha make out and dry hump against the wall. "I dunno; something about a hundred people watching you and a big sound boom above you kinda kills the magic," You tell her.

"I've seen the trailer for Sixth Night; there's that incredibly hot moment between you and Tony- and he is gorgeous! How do you not catch feelings?" She asks, completely bewildered.

"Uh, how do I explain this..." You trail off, leaning your head back and staring at the ceiling as you try to think of an analogy. "I'm not saying it's this clinical, but it's like going for a pap smear. Just because there's some action happening down there, doesn't mean it's sexy."

Gwen rolls her eyes at you. "Getting a pap smear in a sterile room is not the same as being humped by a hunk and told you're beautiful and that there's no man alive that could take you from him. No matter how many other people are in the room, that's sexy as fuck," She argues.

You shake your head. "I disagree. I mean, they aren't actually in a dark corridor of a castle right now. They're on a movie set, with a huge camera, and lights, and an intimacy coordinator. They're also probably exhausted, and have done this scene a hundred times, and have just received a note from the director to be sexier."

She takes in your words, slowly nodding before letting out a sigh. "I wouldn't mind doing this scene a hundred times with Bucky Barnes," She tells you.

"He's an asshole!" You exclaim. "He's so fucking pretentious and thinks he's better than anyone else just 'cause of a couple of Oscar nominations. And did I tell you he hasn't even watched a single one of my films? Yet he still thinks they're trash and that I can't act."

Gwen rests her against the back of the couch while facing you. "I mean, aren't assholes your type?" She asks with a raised brow.

"Not when they're assholes to me," You say pointedly.

"Just to their wives?" She asks with a smirk.

Hitting her shoulder, you shake your head. "You sound like my haters," You say with a snort. "I'm not a homewrecker, okay? It's just that the public find out someone's getting divorced a lot later so it looks like I'm homewrecking."

"Yeah, and the wife finds out a lot later too, huh?" She says, laughing loudly when you give her a dirty look. "C'mon, I'm just playing. I don't care that you're a slut. It means you can tell me how all my favourite celebrities are in bed!" Gwen suddenly frowns, looking at you closer. "Does this PR thing with Bucky mean you can't sleep with Thor anymore?"

"What? No, of course not. It's not a real relationship," You say. "I just need to make sure nobody sees us together, which isn't hard."

"What about the paparazzi?" Gwen asks you, looking incredibly concerned. "They follow you everywhere."

"Only when they're hired to," You tell her. "The paps rarely go places without being told to. They only see what we want them to see."

"Shit," She whispers, before looking back over at the TV. "My God. Look at his back muscles. Fuck me. There's no way you don't catch feelings for him after these six months."

"Wanna bet?" You ask smugly. "I mean, I definitely think he's hot; he was my biggest teenage crush. But catching feelings? He's way too much of a prick for that to happen."

She looks at you through narrowed eyes, her lips in a wide, unnerving smile. "Six months of fake dating? You'll have no choice but to become civil with one another at some point, which will turn into friendship, and then sexual attraction-"

"There's nothing past sexual attraction," You cut in firmly. "Why do you think I've never been in a relationship? I have no heart, G."

"Oh, please," She says with an eye-roll.

"I'm being serious," You insist. "Sex is all I could ever want or need from another person."

She lowers her voice to a mumble. "Or that's all you let yourself have."

"Shut up, Gwen," You reply lowly, turning your attention back to the TV where Bucky's trailing his fingers down Natasha's bare arm and professing his love to her with a whisper.

Usually, you'd be excited for a Vogue photoshoot, but the fact that Bucky's part of it too has dulled the thrill for you. He's still as bitter and uncooperative as he can possibly be without making it obvious that he hates you, which is making your job much harder.

You've only ever dabbled in a PR fling; for one of your first big movies, you had to let the paparazzi snap a few pictures of you and your male co-star that made it look like you were more than friends, without you ever having to confirm anything. But even then, you had a lot more fun seeing as the two of you didn't hate each other.

Unfortunately, you can't say the same this time.

"This better be over quick," Bucky mumbles to himself as the two of you get settled in front of the camera. You're both in double denim for the first round of photos, and admittedly it looks good on him. Someone fiddles with the back drop before the photographer takes her place behind the camera, and you take in a deep breath. This shouldn't be too hard. Just smile and pose.

"Alright, how about a kiss for the first one?" The photographer, Dana, suggests.

Fuck.

As you're both far too good at acting to get tripped up this soon, you and Bucky turn to each other with soft smiles.

"Just do what feels natural," Dana says, already clicking a few pictures.

Bucky brings his hands up to cup your face, pulling you in closer to himself. His eyes flicker down to your lips as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, and he makes eye contact with you for a split second before closing the gap between you and kissing you. At first, you're too stunned to move, but quickly move your hands to rest on his chest, hoping it looks natural. It isn't long before Bucky introduces your tongue to his, the kiss getting a lot deeper. And then he pulls back, and gives you a couple of short pecks. When he drops back for good, you find yourself wanting to go back for more. He must've taken your comment on the yacht when you first met seriously, because that was a massive improvement.

"Great- now let's just get some of you both looking at the camera, Y/N - move slightly in front. Resting faces. Bucky, just hold her from behind - that's it, you guys look beautiful."

His arms are wrapped around you as his front presses into your back. You give the camera your best model look and are almost too focused on looking down to notice what's poking your lower back. No fucking way. He has a boner?

You can't help but snort, hoping Dana doesn't reprimand you for ruining her shot.

"Don't worry, if you wanna laugh, laugh," She says, watching you through the lens. "Why don't you turn your head to look up at Bucky, Y/N? Bucky, keep your eyes on the camera for a few, then slowly look back down at your girl."

Doing as she says, you crane your neck up to look back at him, unable to keep your smirk at bay. He might think you're a bad actress, but he can't deny he finds you attractive. To get hard just from kissing you? The thought sends a spark of excitement to your core - but not because he's turning you on, you're excited that you have such an immediate effect on him. That's what you tell yourself, anyway, but then he looks down at you, and you suddenly feel yourself get wet.

What the fuck is going on?

It's fine. It's totally normal. And natural. An objectively attractive man is holding you in his arms and looking down at you like he wants to pin you to the floor and fuck you. His dick is also pressing into your back. Of course you're gonna be turned on. It's nothing to do with him.

"You're pathetic," You whisper, not sure if your words are directed at him or yourself.

"Don't flatter yourself," He mutters back at you.

"Who else is to blame?" You ask with a raised brow. "Dana?"

"Maybe being on camera turns me on," He says bluntly.

"Was that a joke, Barnes?" You ask, taken aback.

"Alright, new pose," Dana calls out.

She continues to photograph you in a series of poses, including one with you pulling on Bucky's hair during which you're sure you saw him gulp.

After an hour, you're sent back to your dressing room to get changed into your next outfit. Someone touches up your makeup, changing your lipstick shade and adding some more eyeliner, before you're put into a short, silky dress with a lot more skin showing than your denim co-ord.  Your hair is taken down from the bun it was in and lightly curled, and you're finally ready for the second half of the shoot.

When you walk back out onto set, you see that Bucky's been put into a suit. The backdrop has been changed as well as the props, with an armchair sitting in the middle of the shot.

"Y/N, let's start with you sitting down," Dana says. "Bucky, behind her.

You both follow her direction. Once you're sitting, Bucky places a hand on your shoulder. Dana snaps a few pictures before she looks up from the camera.

"Hmm... let's get Bucky sitting in the chair, please," She says.

Once he's sitting, she walks over and gives you some more direction. Soon, you're on Bucky's lap, with his right hand on your shoulder, underneath the thin strap of your dress. Your left hand is on his upper thigh, his left hand on your waist.

Either he saw something exciting while getting ready, or he genuinely managed to maintain his boner that whole time- whichever one it is, you can't help but notice he's still hard. He doesn't seem to be trying to hide it at all as he pulls you further back onto his lap until your back is presses to his chest.

Dana takes a few pictures before asking the crew for a scene change. The armchair is swapped out for a mattress, which makes your heart race. It's covered in black silk sheets which look like a continuation of your dress as you lay down on it. Bucky's told to lose the jacket and open the first few buttons on his white shirt, and someone comes over to mess yours and his hair up.

"Love it," Dana says as she stands over you and begins taking pictures. "Move around, give me some different poses. Do what feels natural."

She's used that word a lot today: natural. Ironic that nothing about your situation with Bucky is natural, but thankfully the two of you are good enough to make it look like it is.

At one point, Bucky's hand finds it's way around your neck. Is he purposely trying to turn you on? Not wanting to lose whatever game this is, you raise your knee, gently grazing it against his crotch. His breath hitches in his throat and for a split second, his hand tightens around your neck.

His eyes narrow. He moves his face to your neck, hiding from the camera as he mumbles, "The fuck are you doing?"

You just laugh, turning your lips to his ear. "Want me to stop?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he places his lips to your neck and proceeds to suck on it. Taken aback, you turn your head with a gasp, your eyes wide.

"Bucky," You can't help but say out loud, your tone tinged with shock.

With an innocent look on his face, he tilts his head. "Two can play at that game, you little shit," He utters bitterly.

"That's great - loving what we're getting so far," Dana says as she takes a few steps back to look through what she's captured. She scrolls through before looking back over to you. "Let's do something else."

She walks you over to another set with a black and orange backdrop. The crew add in a deep orange light and dim down the main lights.

"This looks gorgeous," Dana says with a wide grin. "Alright. Bucky, lift her up."

Without missing a beat, Bucky sweeps you off your feet, carrying you like a fireman. You suck in a sharp breath at his swift movement but quickly recover, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"Look into each other's eyes, then look over at the camera. That's it, beautiful!" Dana says gleefully.

A few moments later, Bucky's on his knees with his arms around your legs. His head rests against your ass, and it takes a lot of strength for you not to flinch when his hands slowly slip under the hem of your dress. When his fingers brush against a particularly sensitive area of your thigh, you instinctively kick your leg up, your heel hitting him in the chest. He wraps a hand around your calf and pulls you down onto his lap, before taking your chin and turning your head up. He then leans down and marries his lips to yours in a deep kiss before you have a chance to say a word, and all you hear is your heart beating and Dana's camera going off. Your ass is planted back onto his boner, making your stomach flip. You've never felt this intensely about any of the love scenes you've filmed before- what you said to Gwen was the truth. It's usually clinical, cold, and hard to get pleasure from - but something about Bucky has your head spinning.

"Amazing. Perfect. You guys have been great," She says with a grin once you pull away from the kiss.

You crawl forwards, removing your body from his, as you catch your breath. Bucky stands up and offers you a hand, pulling you up to your feet when you take it.

"That was a great session. I'm not sure what Bree will pick for the cover, but I've definitely got my favorites," Dana says with bright eyes as she looks at a screen showing her the pictures she's taken today. "You guys wanna have a look?"

"Nah, that's alright," Bucky says flippantly. "Thanks for today, Dana. See you around." With that, he walks off in the direction of the dressing rooms.

Not wanting to come across as caring even an iota more than him, you also reject Dana's offer before thanking her and the crew and returning to your own dressing room. When you reach it, you see Bucky standing outside his door, and he turns to look at you when he hears you walk over.

Your eyes meet and it seems as though he's contemplating whether or not to say something. He chooses to say it. "You're incredibly unprofessional."

You can't help but laugh. "Excuse me?" You ask incredulously. "Me? Says the one who couldn't control his dick!"

"That-" He clenches his hand into a fist, breathing out through his nose. "That was a natural reaction and nothing to do with you."

"Oh, sure," You say with a smirk as you walk towards him. "What did it for you? My perfume? This dress?" You continue moving closer to him. "Or maybe it was kissing me. Hmm?"

Bucky rolls his eyes and gently kicks his door open. "There is no world where I am even slightly attracted to you, Y/N," He tells you coldly as he enters his room, slamming the door shut behind him as he adds, "You shouldn't be so desperate."

Ouch.

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Next Chapter >

With a cigarette between her lips, Carol digs her toes into the warm sand and lets out a content sigh. "I'm proud of you, Buck. You've gotten through the first month smoothly. The public are buying into it - you trended on Twitter for the first time in a year last week," She tells him as she basks in the sun. "This relationship is already doing wonders for your image."

He lets out a huff. Part of him wishes it wasn't going well so that they could call the whole thing off and he'd never have to speak to you again.

"She's a gorgeous girl. Much prettier in person," Carol comments. "Any straight guy would kill to be in your shoes."

"Not once they spend more than five minutes talking to her," He grumbles, looking out to the sea. Granted, he could be in much worse places than the Bahamas, but the fact that he's only here to be seen with you has soured his mood.

"You know, most PR relationships I've ever worked on usually end up being real," Carol tells him. "In fact, they're more like introduced relationships. Like an arranged marriage. Who knows? If you spend enough time with her, maybe-"

"Are you being serious?" Bucky cuts her off coldly. "That girl is about as two-dimensional as a piece of paper. Her only hobbies are partying and Googling her own name. Trust me, Carol, as soon as these six months are up, I'm out."

Just then, you walk onto the small, private beach, straightening your sunhat as you approach the pair sitting on sunbeds. "Afternoon!" You greet them, smiling as you pass Bucky with a brief squeeze of his shoulder. "Hi, baby. Carol, you mind giving my beloved boyfriend and I a minute to talk?"

Carol snorts at the look on Bucky's face and happily complies, giving you a nod as she gets up to her feet. "The reservation's for 8pm; there'll be a car sent to the villa to pick you up at 7:30," She informs you both. "Have fun!"

Bucky lets out an irritated sigh as he slumps down on the deck chair. "What do you want?" He asks while you take Carol's seat.

"Pepper sent me. I need to put you on my Instagram story," You tell him as you pull out your phone. "It's been three days since I've posted about you."

With a roll of his eyes, he stays where he is, hoping you aren't about to tell him to hug or kiss you for the photo.

"Here; wear this," You say before tossing him your yellow sunhat. It lands on his bare chest and he gives it a bitter look before huffing and doing as you say. "Now," You continue, sitting up and aiming your camera at him. "Smile like you love me."

Though he despises you, he's damn good at acting like he adores you. You post the photo to your story with the caption, 'he's always stealing my things', and tag him in it.

"There we go," You say with a content sigh. "Now I can leave you to moping around again."

"I do not mope around," He argues sternly. "I'm laying in the sun."

"Mhm," You reply, before deciding to stay and annoy him a little longer. "I finally watched The Greenhouse for the first time last night. Really surprised you didn't end up winning the Oscar."

He doesn't say a word, his sunglasses shielding his eyes as he lays back down.

"Oh, well. Maybe next year, eh?" You continue. "Who knows? Maybe I'll even be up for an Oscar next year."

That earns a snort from him.

"I'm being serious - I could be up for Supporting Actress for The Sixth Night," You tell him as you refresh your notifications, watching as the likes and chat replies from your story come streaming in. "Speaking of, I think you're down to be my plus-one at the premier next month."

"I highly doubt a scream flick is gonna be nominated for any Oscar," He replies with a mutter.

"It's a serious film - it deals with all the same emotional themes your pretentious works do," You claim while reading through a few of your dms. "Someone said I've been glowing since getting with you. How sweet."

Bucky lets out what can only be described as a grunt in return.

Curious about why he's so bitter about this deal when he's definitely benefiting more than you, you lay down on the sunbed and turn to face him. "So, how come you're single?" You ask him. "Pretty young thing like yourself, I'd have thought you would be locked down."

"Long term relationships aren't compatible with my lifestyle," He answers you. "I'm barely ever home."

With an eye roll, you scoff. "Oh, please. Date a fellow actress, then. Or a director. Or even a pop star. Someone who has a similar lifestyle."

"Maybe I'm fine being single," He says with a slightly defensive tone.

"So, you like sleeping around?" You wonder.

He finally turns to face you, looking up at you over his sunglasses. "We're not all sex-addicted whores in this industry, you know."

"Ouch!" You exclaim, reaching out to lightly swat his arm. "Kitty's got claws. No need to be so mean to me. I'm not the one who forced you into this."

"No, but you're a self-obsessed narcissist with no real reason to be so arrogant - I mean, let's face it, it isn't that hard to scream and run around and spew the badly-written scripts you for some reason keep signing on to, so I don't understand why the fuck anyone thought I could ever need you to further my career," He rants, his cheeks flushing pink.

With your nerve successfully struck, you get up onto your feet with a huff. "I'm the narcissist? You are so fucking pretentious and up your own ass - your films aren't curing any diseases, guy. At least I'm actually relevant and I don't only go viral when I'm rude to interviewers- without me, your career is a sinking ship, so you should be fucking grateful that I agreed to do this bullshit for you, 'cause God knows I could get more publicity in a night than you'll give me in six months," You hit back.

"Yeah, for fucking a married football player," Bucky mutters under his breath.

"Fuck you!" You spit harshly as you begin to walk off. "And give me back my fucking hat!"

He rips it off and throws it at you, shouting, "Fucking take your stupid hat back!"

It's harder than you expected to storm away in sand, but you do your best, flicking up sand with every stomp.

Dinner is awkward, to say the least. The starters are brought out before you and Bucky exchange a single word. You're not sure if you expect him to apologize for what he said on the beach, but you sure would appreciate it.

"The cameras are here," He says while pretending to take a sip of wine, his eyes on the window to your right. "Action."

You hold back an eye roll as you catch a few flashes in your peripheral vision, and instead focus on spreading butter onto a piece of bread.

"Still not talking to me?" Bucky utters with a quirked brow. "Your sour attitude is noticeable, you know. Especially to your devoted fans who like to closely watch your every move."

Putting down your fork, you let out a musical laugh, as though he just made a great joke- something you strongly doubt he's capable of. "You suck and I hate you," You say quietly so the other diners around you don't hear.

"There are some great lip readers out there these days," He says while subtly rubbing his beard so as to hide his mouth.

With a sigh, you keep your eyes on him. "I can't wait for you to take me home and fuck me," You say instead, shooting him a wink as his face falls for a split second.

"You are unbelievable," He mutters, keeping a pleasant look on his face.

"What? So I can't say I hate you, or that I wanna fuck you? What do you want from me?" You ask, keeping your tone light and your face happy. If anyone was listening in, you'd sound insane.

"Is that all the range you're capable of?" He asks you, holding your hand. "There's nuance to emotion. And a heck of a lot more than just hate and horny."

You grit your teeth together. This man does not respect you one bit. Does he genuinely think you're talentless? That you're a bad actress? Though you understand that he might dislike the genre of film you're typecast for, surely he can't deny that you're at somewhat of a good actress.

Then you realize - there's an ignorance to his hatred. He hasn't ever referred to a specific one of your roles or movies in particular that he thinks lowly of. That fucker.

"You bastard," You begin, your smile only slightly faltering. "You haven't watched a single one of my films, have you?"

He says nothing in response.

With a dry laugh, you shake your head. "You sit there on your high horse, preaching about how my work is below what you do, about my work being a collection of shitty little scream flicks - and you have the audacity to say all that having never seen a single fucking one?"

He lets out a sigh. "I don't need to see-"

"Fuck you," You utter, pulling your hand out of his, picking up the napkin on your lap and tossing it on the table as you stand up. Still aware of the flashes outside the window, you give Bucky a kiss on the forehead before walking away, as much as it pains you to do so. Prick.

"Did you find that the two of you had any similar rituals or processes, or do you work very differently?" Porter, your twenty-third and final interviewer of the day, asks you.

You let Tony answer, giving your voice a break. Press junkets are one of your least favourite parts of the job, with back-to-back interviews taking place in one long, long day. At first, you did enjoy getting to hear all the British accents, but you're ready to get on your private jet and fly home. As much as you love The Sixth Night and think it's probably the best film you've been a part of, you are sick to death of talking about it.

"And that worked perfectly for me, because our characters are only meeting for the first time at the beginning of the film, so each of our interactions on-screen involve us learning and getting to know one another, which is exactly what was going on off camera, too," Tony finishes, giving you a gentle nudge. "So I guess our processes are different, but compatible."

There's a twinkle in Porter's eye when he speaks again. "Speaking of compatibility, it seems love is in the air for yourself, Y/N- and with none other than Tony's Fugitives co-star, Bucky Barnes. Was it Tony that introduced you to each other?"

"Actually, Bucky and I met at a Golden Globes afterparty earlier this year," You lie, using the story Pepper and Carol fleshed out. "No wing-manning needed from Tony."

"Right," Porter says with a laugh. "Well, fans around the world are loving the two of you together- did you have any hesitation in going public?"

"It's always a little nerve-racking when you're in the public eye, knowing that there are so many opinions out there being formed about you, but Bucky is a true gentleman and couldn't do more to make me feel secure," You say, hoping you're coming across as sincere rather than over-rehearsed.

"That's lovely," Porter remarks with a smile, before his attention is stolen away by someone off camera. "And I think that's all I've got time for today- thank you both so much for your answers, you've been wonderful."

"You've been great, too," You reply with a smile, knowing your fans love when you're nice to interviewers.

"I'm so excited for this movie!" He says with a grin.

"And we're excited for you to see it," Tony replies before you get the signal that the cameras are off.

Someone comes over to help you take your mic off while Tony quickly raises his brows at you. Once your mics are off and the press have trickled out, he chuckles.

"So, you and Barnes," Tony begins, folding his arms across his chest. "A match made in heaven."

"Shut up," You reply with a dry laugh. "You know how it goes."

"Mhm," He replies just as his agent calls him over. "Well, this was fun. See you at the premier - bringing your boyfriend?"

"Maybe," You say with a shrug. "If the overlords want me too."

"Y'know, it's a shame," He says, taking a step closer to you. "I was kinda hoping we'd have a sexy scandal of our own."

With a smirk, you tilt your head. "And all it takes is a little boyfriend to stop you from trying?" You ask him teasingly.

Tony places a hand on your waist which he squeezes briefly. "I'll see you at the premier, honey," He says before shooting you a wink and walking away.

And, perhaps if you weren't so exhausted, you'd have noticed the look on one of the lingering journalist's face on the other side of the room as they watched your interaction with Tony.

Chapter Two >

definitely gonna be a slow burn, this one. although it's taking all my will power not to make them immediately fall in love !!! hope you liked <3

buy me a kofi <3

"It might not be your fault, but you can control what they see," She reminds you sternly. "You were gonna present an Oscar before your antics last night!"

"All I did was get a little drunk, is that a crime?" You ask her before pushing your sunglasses up onto your head when you realize what she said. "What do you mean, were?"

A soft scoff leaves her mouth. She's not happy about it, but she does get some satisfaction from being right. "Yeah. They don't want you to present Best Supporting Actor anymore. In fact, they don't want you at the Oscars at all," She tells you curtly. "Same probably goes for the Globes."

"They can't do that!" You exclaim, getting the attention of some of the diners but not caring. "I'm an actress; they can't uninvite me from the Oscars!"

"Well, they did," She hisses lowly, leaning in closer. "You're on thin ice, Y/N. This industry is all about reputation. No-one cares how talented you are when you're taking body shots off Thor Odinson - I mean, seriously? Out of all the athletes you could be associated with, you go for the barely-divorced basketballer known for cheating on every wife he's had?"

You sit back, not taking her seriously. Too many times Pepper has scolded you only to swiftly move on the next day with news of an audition she booked for you, so her cold anger has begun to lose its impact. She can tell you aren't intimidated by her, and that pisses her off even further.

"I've had enough of you throwing your career away," She says with a glare. "I'm not letting you cause your own downfall. You gained momentum from Bryn Sinclair, you've got fans, you're mostly likeable when you're not fucking married men. I've seen it a hundred times before; girl from a small town gets some attention, books a few good gigs, makes some money, hits her peak, and then blows it all on a coke-fueled bender and a stint in jail."

Offended, you frown at her. "I haven't even begun to peak, Potts," You claim firmly. "Losing isn't an option. And going out for a drink with a disgraced basketballer isn't going to ruin my career - all publicity is good publicity, right?"

Pepper lets out a long sigh. Neither of you say anything until the waiter brings over a bottle of wine and some bruschetta, compliments of the chef. You keep your eyes on her, waiting for her to say something. She doesn't say a word until she's halfway through her bruschetta.

"Speaking of publicity, Bruce had an idea," She begins, her eyes on the tomato she just stabbed with her fork. "Not sure you'll like it."

"Idea for what?" You ask her, half-expecting her to tell you her boss has finally finished the script for his sci-fi musical.

Her lips curl upwards and she shakes her head. "Tale as old as time," She says cryptically. "It's nothing original. Everyone does it."

You narrow your eyes, still confused. "Plastic surgery?" You guess. "I'll get lip filler, but I refuse to do that buccal fat thing."

"No. We're keeping your face natural in case you're cast in a period piece; you know that. I'm talking about a PR romance," She finally spills as her eyes light up. "We match you up with someone at your level or slightly above it, you pretend to date them, the public eats it up, both of you gain popularity. And then, six months later, there's a break-up. We keep the reason vague so there's no blame either way. Neither of you are the bad guy, and we all benefit."

After working with her for five years, you know her too well for her to be able to fool you. You can tell by the way she's speaking that she's already made her mind up - you're doing this PR romance, and you wouldn't be surprised if she's already found you a match who's being told the exact same thing as you by their own manager right now.

You've learned that saying no is usually a bad idea when it comes to these things. Not only are you contractually obliged to agree with your management's decisions, Pepper usually knows what's best. And though the thought of fake dating someone for six months sounds like the most awkward, uncomfortable experience of your life, you're an actress. What good would you be if you couldn't put it in for the cameras?

"Alright," You say with a shrug. "But whoever it is, they better be hot."

"No. No, absolutely not. Are you fucking kidding me? This is a joke, right?"

Carol sighs, sitting back in her chair. "I know this isn't what you expected-"

"What I expected? Carol, this is insanity!" Bucky exclaims with pink cheeks. "Of all the women you could've paired me with, her? Some C-List scream queen who wouldn't know what good acting is if it hit her in the face?" His cheeks are slightly pink as his nostrils flare.

"That's mean," Carol says sternly, standing up and resting her arms on her desk. "Y/N is extremely talented in her avenue."

"Oh, please. Anyone can gasp and scream bloody-murder; what she does is not acting," He counters with an eye roll. "I can't be associated with her, Carol. She's on the front page of E! News with her tongue down a different athlete's throat every other week, and I'm about to be nominated for an Oscar. Did you even try to find someone on my level? What about Natasha?"

Carol shakes her head. "Natasha's got enough going on this year. Besides, it'd be better to save her for a rainy day - milk the will they, won't they? storyline for as long as possible," She explains, before walking around her desk and closing the distance between them. "I know it's hard to agree with me, but this is for the best. Y/N has a very strong fanbase and anyone would kill for her social media interactions. As great an actor as you are, in this day and age, you need the Internet on your side, and Y/N is your ticket to getting that."

Bucky lets out a scoff before pulling out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket. "I don't need 12-year-olds making fucking TikToks about me in order to succeed," He states bitterly, making his way to the door.

"I beg to differ, Buck," Carol says with a shrug. "Trust me. When have I ever steered you wrong? This will do wonders for your career." When he says nothing in return, she lets out a sigh. "Six months. Half a year. That's all I'm asking for."

He places a cigarette between his lips and lets out a defeated grunt before swinging open the door and leaving. Carol smiles to herself, knowing she's won him over.

The first planned interaction between you and Bucky is at Steve Rogers' Fourth of July party. It's one of the biggest celebrity events of the year, always resulting in plenty of rumor and scandal. There's a few paparazzi in smaller boats floating around, aiming their cameras like weapons.

You're wearing a red two-piece bathing suit with a white sarong loosely tied around your hips. You look in a compact mirror and touch up your makeup while sitting by one of the coolers, waiting patiently for your faux beau to join you.

Bucky's in a chiffon blue shirt, the open buttons revealing his bare chest as he speaks to Steve at the other end of the yacht. Admittedly, you've had a crush on him since you were thirteen and watching him in Sunset Lake; a six-season teen drama on which he made his acting debut and was labeled America's heartthrob. He quickly moved onto more mature projects in his early 20s, with multiple Emmys and Golden Globes lining his shelves to show for it.

You wonder what he thinks of you. You're popular with young people and horror fans, but other people in the industry don't seem to respect your craft. That, and they see you as a typical party animal, which might not be so far from the truth. It's likely he sees you in that same way. You've never met him, and you only hope he's a decent person.

Spotting you, Bucky inwardly sighs. He knows he should make his way over to you so the press that Carol hired can take their pictures, but he's dreading it. This marks the official beginning of his relationship with you, fake or not, and though Carol's sure it'll boost his popularity, he's afraid he'll lose the respect of his fans and peers if he's linked to you in any way, let alone seen to be dating you. But, what Carol says goes, and it's only a six month stint. In that time, he'll likely only have to see you a couple of times a month in order to keep the facade up. Twelve public interactions. That's all. He's been through worse for a role before.

Determined to get this over with, Bucky makes his way over to you. You've told your posse to leave you alone for a little bit so they don't interfere with this meeting. When you see Bucky walking over, you sit up, unable to deny how incredibly attractive he is in person. Your heart flutters a little and you know that the teenaged version of you is screaming at the idea of dating Bucky Barnes, fake or not.

He stands a foot away from you and pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. "Hey," Is his short greeting.

"Hi, there," You reply, looking up at him.

A second passes and you notice him glancing down at your legs before looking back at your face. "Get up," He orders lowly, keeping his face blank.

You raise a brow. Is this how he thinks this is gonna go? Instead, you take your sunglasses off and narrow your eyes at him. "Excuse me?"

It's clear he's irritated but he's doing his best to hide it. They don't give out Golden Globes for nothing. "Stand up and come closer," He says lowly. "Let the rats take their pictures, and we go our separate ways again."

Ah. So he hates this situation and, likely, hates you just as much. Usually, you'd be the first to want to get a job like this over with, but something about the way his jaw clenches when he looks at you gives you a little rush. It must be because he's a pretentious prick. He thinks he's better than you because he's in dramas while you're in the screams, and that pisses you off. If he thinks you're going to make this easy for him when he looks down on you, he's got another thing coming.

When you still don't move an inch, Bucky realizes what he's in for. Not only are you an unpredictable liability, you're also an idiot. He lets out a huff through his nose before reaching out, taking your hand, and pulling you to your feet. Surprised, you almost fall into him, but you don't want it look like he's being rough with you, which he is, so you remain calm and keep a smile on your face. Cameras are too good nowadays for you to let the mask slip for even a second.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Bucky Barnes," He says flatly.

"And you know who I am," You reply snarkily. "So, six months of this, huh?"

His hand is still on yours and he can feel the heat from your body radiating onto his. "If you have any sense at all, you'll wanna get this over and done with," Bucky utters. "I don't have time to fuck around."

"Ooh, golden boy's got an edge," You say teasingly, moving closer to him. "What if I don't have any sense? What if I'm just a stupid girl with no talent, who's gonna ruin your perfect image?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Cameras would've caught that," You tell him with a smirk. "You better do something to make up for it."

Bucky smiles, and you almost think it's genuine until you remember that he's an actor. He lets go of your hand and places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. "Another two minutes and we're done here," He says coldly, though from afar it would look like he's whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

"Aw, this was nice," You coo coyly, resting a hand on his chest. "You know we've gotta seal the deal before you leave me, though. And make it look real, yeah?"

He clenches his jaw again and his hands tighten on your hips. Looking down at you, Bucky pushes your sunglasses up onto your head before leaning down and giving you a movie star kiss. To your surprise, he's heavy handed with the tongue, but you're not complaining. Your childhood celebrity crush is making out with you, whether it's a genuine kiss or not, which is one thing you can tick off your bucket list.

When he pulls away, he keeps his lips close to yours. "That real enough for you?" He asks bitterly.

You smile up at him and shrug. "Decent. Don't worry; by the end of these six months, I'll have trained you to be much better," You say, knowing it's hurting his ego.

He closes his eyes, probably to hide him rolling them, before pulling away. "Nice meeting you," Bucky says flatly.

Putting your sunglasses back on, you nod. "You, too."

Chapter One >

happy valentine's day.

been soooo long since i started a series. is anyone still here?? let's try for weekly updates :)

bucky masterlist

buy me a kofi <3

Robby’s had a lot of shitty shifts in his time as a practicing MD. Too many to count. 

He never could’ve imagined that anything would even begin to compare to what he and every other healthcare worker went through during the pandemic, but the MCI really and truly broke something inside of him. 

He felt it when Whitaker found him on the floor of the makeshift morgue, and he feels it now as he sits in the park with a beer in his hand, borderline hysterical laughter bubbling up from his chest. 

It’s fucking ridiculous. All of it. The world at large, Jesus Christ, why did he ever think he could handle this? Why did he think he’d be able to move on after Adamson—that he could be even half the doctor his mentor had been? 

After finishing his beer, Robby stands and waves to everyone else, the other survivors of that hellish shift, then turns and fits his AirPods into his ears. The song playing when he’d first walked into work 15 fucking hours ago picks up where it left off, and Robby has to snort. His playlist may be able to move forward like nothing happened, but there’s no way he’ll be able to. 

Yeah, this one’s gonna fuck him up. 

He makes his way toward his house, exhausted and wired at the same time. His stomach grumbles, and Robby knows he should be starving, but he has no desire to eat. Anything he manages to choke down will just come right back up, he’s sure of it. 

As he approaches the bus stop he passes every day, Robby catches sight of a familiar jacket, familiar braids, familiar antsy tapping that followed him for much of the shift. 

You turn at the sound of his footsteps, eyebrows shooting up when you see him. “Dr. Robby!” like it’s been a year since you last saw him rather than an hour. 

Robby forces a tired but cordial smile as he nears, no teeth, no shine, really an acknowledgment more than anything. 

Fuck, he’s beat. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and not leave for… ever. 

He knows himself, though, knows he likely won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. His brain will keep him up, whirring with all the what if’s, all the mistakes, all the people he couldn’t save. 

And still, you stare at him as if he saved every last one of them. It’s the same way you’ve been staring at him all day, eyes wide with misplaced admiration, though now there’s a shadow of sympathy. 

“I was hoping to see you before I left the hospital, but…” you trail off, shake your head, pick back up, “doesn’t matter ‘cause here you are."

“Here I am,” he replies like he wishes he wasn’t. “Did you need something, or—”

“No, no, nothing like,” you shake your head, and Robby doesn’t miss the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your corduroy backpack. 

“I just, um…” you swallow and rock on your feet, hands sliding into your jacket pockets. 

Robby takes another few steps forward, ducks his head a little to be able to look you in the eye as he pushes, “you…?” then straightens back up when he realizes that you can see his eyes too—bloodshot and puffy and still red-rimmed from earlier. 

Tossing your head to the side, you scrunch your face up when you suddenly ask, “are you okay?”

Robby blinks at you. 

It’s probably the 50th time he’s been asked this today, and he’s just about fucking had it, but… you look so fucking sincere, it kills him a little. 

He’s known you for less than 24 hours, but Christ, were those hours long. You spent the majority of them right at his heels, following and helping where you could then working independently where you had to. Honestly, if Robby had to have had a resident shadow him so closely, he’s glad it was you. You’d watched his every move and ended up putting most of them into practice yourself. If Robby said jump, you asked “how high?” then hurdled over every bar he set. 

Adept and in-tune, and not just with your patients, it seems, because you’re looking at him the way you looked at all of them, real concern playing over your features, wrinkling your forehead and tightening your mouth, and for the first time all day, Robby feels like telling the truth. 

Grinning in dark disbelief, Robby gazes at the night sky for a few seconds before letting his head drop forward again. 

Are you okay? 

“Not even a little,” he laughs. 

Your returning smile is unsure, but you nod, mumble, “today was pretty fucked up.”

“It really was.” 

Some of that worry melts away, right to the back of your throat as you swallow it down. 

“If it’s any consolation, I learned a lot.”

“Yeah, about how you should reconsider your fucking career choice.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no, more about how to handle the tough cases. How to toe the line between…hope and reality, I guess."

Something in his chest starts to ache and the space behind his eyes begins to burn again and Robby is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude toward you and white hot fury toward everything else. 

Tucking his chin to his chest, Robby squeezes his eyes shut, mutters quietly, “fucking hell,” then redirects, “you headin’ home?”

He watches your shoulders rise with a heavy sigh, apparently already aware that prying won’t help. 

“Yeah, just waiting for the bus,” you answer absentmindedly, “unless you need me for something else.”

Something else. 

~

This might be the most fucked up thing he’s ever done, and that’s including showing that father the pedi morgue a few hours ago. 

That, Robby can blame on anger and stress. 

This, though, this is just irrational, and he knows it. It’s like a panic response that he's fully aware he’s having but isn’t trying to fight. He doesn’t give a fuck about grounding exercises or breathing techniques or any of that shit. He just wants some semblance of fucking control. 

After the way you’d followed him around all goddamn day, at his beck and call and wide-eyed with awe, Robby knows that he can control this. He can control you. 

And, he does, his hands curling around the back of your head to manipulate you however he needs, tilting you in ways that are comfortable for him while probably putting a strain on your tendons. 

Mouths molded against one another, Robby presses too hard and bites too mean, and when your pained groan vibrates against his lips, all he does is sink his teeth a little deeper into already kiss-swollen flesh. 

Without any lights on in the house, it’s nearly pitch black. He’s stumbled to his couch too many times to count, though, has no problem guiding you to it in a series of clumsy steps. 

Robby tears his jacket off and drops it to the floor followed by both of his shirts. He doesn’t bother with his pants, far more interested in his brand new resident as you strip down to your underwear. 

He’s drunk with fatigue and sorrow, and now, with a heavy pour of lust pooling in his stomach, he’s close to blacking out entirely, one step away from delirium.

When you’d introduced yourself 16 hours ago, Robby never would’ve thought you’d end up underneath him. He’d looked at you just long enough to think, cute, then shrugged it away to make room for every fucking responsibility he had to shoulder throughout the day. 

A day that was spent with the parents of a braindead son, with adult children coming to terms with the fact that their father was dying. He spent the day watching Heather and screaming at Langdon. Spent the day trying his fucking hardest to save a single girl, and when he couldn’t, he ended up on the floor of the makeshift morgue. 

You were there for most of it, which is strange and unfamiliar because he hasn’t had a resident shadow him in years. 

But, every other student seemed to latch onto someone, leaving you a little lost until Robby decided, what the hell, and nodded you over to his side. Maybe teaching would distract him from the date on the calendar. 

And, it wasn’t terrible. The day as a whole was, but you weren’t. Once you’d gotten the confidence boost you needed, you were able to fall into step beside him. You made yourself scarce when he needed you to, and the only questions you asked were about medicine, about the things you didn’t know that you hoped he could teach you. 

For all 15 hours you’d worked together, you were just there, ready and willing to take whatever Robby wanted you to. 

Just like you are now.

Clutching onto him like a lifeline, you writhe for him, every breath punched out of you when he kisses too rough, sucks too hard, bites too deep. You're gonna be marked to hell and back, Robby's internal bruises displayed all over your skin. 

His back to the armrest, he's got you on top of him, supported by his thighs as you grind against his hard cock. The only barrier between the two of you now is the material of his boxer-briefs, damp with your arousal as Robby ruts up into you. 

"Knew you'd be good," he grunts out, urging you to lift your hips enough for him to be able to snake a hand beneath you, thrust a finger inside of your quivering hole a few times before adding a second. "Did everything I fuckin' asked you to, perfect little resident."

You moan around your bottom lip, thighs shaking as you start to ride his fingers. 

"Just—hn—I just w-wanted to help you…" you whimper, sounding so painfully sincere that Robby is reminded once again how wrong he is for doing this. 

He curls his fingers inward, massages your soft walls for a few seconds before finding the spot that makes you cry out, pulls you by the neck so that he can drink down every whine that tumbles from your lips as he does his absolute best to tear you apart. 

"Helped me so much—you were so smart n' sweet all day. You gonna keep being sweet for me?"

You nod as best you can as he sucks on your lower lip, shaking on top of him with his fingers moving inside of you. 

"Hm? You're gonna what?" he teases because all he really knows right now is how to fuck and how to be an asshole. "Remember to close the loop."

You keen, take in a deep breath, then repeat, "'m'gonna be s-sweet for you, Dr. Robby," and Christ, he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 

Heartrate picking up and vision fogging over, Robby swears at the sensation of your little pussy clenching tight around his fingers, so hungry and greedy.

"You gonna cum for me, angel?"

Again, you only nod at first, but you show how smart you are for the nth time today, quickly stutter, "gonna—mmfuck, gonna cum for you, wanna cum for you—"

And, you do, nails digging into his shoulders, cunt spasming and dripping messily, tears springing up in your rolling eyes. 

Fuck, you're stunning, ambitious, dedicated little doctor. So good, so desperate to help, to lend Robby a helping hand during the day then lend him your body at night—he wants to ruin you. Wants to bathe in those bright, hopeful eyes until he remembers what it was like to have that spark of light himself. 

He could just take it from you, stomp out any of that optimism, show you that your faith in him is useless. He's not good—not a good doctor, not a good man, and he wants to prove that to you, live up to the self-fulfilling prophecy he's been trying to deny for the last five years. 

The only reason Robby gives you a break is so that he can free his cock, sticky with precum, hot and pulsing in his hand as he lines himself up. 

He should offer a condom. Lube. A chance to get acclimated to his size. 

But, Robby is impatient and in the middle of a goddamn crisis, so all he does is warn you, "deep breath in," like he's about to pop your shoulder back into place. 

He doesn't push in all at once, but he doesn't go particularly slow, and that inhale you just took is forced right back out of you as you whine at the way his cock stretches you. If the lights were on, Robby would have a better view of your pussy spreading open for him, making room for his thickness and creaming all over it. 

"That's a good girl," he groans, voice strangled and wet from the saliva that's pooled in his mouth, and fuck, you feel so good, so good.

You're already sensitive from your last orgasm, and knowing that makes Robby's head spin when he starts fucking you, making you squeal for him. 

"Oh—o-oh god, it's—s'too much, nng—"

He doesn't see or feel you trying to stop him, though, just let your jaw drop, hips rolling automatically as tears start to stream down your face. 

"Am I hurting you, babydoll?" 

Truthfully, that’s what you are right now. Young, beautiful resident, letting her senior attending use her how he wants. You bounce and moan and whisper, "n-no, Dr. Robby, doesn't hurt," with fluttering eyelids and twitching fingers. 

Pretty little baby. Pretty little doll. 

And, you feel so perfect, your sopping cunt sucking him deep, squelching and clinging to every inch he gives you then takes away. 

His fingertips are bruising your hips, nails digging crescent moons into supple flesh. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucks and sucks and sucks until you start to shy away, and then he sucks a little more before moving to the next. 

He wants you raw and exposed, wants you shivering, wants you unable to fucking look at him whenever you work again. 

Because you will work, will see each other after this. Maybe you'll go to HR, say Robby coerced you into this, and he wouldn't fight it. It's not incorrect. There's a clear imbalance here, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't getting off on it. 

He really could do whatever he wanted. With your drive and your obvious need to please, you'd probably let him get away with just about anything. 

Robby has complete fucking control of you, and that idea is so satisfying and soothing and terrible, it lights him up from the inside. 

Wrapping a hand around your throat, Robby brings you close to him again, his other hand working between your splayed legs so he can swipe his fingers over your slick and swelling clit. 

"Such a sweet girl," he growls, thrusting deep, fast, and rough, stirring your insides, basking in the lewd noises and neverending stream of slick that leaks out around his cock— "who knew you could be so fucking messy?"

Even in the poor lighting you must be able to see something dangerous in his face—the dark glint in his eyes or maybe the way he's bearing his teeth. Whatever it is, it makes you sniffle, like you know he's gonna hurt you. 

"Is it 'cause I'm making you feel good?" Robby baits, "you like the way my cock stretches your little pussy?"

"Yes," you sob, "yes, yes, feels so good."

"Fuck—gonna fill you up so good, baby, you ready?"

He's not giving you the choice, further proving his point that he is a bad man. So, so bad. 

But, you are so, so good, so you nod and beg, "please, Dr. Robby—please, please, want you to… wanna feel… oh, god—oh, fuck—"

"You cumming again?" he grins for the first time in hours, feeling like he's finally doing something right despite how wrong it is. "Yeah, you are, good girl, gonna—goddamn—gonna milk it out of me clenching like that…"

You're wailing at this point, cunt pulsing and stuffed so full as Robby ruts up into you. He's relentless, chasing his building orgasm as you shatter on top of him, shaking like a leaf and trying to suck in the air that just won't make it all the way to your lungs. 

Teardrops are hitting his chest, and you're wincing with every thrust, but you're still not stopping him. Even as he bites into your throat, even as he claws down your ribs with blunted nails, even as he fucks his cockhead right up against your cervix, you don't fucking stop him. 

Robby cums with a wounded moan, hips stuttering as he pins you tight against him. He makes sure to spill into your deepest parts, saturating every bit of you until his thick seed slowly begins to seep out of your abused hole. 

You lean against his legs, still bent at the knee, and Robby watches through half-lidded eyes the way your chest expands and contracts with every uneven breath you take. 

He lets you rest for a couple minutes, both of you silent as the gravity of the situation sinks in, the oppressive weight of everything that's happened. 

From the first death of the day all the way to now. 

Jesus Christ, this is fucked up. This is all so fucked up. Robby feels himself start to crack right down the middle, his throat getting tight, hands beginning to shake against your waist, and oh fuck, oh fuck, what is happeni—

"Hey," your voice pierces through his racing thoughts, your eyes level and unwavering when they meet his, and Robby doesn't know how—can't even begin to make sense of it—but you manage to say exactly what he needs to hear: "I'm okay."

The first time he's heard it said clearly and honestly all fucking day.

He spent 15 hours talking to and treating and losing people who were not okay, so finally hearing someone, hearing you, tell him that you are…

Robby's chest caves in, and he quickly shoves his palms to his eyes, tries to breathe through his teeth while you anchor him with a steady mantra of, "I'm okay. I'm okay. I've got you. I promise."

I've got you. I promise. 

You don't move aside from smoothing a hand over his chest, a gentle grounding scratch through the hair over his sternum. It's slow, it's soothing, and it's the perfect rate of respiration. 

His cock—Robby's literal cock—has gone soft inside of you, and the ridiculousness of it all is not lost on him. You both just had possibly the most traumatic day of your lives, then proceeded to try to fuck it out of your systems only for Robby, the seasoned attending, to lose his shit. Or, start to, anyway.

"Fuck," he whispers, finally dropping his hands and blinking sandpaper eyes at you. "Sorry."

Your returning smile is soft, sympathetic, tired. "Don't be. I just hope I didn't make it worse."

Robby lets out an incredulous laugh. Scared of making it worse. No. He is absolutely a worse human now than he was this morning, but that's not your fault. Not even a little. 

"All you did today," he starts, pushing up and bracing himself on an arm to be closer to you, "was make things bearable for me. You didn't do anything fucking wrong."

You hang your head, either bashful or ashamed, Robby doesn't know, but he makes you meet his gaze again when he pushes hair out of your face. 

"Everything you did helped me. And, if you wanna report me for this—" he makes a nebulous gesture between the two of you, "I won't blame you. Fuck, you probably should—"

"I'm not going to. I don't feel like you took advantage of me or anything."

Robby gives you a pitying look, head tilted, mouth pulled into a sad sort of smile, "oh, but I did. I absolutely fucking did."

He's not gonna forgive himself for this one for a long time. 

You stare at him as if letting his admission wash over you, accepting the night for what it is, but in the end you just sigh and tell him, "then, make it up to me." 

Robby lifts an eyebrow in question, doesn't shy away when you run a hand through his messy hair. 

"Help me shower, then let me sleep with you," and like you're afraid he's going to argue, you explain in a much less assured tone, "I don't… I'm not ready to be alone yet."

He nods. Absolutely. Yes, he can do that. He can definitely do that for you. 

And, he does. Robby helps you to his shower, helps get rid of the grime and the tragedy and his cum, and when you both feel a little cleaner—because there's no such thing purity in emergency medicine—Robby finds you some clothes then goes through the motions of pouring and microwaving chicken noodle soup. Eating it isn't easy for either of you, but it's necessary (especially after that workout).

Bowls in the sink, stomachs no longer empty, Robby leads you to his bedroom. He turns the TV on at a low volume, knows that he won't be able to fall asleep to utter silence and thinks you might be the same way, then pulls you tight against him. 

It doesn't take long for you to start crying. It's quiet but impossible to miss as your shoulders tense and your tears stream down your cheeks and onto his chest. 

Robby doesn't say anything, just rests his cheek against your head and gently strokes up and down your arm. 

I've got you, he thinks, the same words you'd said to him earlier.