Rae

“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!)✦

Sukuna never asked for a commitment. Somehow, the arrangement just fell into place anyway. It started with small things: late night texts, showing up without warning, and a heavy black leather jacket tossed over the back of a chair like it belonged there.

Your phone buzzed softly against the counter.

you home.

No greeting, no question mark—just the absolute assumption of an open door.

yeah.

Three dots appeared instantly.

open up.

A heavy knock followed seconds later.

"Geez. No 'please' or anything" you mumbled, tossing your phone back onto the counter.

Opening the door revealed Ryomen Sukuna leaning against the frame as if he’d been waiting all night. A familiar presence filled the doorway before he even spoke, the air growing heavy with his warm, spicy cologne. Red eyes flicked down, assessing the view. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Bruh, you literally just texted me.”

He hummed, brushing past without waiting for an invitation. His hand lingered briefly on the small of your back, pressing just enough to claim the space before letting go. You shut the door behind him. “You’re going to start paying rent at this point." Sukuna stretched out on your couch, arms draped lazily across the cushions with a smirk. “You’d miss me.” An eye roll was the only response you gave him, but neither side pushed the argument.

Weeks passed in a blur of late nights and shared silences. A heavy hand would rest on your waist during trips around the kitchen, fingers brushing the curve of your hip and teasingly lingering during the morning coffee brew. On walks together, he closed the distance entirely, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. No matter how many times that hand was swatted away with a muttered, “People are going to think we’re dating” the pink haired man just shrugged, keeping his hand firmly planted against ur ass. He always stood slightly behind or beside you, a silent declaration: I’m here.

Sometimes he waited after lectures, leaning against the campus gate with a lazy, half smirk, arms crossed as the crowd filtered past. Spotting him always made your stomach twist, knowing he’d been waiting long before the dismissal bell. His gaze would lock on, serving as a quiet warning to anyone walking too close.

Nights were spent sharing the couch and stealing blankets, half tangled around his large frame while the remaining fabric barely covered your lap. Sometimes he drapes himself across you, a hand brushing lightly down your arm or against your thigh—never intrusive, but entirely claiming the space. When he relaxed completely, your fingers wander over his tattoos, tracing the sharp lines along his face and chest. Each mark felt almost magnetic under the skin. He would hum low, letting the attention slide, a thumb occasionally brushing your wrist to claim the movement. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your fingertips, a slight smirk evident in the way he adjusted his posture to keep your hand exactly where he wanted it.

There were nights spent falling asleep in his bed after an argument left unfinished—bodies pressed tight, the quiet between you louder than any words. Other mornings started tangled in his arms, hair brushing his chest, fingers clutching his shirt before fully waking up. His hand would curl around your wrist, his thumb tracing small, slow circles. The habits became second nature to notice: how he leaned a fraction closer when a stranger got too near. The amused smirk whenever a tease was thrown back at him. The trademark "tch" or scoff of annoyance that left his lips. Pressing his forehead to yours in the early mornings, claiming the first minutes of the day. Playing the thief with a tilted head and a lazy, "Oops, that's my spot now" daring an argument.

Almost like a couple. But without labels or promises, the unresolved tension grew nearly unbearable.

Tonight, gojo's house was packed. The bass vibrated faintly through the floorboards, drowning out the roar of the crowded room. People moved in a blur of red cups and loud laughter.

Pausing near the entrance to scan the room, your eyes landed across the living room. Sukuna leaned against the back of a couch, looking entirely too comfortable. A few girls crowded his space, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he’d just muttered. One girl rested a hand on tattooed arm. Another leaned in close, fingers brushing his shoulder. He let them.

Your jaw tightened.

His eyes found yours instantly, as if he’d known the exact second you walked through the door. The crowd seemed to fade under his direct stare. Across the room, through flashing lights and shifting bodies, he just watched. A slow smirk pulled at his lips, waiting to see your reaction. The girl beside him kept talking, her fingers resting on his arm, tracing the very same tattoos you usually spent hours mapping out. Sukuna didn’t move away. He just looked on—unbothered and thoroughly amused.

Typical.

Turning away before he could read anything else on your face, you made a beeline for the kitchen. A quick adjustment was made to the hem of the mini black off shoulder dress, the fabric hugging your waist and tight at the hips. Gold open toe heels clicked softly against the floorboards, gold hoops swaying with the quick tilt of your head. The reflective surface of the fridge offered a quick glimpse—makeup intact, shoulders tense, face slightly flushed from the scene in the living room. Pulling the door open, the cool light spilled out as you grabbed a drink.

“Careful with that one” a voice warned.

Turning around revealed a guy leaning against the counter, sporting a charming smile. “Trust me. It’s stronger than it looks.”

A small laugh escaped you. “I’ll take my chances.”

The guy laughed, stepping a bit closer to be heard over the booming music. “So… what brings you here alone?”

A shrug followed. “Just needed a drink and a break from… life.”

His smirk widened. “I get that. Same here.”

The conversation began to flow more freely, a genuine laugh sparking at a joke he made. It felt easy. The guy leaned in, lowering his voice. “You know, you’ve got this energy. Makes people really want to talk to you.”

A smile crept up, a sudden flutter stirring in your chest—until a familiar scent hit the air. Warm, spicy, and impossible to ignore. The exact aroma that lingered on your clothes every time he pulled you in.

Sukuna.

A heavy pair of arms slid around your waist from behind. His broad chest pressed flush against your back, almost swallowing you as he pulled you back. One hand settled flat against your stomach while the other grazed your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your short dress to anchor you firmly against him. The fabric shifted under his grip, lifting fractionally as you instinctively braced on your heels. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked dead on the guy across the counter. Slowly, the pink haired man dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of your neck before settling into the crook of your shoulder. Warm breath ghosted over your bare skin, his fingers tightening just enough to claim you. The gentle sway of gold hoops brushed against him with every shallow inhale.

The guy stiffens. “Oh—uh. Sorry, man, I didn’t know—”

“No” you interrupted, trying to shift out of his grasp. “We’re not—”

“Yeah” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, his voice low. “You should go.”

The guy hesitated, muttered a quick, “Right… my bad” and vanished into the crowd.

You turn inside Sukuna’s arms, looking up at him. “Bruh, what's your problem?” 

Sukuna looked down as if nothing had happened.

“You’re not my boyfriend” you huffed out.

His eyes slowly searched your face before letting out a slight scoff.

Pushing lightly against his chest, you snapped, “Stop acting like you own me.”

He simply watched, absorbing the defiance. Then, with a sudden tug at your waist, he pulled you closer. The hem of your dress rode up your ass slightly before his hand reached behind to pull the fabric back into place.

“You want a boyfriend?” His thumb dragged slowly along your jawline, tilting your face up to force eye contact. "That what this is about?”

Silence was the only answer, making his eyes narrow. “Tch. Greedy.”

The music and chatter faded into background noise—the space between you grew heavy. Sukuna hummed softly, his hand sliding back down to the small of your back. His fingers settled there as if they had never left, pressing into the curve. Your heels click softly against the floor as he adjusts his hold, keeping the fit perfect. “And yet” he murmured, leaning closer, “you still let me do this.” Your breath catches when he pulls you a fraction closer. 

“Doesn’t really sound like you want a boyfriend” Sukuna said lazily. Dipping his head lower, his lips trailed light kisses along your neck—the same familiar routine he’d done a thousand times before. It made your stomach twist. A sharp inhale brought in his spicy cologne, mixing with the soft sweetness of vanilla perfume until your head spun.

“Sounds like you just want me.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a low, teasing vibration. “Go ahead… say you’re leaving me.”

The words never came.

A slow smile spread across his face. Because he already knows you won’t.

You stared at him, and he stared back before finally looking away and continuing to walk. You remained where you were, refusing to move. After about six steps, he noticed the distance between you and turned around. 

“What.” 

You looked genuinely offended. “Sukuna.” 

“What,” he repeated.

“Pick it up.”

He glanced at the cup, then at you, and shrugged. “There are cleaners.”

Your mouth fell open, and you glanced around as though searching for confirmation that you had actually witnessed that. “Sukuna.” People nearby turned their heads. He looked mildly annoyed. 

“What.” 

You marched toward him. “Their job is not to pick up after fully grown men.”

“They get paid,” he said flatly.

Your jaw tightened, and you pressed a hand to your chest in disbelief. “I cannot believe you.” He watched you with a blank, unreadable expression. 

“Do you know who I am?” you demanded.

“Unfortunately.”

You gasped. “I run the environmental club.”

“scary.”

“I organised campus clean‑up day.”

“Horrific.”

“I made you come.”

“You tricked me.”

“...Ryomen, seriously.”

His eye twitched. You drew in a slow breath and lowered your voice, trying to stay calm. “Pick it up.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn brat, refusing with a firm, “No.”

Your eyes widened, and you became painfully aware of the people listening. You held his gaze for several seconds, feeling the hurt settle deeper, then nodded once. “Fine.”

You turned and walked away. Sukuna blinked, confused. “Where are you going.”

“Nowhere.”

Suspicion edged into his tone as he followed you. “What does that mean.”

You did not answer; instead, your replies became short, clipped: “Mhm.” “Okay.” “Cool.”

He narrowed his eyes. You never acted like this. You usually annoyed him on purpose, and the sudden quiet distance unsettled him far more than he expected.

Several minutes passed before you finally sat down on a bench. He stopped in front of you, watching you closely. “You're sulking.”

You lifted your gaze. “No.”

He continued staring. “You’re upset.”

“No.”

A long pause settled between you.

“You are.”

You looked away. “I just don’t like it.”

His expression shifted slightly. You fiddled with your sleeve, trying to steady your voice. “It feels stupid to say out loud.”

He stayed silent, waiting.

“My parents always made us clean up after ourselves,” you said softly. “I know one cup isn’t the end of the world. People think that. Everyone does, really. They don’t realise it adds up. It always adds up.”

Your voice wavered. “I care about this. It matters to me. It feels awful when someone I care about treats it like nothing.”

His face remained unreadable, which only made your stomach twist. You looked down, suddenly self‑conscious. “Forget it.”

Sukuna watched you for a moment before he sighed, turned, and walked away. Your face fell immediately, your chest tightening as you watched his figure grow smaller. The hurt surprised you with its sharpness. You stared at the ground, feeling foolish for caring so deeply about something he clearly did not value.

Thirty seconds later, heavy footsteps approached again. You looked up to find Sukuna standing in front of you, holding the cup- and three other random pieces of rubbish.

You stared at him, unable to form a single coherent thought. He looked irritated, as if this entire situation inconvenienced him. “Happy.”

“What,” you whispered.

“There wasn’t a bin nearby,” he muttered, pushing the cup toward you.

Your eyes widened. “You went back.”

“It took twenty seconds.”

You stared at him, then noticed the extra rubbish in his hand. You lifted a hand to point at it. “What is that?”

“There was more.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, because your brain needed a moment to process what you were seeing. “You picked up other rubbish.”

He immediately grew defensive. “Do not make a thing out of it.”

Your eyes widened even further, and something warm and overwhelming rushed through your chest. This was Sukuna. The Sukuna. Six‑foot‑something, built like a wall, and covered in tattoos. The same man who never cared about anyone or anything, who most people openly called a dick and who you occasionally agreed was one.

Yet he had gone back.

He had picked up the cup.

He had picked up other rubbish.

He had done it because you cared.

Your environmental‑club‑president heart practically launched itself into orbit.

You rose slowly to your feet, stunned and a little breathless, because the sight of him standing there with a handful of trash felt more intimate than any romantic gesture you had ever experienced. For a ridiculous second, you genuinely wondered if this was what it felt like to fall in love. You even felt the faint, absurd urge to propose on the spot.

He looked alarmed. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

You smiled far too brightly. “Oh my gosh.”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

You grabbed both his hands. “No, but this is huge.”

He tried to pull away. “Stop.”

“You voluntarily cleaned.”

“I picked up garbage.”

“Sukuna.”

His face warmed noticeably, and your emotional expression did not help. “This is character development.”

His eye twitched. “You’re acting like I found religion.”

You squeezed his hands. “I’m proud of you.”

He froze, his ears turning faintly pink. “Stop talking.”

You grinned and reached into your bag, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. He stared at it suspiciously. “What is that.”

You unfolded it. Environmental Club Sign‑Up Sheet.

He looked horrified.

“Sooo…” you said sweetly.

He immediately turned and walked away. “No.”

“We meet Wednesdays.”

“No.”

“We have matching shirts.”

“Kill me.”

“We’re planting native species next week.”

“No.”

You followed him with a smile. He suddenly stopped, looked down, and let the sign‑up sheet fall to the ground.

You gasped.

He looked at you with a tiny, smug smile. “Oops.”

You stared at him. He stared back. Eventually, he sighed, bent down, picked it up again, and continued walking.

Your eyes softened. You stepped closer and quietly took his hand, prompting him to glance down. “What.”

You shrugged. “Thank you.”

He looked away. “Whatever.”

A few seconds later, his hand squeezed yours back, small and subtle. When you passed a bin, he tossed his rubbish into it with dramatic flair and looked at you.

You clapped immediately, earning an offended glare. “I hate you.”

You beamed. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t respond, although he did make sure his receipt went into the bin as well.

the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.

sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.

if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.

but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.

“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown.

he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.

sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.

however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear.

his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.

you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.

you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly.

you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.

those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.

sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”

you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.

his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.

sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.

the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.

you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.

sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.

but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.

sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside.

“alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”

you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.

it makes you even giddier thinking about it.

you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”

“no.”

well, it was worth a try.

Working in the Pitt was its own kind of hell, a hell where life was sucked out of you. No fun, no laughs, only stress.

Before Michael, all you knew was work, home, and the few hours of sleep that you allowed yourself after your shift.

It was a cliche thing to say, but you always swore that your life brightened some when he came into it. He had a way about him, a way about him that made you feel at ease.

How the hell your marriage ended up in a spot where you were heavily considering divorce was beyond you. It had been another night of you trying to be there for him, but it turned into a fight— it always did. Your words were always wrong and rotten, no matter how softly they were spoken or how sweet they were laced.

Robby was a ticking time bomb and you weren’t going to let him drag you down with him. It was so unfair, because he acted as if you didn’t struggle too— like you didn’t also have a lot on your plate at work. It was all about him and his feelings.

The thought of your marriage being at that point was foreign, ridiculous even. You loved him and he loved you, how could things sour when that mattered most? How could you give up on him?

Robby was the man that couldn’t see yourself without, the one that made you smile at work, the one that would drop anything to be there for you.

Why would you abandon him when he just needed help?

God, you felt so fucking guilty for even considering it. The guilt gnawed at you every time you thought about it, you were being unfair.

He just needed space, is what you told yourself— hoping that it would turn out differently.

When the two of you got together it was with the help of Jack, he kept giving hints about how you’d do well together and how you two were looking for the same thing. How both of you had been alone for quite some time.

You brushed him off, because you weren’t looking for anything or anyone. You were okay with being by yourself and you had been okay with that for a really long time.

When you finally caved and said yes to the “blind date”, Jack joked that it would be it — you’d never be single again. Robby would be the one for you, the one that would make you change your mind.

You would roll your eyes and mock him, but he was right.

“Fuck.” You whined, your ass bouncing on his cock.

He smacked your ass, biting his lip.

“There you go, sweetheart.” He coached.

It had been so long since you had been touched, Robby was only the second person that you had ever slept with. It felt so fucking good, but you’d told yourself beforehand that it wouldn’t go that far. You didn’t plan to fuck him after the third date, you just couldn’t help yourself— he was so charming.

“I’m gonna cum—“

“Fuck, Robby.” You rasped, your pussy clenching around his cock.

“That’s it baby.” He groaned, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you again.

You kept riding him, riding out your orgasm while his cock twitched inside you.

“I’m so fucking close.” He panted.

You loved this, every fucking moment of it. “You can cum inside me, I’m on the pill.”

He looked at you, “you sure?”

You nodded.

It didn’t take long before Robby’s deep, guttural groans filled the air— his cum coating your walls.

The two of you stayed in each other’s arms, falling asleep together and waking up together the next morning.

You knew then that Jack was right, Robby was it.

A year later the two of you were married, married at the cathedral that you’d picked out.

It was perfect in every way imaginable and you had smiled more than you ever had in your life. The way that Robby looked at you, held your hand through every moment, whispered cute things into your ear— he was your soulmate.

Your wedding wasn’t big, but it had everyone who mattered there. It was exactly what the two of you had envisioned and talked about on numerous occasions.

Shortly after the wedding, the two of you started house hunting. You both sold your houses and wanted a space that was picked by both of you, something where you could potentially start a family.

Having children was something that you never considered, something that you had written off years ago. I mean, the Pitt was your life— it was all that you had time for. However, experiencing love and being loved made you feel differently about it.

Before you got married, the two of you were also on opposite shifts—just barely able to spend time together. With a little persuasion, you joined the day shift, which made things ten times easier for both of you.

Years later…

You took the empty chair at the nurses station, wanting to rest your feet. The emergency room was buzzing with patients, talking, and machines beeping— you could barely hear yourself think.

“Don’t go to sleep on us.” Dana spoke, nudging you as you blinked slowly.

You wanted to cry internally and externally, “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

The entire day had been more non-stop than usual and you were exhausted, truthfully beyond exhausted.

You glanced at your watch and stood up from the chair, dragging yourself to the next task— going to the bathroom for peace and quiet. On the way to the bathroom, you caught Robby once again grilling Samira for being too slow.

You watched as she walked away, looking like a bit more of her confidence had been shaved off.

Robby walked out of the room, putting hand sanitizer on his hands.

Things between the two of you were already tense, but you were going to say something— you had to. Not just because he was your husband, but his behavior and attitude was getting ridiculous. The low point in your marriage was an all new low, lower than it had ever been. You believed that it was something every marriage went through, something your marriage would overcome— but as the nights passed your confidence dwindled. Your patience for his treatment of you and everyone else thinned.

His behavior at home had been carried with him at work, the one thing he always warned everyone about. It was downright embarrassing to you and him.

He was losing himself right before your eyes— snappy with everyone, sleeping less, and talking less. You were losing your husband and you couldn’t stop it. You wanted to guide him through it and be there for him, but he only pushed you farther away. It had gotten to the point where you drove your own car to work and that you could barely work with him, without arguing.

He was affecting you and your career, he was ruining you.

You walked beside him, “can we have a word?”

He scoffed, the lines near his eyes deepening.

“Here we go—“

“Again.” He muttered.

You walked in front of him, halting his steps and trying not to let his words make you angry.

“Robby, you cannot keep treating Samira that way.” You gently reminded him.

“Dr. Mohan.” He corrected you.

Your brows furrowed, a confused look on your face.

“What?”

He pressed his hands together in front of him, his lips pursed and brows slightly raised.

“She is Dr.Mohan. We are professionals and she is not your friend, she is Dr. Mohan.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“We are professionals, you’re right— but that isn’t a lesson that I need.”

He pulled his shoulders back in offense, pointing his finger at himself.

“Are you trying to say that I need a fucking lesson in professionalism? That’s rich.”

“Robby.. what I’m saying is that—“

“Your treatment of her, constantly nagging and knocking her down a peg.. is unprofessional and comes off sexist.” You stammered.

He stared at you in disbelief.

“You, my lovely wife— are unbelievable.”

“I only say this out of concern, Michael. I love you, but—“

“Just because we are married does not mean that you can talk to me this way, I am still your superior. You need to remember your place and get back to work, we do not have time for bullshit.” He gritted.

You were admittedly startled by his tone, it sent shivers down your spine. The way that he so casually brushed you and your concern off, the way that he pulled the authority card.

It was as if the rose colored glasses that you had on and the excuses for him instantly vanished, that was it— the final straw. It wasn’t something big or catastrophic like you had imagined, it was that.

Your eyes watered as you stared at your husband, the eyes of your coworkers on both of you.

Robby stared at you and you didn’t even recognize him, his eyes no longer held the sanctuary that you used to get lost in.

You leaned close to him, making sure that he could hear you perfectly.

“I can’t do this anymore, Michael.. I thought that I could and that I could tolerate your cruelty, but I can’t.”

His brows raised, “my cruelty?”

“You need to get your shit out of the house and be gone by the time that I am at home.” You added.

Your words were sharp and short, no more apologies and excuses— just straight to the point.

He feigned a smile and nodded, walking away without saying anything.

You turned around to see everyone staring after, considering it was obvious the two of you were arguing.

“What the fuck is everyone looking at?” You yelled, tears finally falling from your eyes.

Dana stared at you a moment longer, before averting her gaze.

“She’s right people, this isn’t a zoo— get back to work!”

Although you appreciated her effort to keep eyes off of you and your failing marriage, everyone knew— it was obvious. Everyone noticed how things between the two of you seemed strained, how easily Robby snapped, or how it seemed like your light dimmed.

You loved him, but this was ridiculous and it just couldn’t continue— not this way.

After your shift, you went home and he was gone— along with his things. He didn’t even hesitate.

You stayed later for charting, hoping for anything from him— but there was nothing. You didn’t know what hurt worse, him not trying or him treating you that way.

When you got home, you realized that you still had a vial in your pocket and needed to return it. You drove back to the hospital, hoping to be in and out.

“Back so soon?” Dana questioned as she prepared to walk out of the door herself.

You held the vial in your hand, showing her. “I needed to return this.”

Dana stopped you in your tracks as you went to walk past her, her hand on your shoulder and her eyes giving you a look that you knew all too well.

“What was that with Robby earlier?”

You fidgeted with the vial, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall from your eyes again.

“He’s.. uh, just having a day— I guess.”

She leaned in closer to you, her brow slightly raised.

“He shouldn’t be like that with you, that isn’t okay and you don’t deserve it.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your lip.

“Tell me about it.”

Dana rubbed your shoulder and gave it a pat before she continued on her way while you continued on yours.

It was embarrassing, embarrassing that your marriage couldn’t even struggle in private— that everyone knew.

The emergency room had quieted some from earlier, but not by much. Dr. Abbott and Mateo were approaching the desk when you walked by, your mind completely focused on the task at hand and nothing else.

You were in the middle of returning the vial when Jack came to the side of you.

“What are you doing back here?” He asked.

You took a deep breath, your eyes red from crying and hands unable to stop shaking.

“I just brought back that vial, I realized I still had it in my pocket.”

He stared at you, his eyes raking over you and your appearance.

“Talk to me.”

Your brow raised, “about?”

He leaned against the wall, glancing around and making sure that the two of you were alone.

“I’ve heard about it, I mean everyone has— tell me what happened.”

You wiped your mouth, a sigh of defeat escaping your lips— your eyes sore from crying.

Jack grabbed your hand and guided you into a nearby empty room, shutting the door behind him.

“He’s just.. he’s slipping. I don’t know what’s going on, but nothing I say is right or okay. He’s an asshole most of the time, like I don’t even recognize him.. my own fucking husband.” You stammered.

Jack watched you, he watched how you also looked like you were falling apart and how you seemed completely alone.

“Why did he argue with you in front of people? What brought that about?”

You wiped your tears, shaking your head.

“He was scolding Dr. Mohan again. It’s like he’s always on her ass about one thing or another and she’s trying, she’s fucking trying.” You choked.

Jack tilted his head slightly and walked closer to you, pulling you into a hug.

“Hey, hey— it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay and so will you.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

You pulled away, sniffing.

“Don’t, this isn’t your mess to clean up and I don’t want him getting upset over this too.”

“I don’t like him treating you this way. I won’t tolerate it.”

“It’ll be fine, just trust me.” You pleaded.

He rubbed your arm, “are you positive?”

You nodded, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to blow your nose.

“Have you—“

“Have you told him about the medical emergency that you had?”

You turned to Jack, your mind clouded by the hum of the light overhead and everything else.

“Oh, the miscarriage?”

He folded his arms, leaning against the counter— his brow raised.

“No.. no. I just didn’t think he’d handle it well—“

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone, that is not okay.” Jack interrupted.

You shrugged, your lips pursed.

“I didn’t go through it alone, I had you and McKay.”

“You needed your husband, not just us. He should’ve been there, he would’ve wanted to be there.”

“What was I supposed to do, Jack? Hmm?—“

“Tell my already suicidal husband that during his own meanness and selfish worries, I had a miscarriage. The baby that we once talked about, I lost?”

He nodded, “yes.”

You laughed in disagreement, “that totally would’ve gone well.”

“Maybe, it would’ve changed things for him— made him actually seek out help.”

“It would’ve just changed how soon he’d put a gun in his mouth.” You digressed.

“He will get through this, he will.” Jack spoke, his voice coming out softer for reassurance.

“I told him to pack his things after earlier.. I told him to be gone before I got home.”

“Well, was he gone?” Jack questioned.

“Yeah, most of his things were gone.” You sighed.

“Is that what you wanted?”

You threw your hands up in defeat, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want anymore, Jack. I am just tired of the back and forth, of this, of..”

You stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, but both of you knew what it meant.

Mateo opened the door, interrupting the conversation.

“I need you right now.”

Jack looked at him and back at you, “I’ll be right back.”

Once he left, you took a few minutes to calm down before driving back home— but you left before he came back to the room. You were tired and wanted to go home. You needed to go home.

When you got home, you took a shower and practically collapsed. You didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to think about Robby. You barely had the capacity to think about yourself.

The next morning you had overslept and were running behind. You glanced at your phone as you rushed to get ready.

Two missed calls from Robby and three texts from him.

Is everything okay?

Where are you? They said that you didn’t call out.

If I don’t hear from you in the next twenty minutes, I’m leaving work and coming to the house.

You were more flustered about being late than anything else, so texting Robby back was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

You rushed in, your eyes still red and puffy— your voice hoarse.

“There she is! We were worried.” Dana smiled.

You set down your tumbler on the desk. “I overslept, I didn’t mean to.”

Langdon looked up from his chart, staring at you and how you looked. He wanted to ask if you were okay, but you were already walking away before he could.

You were walking to the bathroom, hoping to pee quickly before diving in. Robby appeared out of what seemed like thin air, leaning against the bathroom door in front of you.

“You were late.. an hour late, what happened?”

You scratched your brow, “I overslept.”

He bit his lip, “is that all? Or is there something that you’re not telling me?”

You rolled your eyes, signaling for him to move from in front of the door.

“For Christ sake, Michael l— I just overslept because I was exhausted. I was sad and exhausted, nothing more.”

Robby nodded and moved out of your way, walking back the other direction.

Dealing with him and the stress of what he was dealing with was making you snappy, making you act ugly towards other people. You weren’t being yourself.

When you came out of the bathroom, you bumped into Mckay.

“Are you okay?”

You scoffed, “what do you think?”

“That’s fair. If you’re interested, I need your assistance with this patient. She accidentally almost cut three fingers off.”

You agreed, putting hand sanitizer on your hand as the two of you approached the room.

After observing the wounds yourself and talking with the patient, you pulled your gloves off— standing up from the stool.

“Can you have Yoyo come check this out? I’m certain that it’s going to need more than just stitches.” You spoke to Cassie.

She nodded, picking the phone up from the hook on the wall near her.

You exited the room, putting on more hand sanitizer— your thoughts interrupted by Santos approaching.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure, what’s up?” You replied.

She glanced around, her hands in her pocket— “privately.”

The two of you went into an empty room and you didn’t know what to expect, quite frankly you were a little afraid.

Santos stood there, hesitant to open her mouth and tell you why she needed to talk.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, staring at her and her lost expression.

“I think that Langdon is stealing drugs from the hospital.” She blurted.

Her words threw you for a loop, like a prank was being played.

“Langdon?—“

“Frank?”

She slowly nodded, “yes.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes blinking more in that minute than they had since you’d woken up.

“What makes you say that? That’s a serious accusation, Santos.”

“There have been a few discrepancies with benzos on two cases of his.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You’re absolutely positive?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Okay, I’ll handle it from here—“

“Thank you for reporting it.”

She stood there a minute longer before exiting.

When she left, you started to laugh. It wasn’t due to anything being humorous— but it was the cherry on top. Robby’s star pupil was potentially stealing drugs from the hospital and you were going to tell him, it was the last thing that you needed.

Robby was busy, so you sat down and did the notes on a chart. You were so overwhelmed from the information that you could barely think straight.

Time passed with more people coming into the ER, so you had been too busy to talk to Robby— too busy to do anything.

You shook your head, walking from the last patient you had spoken to when you saw him. He glanced up from his iPad, staring at you.

“I need to talk to you.” You mouthed.

He put down the iPad, pulled off his glasses and walked towards you at the end of the hallway. The two of you hadn’t talked about what happened yesterday and he had hoped that you would, just maybe not at that moment.

“What’s going on?”

You leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

“Santos came to me earlier and made a troubling accusation—“

Robby sarcastically smiled, thinking that it would be nonsense.

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“She accused Langdon of stealing drugs from the hospital.”

His smile dropped, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“She said that on two occasions there have been clear and obvious discrepancies with benzos.”

“And she’s sure?” He questioned, gritting his teeth— his hands on his head.

“About as sure as she can be.”

Robby’s hand smacked the wall as he walked away from you and didn’t say anything else.

“Robby!” You yelled, calling after him to no avail.

Robby disappeared around the corner and you let him, you were just too tired to chase after him and try talking to him. It wasn’t worth the fight.

You made your way back over to the desk, rummaging through one of the drawers to find a report to fill out. Your task was interrupted as they always were, Whittaker asking for a hand.

The thoughts in your mind came and went at such a rampant speed that you couldn’t keep track. If you weren’t thinking or worried about your husband, you were thinking about how you felt inadequate and wanted to give up.

It was tiring.

You made quick work of helping Whittaker and returned to filling out the report. The report was tedious and exhaustingly long, you had finished most of it when you saw Robby again..

“I filled out the report, most of it anyway. I’ll just need your signature and get it sent to HR.” You mentioned, now walking beside Robby.

He rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands, “that won’t be necessary.”

You tilted your head in confusion, “what won’t be necessary?”

“The report, I handled it. Langdon is gone and it’s unnecessary.”

You stopped in your tracks, your feet squeaking slightly against the floor.

“You’re joking, right?”

He glanced at you, “nope.”

You grabbed his hand and forced him into the newly empty room that was closest to you. The smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.

“What Langdon did was a crime, it should be reported.”

He folded his arms in front of him.

“Santos reported it to you, you told me, and I handled it. There’s nothing more to it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“He stole drugs and you’re trying to salvage his fucking career? Trying to help him out?”

Robby took a deep breath, holding his eyes shut for a moment.

“I am the senior attending, I don’t have to explain shit to you! I said it was handled and I meant that.”

You bit the inside of your lip, stepping closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you.

“You once again cut slack for Langdon, but you’d never do the same for me, or McKay, or Mohan— why is that?”

“We move just a little slower or become a step behind, take a small break, or make the wrong decision and you’re immediately riding our ass. Your precious pupil is a drug addict and you still spare him!”

Tears welled in your eyes, your lip beginning to quiver.

“I am doing my job and I don’t appreciate you taking me away from it, because you want to be emotional— because you can’t leave your self esteem issues at the door.” He hissed.

Your mouth was agape and it felt like your heart stilled in your chest for a moment.

“Wow.. just when I thought that you couldn’t get any lower.” You mumbled.

You stormed out of the room, Robby called your name and sounded remorseful— but you didn’t even bother.

The shift was the shift that kept on giving, no break in sight for you or anyone that day— especially after the pittfest nightmare.

You were so tired after that shift that you could barely keep your eyes open, you even fell asleep in the shower.

It was one of the hardest shifts that you had worked in a while, but nothing was harder than dealing with your husband— accepting how he was now.

After everything, you realized that you needed a break— you took off a week and simultaneously put in a transfer to another hospital. You couldn’t work with Robby anymore or just at that hospital in general.

You needed space and a lot of it.

Are you not coming in today?

Nevermind, I heard that you took time off. Take care of yourself.

Did you really put in a transfer request? You’re leaving the hospital, because of me?

I am sorry, baby.

Please, talk to me. I want to talk.

You ignored every text that Robby sent and reading them was like a knife twisting in your stomach. Things could have been so different.

All he had to do was accept your help, but even that was an unreasonable ask.

During your time off, you spent a lot of time lounging around your house—sorting things and watching a bit of some tv show.

It was odd being completely alone at home, Robby’s things being gone— his scent still lingering. You had been with Robby for years, made your life around him and now you were preparing for a life without him. A life without the man that you spent years loving and accepting.

You sat on the couch in your pajamas, scrolling through the options on Netflix— hoping to find something that would distract you.

Your phone dinged with a text from Jack.

Are you doing okay?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, because that was the million dollar question— were you okay?

You: I’m okay, as okay as I can possibly be lol. Thanks for checking in on me though!

He started typing, then stopped, and then started again.

I came in to fill in for you and Robby came to me shortly after our shift started.

You: Why? Was he okay?

He brought up what happened between the two of you, mentioned that he’d really fucked up.

You: I’m not sure what to say.

I didn’t know what to say either, I just hope this means that he’ll get the help he needs.

You: I hope so too, but we’ll see.

He misses you, I think more than he’s letting on.

You read Jack’s last text and didn’t respond, you weren’t sure what to say— not really.

It'd been two months since you left the Pitt, two months since you’d separated from Robby.

You had gotten used to the silence that lingered in your life now, used to not waking up beside Robby, used to the new hospital that you worked at.

At this hospital things were different, the unit wasn’t much of a “family” like you were at the Pitt. Each of you did your job and went home, that was it. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind it— not at much as you thought you would.

You sat in the lounge, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when a text came through from Robby.

I just want to warn you, I will be stopping by the house to grab something from the garage. I won’t be there long.

You: That’s fine, I’m not sure I’ll be there though. Do you still have your key?

Yes.

Things between you and Robby were stuck in limbo, they weren’t inherently improving nor were they getting worse.

It had been two months and you had cancelled three divorce consultations, unable to go through with it. The two of you barely talked and had been living separately, you couldn’t understand why you were hesitant.

He’d text you every now and then, checking in on you and letting you know that he missed you. Each text made your skin warm and made your stomach flutter, you still were in love with him— even when you shouldn’t have been.

You missed him— you missed seeing his face, feeling his arms around you, missed hearing his voice, and his snores in the bed beside you.

A text came through, this one from McKay.

Are you still coming over tonight? There’s so much that I have to tell you.

You: Can we do it tomorrow night, instead? I don’t feel well and there’s something that I need to handle.

Sure! No problem.

Thankfully, the work day didn’t drag on and was finished before you could even begin to complain. You wanted to go home, pour yourself a glass of wine, and fall asleep watching some shitty reality show.

When you got home, Robby wasn’t there— you had missed him. You did however find a bouquet of roses on the counter with a note attached.

These are for you, your favorite flower— but still nowhere as beautiful as you. I am sorry for how I treated you, what I ruined between us. I do hope that one day you’re able to forgive me. I love you more than anything. — Michael

You sat the card back onto the table, tears welling in your eyes. You picked up your phone, your finger hovering over the text thread between the two of you.

You: Thank you for the flowers.

You’re welcome, do you like them?

You: Yes.

You: Would you like to come over?

You held your breath after you sent that text, the feeling of regret already creeping into your stomach.

Everything okay? or do you want me over there for something else?

You: I just want to talk.

I’ll be there in thirty.

You liked his message and there was a lump in your throat, you were supposed to be keeping your distance from him— not inviting him over.

You turned off the lights, leaving only the lamp near the front door on— lighting the vanilla candle that also sat on the table.

While trying to process what you did, you took a hot shower— hoping that maybe you’d change your mind afterwards. The water rinsed over your skin, the steam filling the bathroom as you stood there deep in thought.

Could your marriage truly recover? Was this a mistake?

Once you were out of the shower, you threw on one of your baggy t-shirts and made your way back downstairs. You were going to tell Robby nevermind, but as soon your foot touched the last step— the doorbell rang.

Your heart raced as you walked to the door, your fingers sweating when you unlocked it and opened it.

Robby stood there, his eyes raking over your appearance— wet hair, his baggy college t-shirt, and no pants on.

“You wanted me to come over?” He asked, walking past you and down the hall.

You locked the door, your words hung in your throat as you followed him into the kitchen.

“Did you mean it—“

“Do you mean what you wrote on the notecard?” You mumbled.

He leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Every word of it.”

You held back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes.

“Why now? It’s been two months.”

“Two months of agony, two months of feeling like I cannot breathe, two months of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.”

You bit your lip and just stood there, somehow he felt like your husband again— like the man that you’d fallen in love with years ago.

“You need help, Michael.. professional help that I cannot give.”

He nodded, a pained look on his face.

“I know.”

Somehow in the midst of talking, the two of you ended up closer than you should’ve been— his body against yours.

Robby titled his head, his eyes staring into yours while one his hands rested against your hip.

“I’m sorry for leaving you.” You muttered.

“You had to, baby. I don’t blame you one bit.” He replied softly.

His hand came up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it. You felt like you could melt into him, melt like you always did.

“I missed you.” He confessed.

“I missed you too.”

There was a silence, a heat between the two of your bodies.

He gently pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your face. He kissed you like he was scared he’d be punished for it, waiting for you to push him away— only you didn’t.

You kissed him back and you welcomed it.

The kiss deepened, your tongue sliding into his mouth.

“I missed you so much, baby.” He breathed in between kissing.

You pulled your lips from his, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the bedroom. As soon as you were in the room, his lips were back on yours.

He pulled off your t-shirt, leaving you completely naked.

“You look.. so beautiful.”

You pulled Robby’s shirt off, your fingers raking over his hairy stomach as he placed open mouthed kisses against your skin.

“I want you.” You whined.

He pulled off his pants, a wet spot on his boxers from precum.

You pulled down his boxers, wrapping your hand around his thick cock— slowly pumping it.

“Hmm, that feels good honey.”

He kissed you fiercely, full of hunger and need— guiding you back onto the bed.

You laid on your back, your legs spread open— watching as he came between your legs.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chuckled, his necklace dangling in your face.

He guided his cock to your entrance, his tub rubbing against your sensitive clit.

“You ready for me?”

You nodded, bringing your mouth to his.

He pushed inside you, a gasp leaving your mouth and a groan leaving his.

His cock filled you, every inch of him stretching you as you got used to him again.

“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

It felt good to feel him inside you again, to be close with him, and to feel love for him.

He was so deep inside you, it felt like he was in your stomach— taking your breath with every thrust.

Robby pushed your leg up slightly, his cock going even deeper.

“Fuck.” You whimpered.

Hearing you moan and watching you take every inch of him just about pushed him over the edge prematurely.

“That feels so good, Robby."

“Good, baby. I want to make you feel so good.” He breathed.

The intense feeling in your stomach began to build, your pussy already clenching around his cock.

“I’m so close, I’m so close.” You moaned.

He kissed you with a chuckle, his thrusts faster and messier.

“Me too—“

“Be a good girl and cum for me, honey.”

You loved hearing him talk to you like that, hearing him coach you through your orgasm.

Your orgasm washed over you like a violent tidal wave, his name spilling from your lips over and over again.

“Yeah, just like that, baby.”

Robby’s orgasm followed yours within seconds, his cock slamming into you one last time— his warm cum coating your walls.

Both of you laid there for a moment, reeling from the high that you rode— also now more confused than ever.

Robby pulled out of you, handing you his shirt.

“Do you want me to go?”

You pulled the shirt over your head, getting off the bed.

“You can stay, but you’ll have to leave in the morning.”

Robby stayed and you slept in his arms like you used to, some of the best sleep that you had gotten in a while. You knew that once the morning came, things would go back to how they were.

That night was a weak moment and it made what you said no less true, Robby needed help and the two of you couldn’t be together until he got it.

Weeks later..

Things between you and Robby had managed to somehow get worse, he hadn’t gotten help like he needed to and he was continuing to spiral.

You’d given up and just completely avoided him, even though it was painful. You really hoped that he would’ve taken your advice, that the time apart would have opened his eyes.

You sat on the couch, eating popcorn and decided to open a bottle of wine— a well needed drink.

This was your favorite wine, you’d often buy two bottles when you went to the store.

You glanced at the tv from the kitchen, watching the red wine pour into the glass.

The whiff of wine made your brows furrow, it smelled off. You brought the glass to your mouth, tasting it to be sure.

It tasted wrong and off like something had been done to it, you leaned over the sink spitting it out.

It wasn’t old and it hadn’t been opened, but it didn’t taste right and you couldn’t figure out why.

You stood at the sink, leaning against it and absentmindedly rinsing out the wine— your mind elsewhere.

That’s when it hit you, it felt like a shove to the chest. You grabbed your phone from the couch and pulled up your period app.

You were probably panicking, being ridiculous— there was no way that you were pregnant.

The app loaded and you were late, very fucking late.

“No, no, no.” You mumbled, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom.

You’d kept spare pregnancy tests in your bathroom and never got around to throwing them out once the two of you split.

The bathroom lights hummed as you stood there near the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.

It was going to be negative, there’s no way it would be positive.

The timer on your phone went off and you took a deep breath, completely preparing for there to be another explanation.

You slowly turned over both pregnancy tests.

They were positive.

You held your head in defeat, tears falling from your eyes.

“Fuck.”

You had massively fucked up.

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