Sorry That I’m, Like, Your Dream Bride

The commute from the building where your last lecture was held to your off-campus department was 25 minutes on a regular day using your bike. In Bucky’s case, he took 15 minutes due to his way of driving his restored car.

You knew that.

Your roommate knew that.

That knowledge made it easier to predict when the other would arrive at the apartment. It helped to avoid awkward encounters, like the time he had found you making out and half naked, with your classmate on the couch. Or when you saw him butt-naked as he got out of the shower because he had forgotten his towel in his room.

The only flaw in this?

Yelena.

Yelena, your classmate and best friend, had started seeing a girl who lived near you. This meant that she could drive you home on her way to meet with her new fling.

The day that changed everything had been one of those days. Your lecture would be cut short, and Yelena had been texting Kate as soon as the professor had announced that the class would wrap up early. Leaving at that hour meant less traffic, and to your luck, every traffic light had been green.

“Is this our lucky day? Should we buy a lottery ticket?” Yelena exclaimed after the third green light.

Inside your building, your luck continued because Mrs. Park held open the elevator for you the moment you crossed the front door.

You arrived at your door 10 minutes before your class usually ended. You had just opened your mouth to let out your usual “Hey, Buck” to announce your arrival when you heard it.

A moan coming from down the hall.

You widened your eyes; your keys slipped from your grip, landing on the rug with a dull noise. You knelt to pick them up, eyes scanning the living room frantically.

You noticed Bucky’s books were scattered over the dining table. His reading glasses were there, forgotten by his economics book. A single can of soda was near it.

There was no sign of any other person inside the apartment.

Another moan.

You should have turned around and left, given him the privacy he needed, and come back later. But you didn't. You stood up, and with your keys in hand, you padded silently down the hallway to your room.

The door of his room was slightly open as you passed.

More whimpering, followed by a curse.

You should have ignored it, continued your path, and hid in your room. Instead, you froze, turning to the source of the noise.

Spread over his bed, Bucky was lying down over his covers; his sweatpants and boxers were rolled down to his knees, and his shirt was forgotten on the floor. His fist was gliding up and down his cock, neck exposed as he pushed his head back. His eyes were closed, mouth open, letting every whimper out freely.

Heat pooled in your stomach, your breath turned shallow and rapid as you watched him jerk off.

This was wrong.

You shouldn't be standing there, watching him, and much less getting worked up because of it.

He was your roommate. Your friend. Bucky wasn't even your type for fucks sake — he wasn't an athlete, with a chiseled body comparable to a Greek statue; he wasn't the most confident man out there either, smugly flirting with every skirt with legs.

Bucky was a textbook nerd. Always with his nose buried in a book, a cute stuttering mess, he triggered your cute aggression, not the I want to climb you like a tree and bounce on your cock type of aggression.

“Please, please —ngh,” He begged, tearing up.

You didn't know why you did it, but hearing his pleas broke your control. Carefully, you crept into his room until you were standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed.

In bed, his phone went off with an alarm he had set up before he had fallen into his lust. He reached his hand blindly, turning the alarm off, lost in whatever fantasy he had conjured behind his closed eyes.

You’ll be home in 10 minutes.

“Fuck, I need to — ah, please.”

“Do you need help?” You said softly, in the same tone you always used with him. Warm. Open. Sweet.

His eyes snapped open, finding you standing near him. Your name left his lips, neediness laced with each letter.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't — You're here early, you were supposed to…” He stuttered, covering his dick with his hand and reaching behind him to take a cushion.

“I can help you.” Your tote bag, filled with books, landed on the rug next to your feet with a thud, and your keys followed. He froze. “You said you needed something.”

His throat bobbed.

“Bunny…”

He said your nickname, the one he had started using after he had met you at Yelena’s birthday party in your first semester. You had been wearing a last-minute costume — white bunny ears with a simple white short dress — because your original one had gotten ruined early that day. Bucky had been hiding out on the second floor, nursing a can of beer and hoping that his friends wouldn't find him after dragging him to the party already. Since he couldn't register your name over the loud music, he had called you Bunny the entire party. From there, it had stuck.

“Tell me, Bucky. What do you need?”

“I—” He shook his head.

You tutted. “House rules, remember? Hmm? Always be honest with each other. Tell me.”

“I need… I need to cum. So bad…”

“Thank you for telling me.” You placed a knee on the mattress between his legs, and slowly, you climbed the bed. “Now, let me help you.”

“Bunny.” He whimpered when you removed his hand from his crotch.

“Let me. That's what friends do, right? Help each other out. Always.” You said, tracing your fingers along his leg, getting higher and higher. “Can I?”

“Bunny…”

“Bucky.”

“Please.”

You smiled, and then moved your hand over his length; his cock twitched in respond of your touch, beads of pre cum leaked out of his reddish tip.

“Tell me if you want me to do anything different, okay?”

He nodded, but he was still tense.

“Hey, you can close your eyes and imagine I’m someone else; I don't mind. This is just to help you finish.”

Bucky took a deep breath and threw his head back, closing his eyes. You leaned in, taking his cock in your hands; you began peppering kisses on its tip. Bucky moaned in response.

You dragged your tongue along the vein on its underside, and then you guided it into your mouth.

Bucky cursed, digging his hands into the mattress.

You bobbed your head up and down, slowly taking him inch by inch until you could take most of him into your mouth comfortably.

Bucky was big, with a girth that made your pussy clench in wonder at how it would feel inside you, stretching you until you were a babbling mess.

“Shit, I’m close.”

You hummed with him still in your mouth, agreeing with him since you could feel him throbbing. His hips jerked up in search of the warmth of your mouth; you increased your movements, your hands giving attention to his balls and stroking the rest of his cock.

“Bunny, bunny, I’m…” He groaned, and for the first time, he reached his hand to tap your shoulder.

You removed your mouth with a pop, and kept stroking him as you said: “It’s okay, you can finish in my mouth.”

Before Bucky could reply, you took him into your mouth again and down your throat until your nose touched his pubic bone. Tears gathered in your eyes at the intrusion, but you didn't care; you kept bobbing your head until he spilled inside your mouth with your name on his lips.

You kept sucking him until you swallowed the last drop of his seed, and he was too overwhelmed after who knows how much time he had been working himself up. You took him out of your mouth, feeling him softening in your palm as his breath steadied.

Once you were on your feet, you knelt down to take your stuff up and took his shirt with your hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw you wiping the fabric of his shirt on your mouth, cleaning every remaining fluid from your face. Then you turned around and walked to the door.

“Bunny, wait!” He rushed to put his boxers and sweats back on.

You looked at him over your shoulder, “Yes?”

“You can't go.” You raised a brow.

“You needed to cum, and you did. I helped you out, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did. But, don't you want to… talk about it?”

Even if his skin was all flushed, his pupils still blown, and his clothes were poorly on him, he looked at you with pure worry.

You smiled fondly at him. “We are friends, Bucky. Nothing has to change.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, now… can I go?”

He exhaled in relief. “Yes, you can. Thank you, Bunny.”

“Any time.” You grabbed the door to close it. “It’s your turn to cook dinner, by the way.”

“Right! Uh, pasta? My mom’s recipe?”

“God, yes, please. I’ll take a shower in the meantime; see you in a bit.” You closed the door behind you after hearing his goodbye and then rushed to your room.

Luckily for you, your room had its own bathroom, away from the door that led to the hallway, which meant that while Bucky cooked dinner, he didn't hear you masturbating in your shower under the sound of the running water.

Even if you tried to push the memory into a box and forget it in the back of your mind, you couldn't avoid replaying the scene in his room, nor the way he had moaned your name as he came. And you definitely ignored the way you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning his name as you fucked yourself with your fingers.

Once you were satisfied and clean, you left your room wearing your pajamas. During dinner, things were a little bit awkward, but it slowly got better as you fell into your familiar dynamic. He yapped about his next exam, and you ranted about your lecture that day. The conversation moved to the kitchen, as both cleaned before going back into your rooms.

You and Bucky just clicked together; you had done so since you met. Living together, even if it had been by pure luck — a month into your friendship, you had ranted that your landlord had raised your rent, and he had confessed he was looking for a place off campus; it had been a no-brainer to accept becoming roommates — had amped that. As the months and years progressed, you had gotten to a point where you understood each other and knew exactly what the other needed without the need for words.

He knew when you were stressed and needed silence, reassurance, or when you needed space. But he also knew when you were feeling homesick and needed a hug or a cuddle.

Two days after you gave him a blowjob, you learned that he also knew when you were needy and how to make you cum in record time.

You had been lying on the couch, reading a book on your e-reader after you had been stressing out over an exam. Bucky looked at you from his spot on the other end of the couch, where he had been playing a game on his phone.

“Everything okay there?” He asked, looking at you up and down.

You swallowed, shifting your legs again. “Yeah, why did you ask?”

“Bunny, house rules.” He rolled his eyes and put his phone on the coffee table.

“I'm not lying.” You scoffed.

“You are. You had been sitting there for the past five minutes, rubbing your legs together, and sighing like you're out of a romantic soap opera.” Bucky grinned. “Oh, my lovely Bunny, what are you reading? Is it one of those smutty books of yours?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” You attempted to kick him with your leg, but he grabbed you by your ankle, stopping you from hitting him.

“You are.” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “Are you horny, Bunny?”

You shut up, locking eyes with him as he angled his body towards you.

“Do you need help with that?” He lowered his voice.

“With what?” You croaked, mouth dry.

“To get off. I can return the favor right now.” His fingers, that had been wrapped around your ankle, moved up, stroking your leg. “Besides, you know what happens when you orgasm. How the neurotransmitters that are released when you climax help you reduce your stress, sleep better, and help you relax — we share a wall, Bunny. I can hear you on the other side, still up in the middle of the night.” He called you out.

He continued moving his hand up your thigh until his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.

You didn't stop him.

“So, can I? You can imagine it's one of the characters of that book… You can keep reading it while I taste you.”

“You’re joking. Making fun of what I said and did that day.” You huffed and shifted your eyes away from him.

He shook his head. “It's just me. We're just friends, right? Helping each other out. I love helping you, you know that.”

You met his eyes again and then nodded, “Okay, make me cum.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He joked and then positioned himself between your legs. “Go back to your book; you can even read it out loud. Guide me if you want to try something out.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled, and then returned your eyes to the screen.

Bucky grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down your thighs until they were dangling off your ankle. He leaned in and started kissing your now exposed skin until he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath and his nose bumping over your panties.

You kept reading, pressing your lips together to avoid making a sound. He kissed over your panties, and then he removed them. The first drag of his tongue made you open your mouth in a silent cry.

Bucky held you open; his hands were under your hip, in full control of the angle. You had been wet as you read your book, wondering if the main character in your book would be a whimpering mess like Bucky was as the female character rides him; now you were dripping, clenching around nothing, begging in your mind to be fucked on your couch.

No.

No.

It's the hormones talking. I'm just horny.

Having his dick inside you would be too much. If the line in your friendship had blurred, penetration would mean total erasure. But to be honest, it wasn't as if his dick wouldn't be doing something much different than what his tongue was doing right now.

Oh God, where had he learned to do that?

“Fuck, Bucky.” You groaned. Loudly. Throwing your head back.

Bucky removed his head from between your thighs to stare at you when he heard your e-reader hit the ground.

“Is something wrong? Want me to stop or change something?”

You looked at him as if he had grown another head out of his neck, and with your hands, you pushed back between your legs.

“Shut up. Keep doing that. Don't stop.” You panted, treading your fingers in his hair as your hips jerked against his mouth. He lapped his tongue over your sensitive clit, alternating with sucking it and shaking his head to add more depth to his attacks. “Oh fuck, mmm, yes, yes, Bucky, that's so good.”

He shifted, sinking his knees on the couch. Then he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders; after that, he pulled your hips up, half-strengthening his back. He pressed your thighs together against his face, suffocating himself.

The new angle made you gasp; you braced yourself on the arm of the couch. You were now openly mewling. Your loud moans were barely overpowered by the obscene sound of his mouth on you.

You came not too long after that, panting and with your legs trembling over his shoulders. Before he let you down, he grazed his teeth with a playful bite and then kissed the spot.

Your breath was still ragged when you accepted his bottle of water that he had offered. You took a sip of water and then looked back at him.

“Why the fuck did Dot break up with you if you could do that?” You asked, stunned.

He had the decency of looking shy, scratching the back of his neck.

“She broke up with me because I wasn't very social, you know me; she wanted me out with her every single week to a party, and that drains me too much. I can only handle too much socialization.” He explained with a shrug.

“What an idiot, believe me, I’d have compromised my social life if my amazing boyfriend could make me cum as hard as you just made me do. And with only your tongue!” You exclaimed as you put back your underwear and shorts. You would have to run back to your room to take a shower and change in a minute because the stickiness between your legs would drive you crazy.

He took a thrown pillow and hit the side of your leg. “Shut up, Bunny!”

You snorted. “I’m serious. I already knew she had lost a great guy; this just adds more stupidity on her side.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” He blushed.

“Just take the compliment, Buck. It's house rules.” You returned the hit with the thrown pillow and ran to your room, squealing and dodging another hit from him.

The agreement was made that same week, officially getting added to the house rules. You would help him take the edge off, and he would help you, too. Easy. Efficient. Complete trust and free use in the apartment unless stated otherwise.

There was one catch, though: no penetration, no kissing. You were friends at the end of the day, and you didn't want to mess that up.

So you let him do everything else, except put his cock inside you.

He would fuck your tits after hitting a wall while doing an essay, eyes closed as he fought the urge to come on the spot at the sight of your glistening skin and your eyes looking up at him as you pushed your tits together. He had made the mistake of looking down the other day, and after batting your eyelashes to him in an oh-so-innocent way, you had put your tongue out just as he pushed in and took an experimental kitten lick over his tip. He had come in that moment, painting your face and tits with his seed. Laughing, you had continued stroking him until he was overstimulated.

One particular time that you had been stressing because your teammates were useless, you were ranting about it with him sitting next to you after you had finished eating dinner while watching a series.

“Do you wanna forget about it?” Bucky asked after you had finished ranting, and he had already tried to cheer you up, given you his advice, and even offered to help you with your project.

“Please.” You sighed.

“How do you need me?” He asked.

“Just stay still.” You said, climbing into his lap.

“I can do that.”

“And stay quiet.” You added, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh, I thought you liked it when I talk dirty. I felt you clench on my fingers when I talked like that and when I praised you.”

You slapped his chest. “Since when are you this smug? What did you do to my best friend?”

“Since you complimented my oral skills.” His grin widened.

You rolled your eyes.

“What? You had been trying since we met to boost my confidence; it's finally working.”He said, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “Take the win, Bunny.”

“Fine, you can talk. Can I hump you now?”

“I’m all yours.”

You chuckled and braced your hands at each side of his head, grabbing the back of the couch.

You rolled your hips, feeling him getting hard under you.

“Fuck, Bunny, why do I feel this is helping me more than it's doing for you?”

“Believe me, it is helping.” You whimpered with eyes closed, leaning towards him. “So much.” Your voice cracked.

“You’re doing so well.” He praised.

“Thanks for the help, Bucky.” You huffed a laugh.

“I can help you even more, if you want.”

You straightened your back and stared down at him. “How?”

Bucky guided his hands and grabbed the hem of his your oversized shirt, taking it off and leaving you half naked, since your bra had been removed earlier that day.

“I can put my oral skills to use.” He cupped your breast and guided your nipple to his mouth, just brushing his lips against it. “I’ve been wanting to give them the attention they deserve since I noticed how… sensitive they are.”

With the tip of his tongue, he circled your nipple, keeping eye contact with you. You stared down at him, biting your lip to hide your smile, shaking your head slightly at his smug behavior.

You liked it.

Confidence suited him well.

He blew air over your wet skin. “Keep going, Bunny.”

You whined when he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking at it while playing with his tongue over it. You leaned into him and continued dry-humping him.

“Turn around.” He ordered after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

“You still have that frown on your face; you're still thinking about it. Let me help you.”

You sighed and then turned onto his lap, his hard cock snuggled under your ass.

“What now?”

He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you to him. “Lean back, Bunny.” You did so, until your back hit his chest, and your head could rest over his shoulder. “Now relax.” He kissed your naked shoulder.

He returned his attention to your breast, alternating to not leave any too long neglected. With his other hand, he traced lazy figures on your navel and, slowly, oh so painfully slowly, he guided his hand under your clothes.

Your hips jolted at the feeling of his fingers grazing your clit.

“Open your legs, let me touch you.” He mumbled in the shell of your ear, and you complied, spreading your legs over his, his knees under you, locking you in place. “That’s it, good Bunny.”

You whimpered, responding to each movement of his fingers with a roll of your hips, grinding on his cock. His ragged breath on your neck gave him away as to how worked up he was, so you decided to give him a hand. Literally.

You shifted forward to give enough space for your hand to sneak between your bodies, and began stroking him under his pants.

“Fuck, Bunny, this is about you.”

“I want you to feel good too.” You muttered.

He pushed two fingers inside you, matching each stroke you gave his cock with the pumping of his fingers. In. Out. In. Out. Each time you rubbed his tip, he curled his fingers, pressing them on your sweet spot.

“Oh, that feels good.” Your head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut as you got lost in the sensation.

“Yeah, bunny? That's good, you're doing so well.” He cooed.

Your free hand gripped the couch, as fireworks went off inside you; the lewd sound of his fingers inside you increased when you gushed around his fingers.

“That’s it, Bunny, let go.”

As you squirmed over his lap, your hold on his cock tightened; his hips jolted forward, fucking himself on your fist, and seconds later, he came.

Your breath was still uneven when you let out a soft chuckle, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, puzzled by your sudden laugh.

“Why was I even stressed about?”

He mirrored your chuckle. “I dunno.”

You turned, your nose slightly brushing his face. He did his best not to kiss you right there. To his surprise, you kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“The pleasure is mine, literally.”

You giggled and peeled yourself off him. You reached for the tissue box that you had placed on the coffee table since all this started, and cleaned your hands, as well as your inner thighs. When you were done, you passed the box to Bucky to clean himself.

“Shower and a movie in a few minutes?” You suggested, standing up and stretching, still topless.

“Of course.” He said, keeping his eyes down.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Don't make it weird; you're acting as if you didn't have your mouth attached to my chest like 5 minutes ago.”

“If I look up, I’d want to do it again.”

You thought he was joking, so you slapped his arm playfully. “Of course, Buck, whatever you say.” Your shoulders were still shaking with laughter as you walked to your room, leaving him in the living room to contemplate if all of this had been a mistake.

It became a regular thing then.

You got better at it, reading each other and finding stolen moments to get each other off. Trouble, of course, appeared sooner rather than later — because obviously, none of you had told any of your friends.

Steve was the first to almost catch you, and it had been your fault. That day, on your way home, you had texted Bucky, asking him if he was home after a stressful day. You made the mistake of not reading his text, and when you got to your apartment, you had walked down the hallway straight to his room.

“I’m home,” you said, removing your jacket and throwing it to the floor. You began undoing the buttons of your shirt as you pushed his door open. “You won't believe the day I had. I’m gonna need you to— Steve! Hi!” You widened your eyes and quickly covered your already exposed bra when you found Steve sitting at Bucky’s desk.

Steve blushed and said your name, gesturing a hello. You thanked God that you hadn't entered his room without pants, as you two had begun to wander inside the apartment in your underwear with nothing more than an oversized shirt in your case or sweatpants and a shirt in his.

“Bucky didn't tell me you would be here.” You said under a fake smile.

Bucky got back into the room, finding you standing by the door.

“I guess you didn't get my text,” Bucky mumbled in equal shock to you.

“I did not.” You turned on your heels, giving your back to Steve. “I’ll be in my room.”

Bucky mouthed sorry to you, and you quickly scrambled out of the room. When you took out your phone, his text mocked at you, reading that Steve had come to the apartment by surprise since he needed some tutoring, and that he would be more than happy to help you out as soon as he walked out.

Another time, not as embarrassing as that one, had occurred on campus. You and Yelena were eating some ice cream that the student committee had been giving out when Bucky found you.

“Hi, Bunny.” He greeted you, standing right in front of you.

“Hi! Want some?” You offered your cone as you had done multiple times in the past. He nodded, but instead of taking the cone from your hands, he leaned in, covering your hand with his as he licked a strip of melted ice cream and then sucked some more, all while staring right at you.

“Mmm, my favorite.” The tip of his tongue peeked out of his lips, collecting any residue of the cold dessert, as he kept eye contact.

Fuck me.

You might as well have combusted in the spot; you were horny as fuck since you hadn't had any action since your period started, contrary to him, who had been on the receiving end of your blowjobs.

“I’ll be staying after class at the library. Text me what you want me to get to dinner, okay?”

You hummed, still staring at his mouth. He dared to smile.

“Good.” He finally turned to see Yelena, who had watched the whole exchange like a hawk. “Yelena.” He nodded at her. “Catch you later, Bunny, thank you for sharing.”

And then he was gone.

“The fuck was that?” Yelena exclaimed.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You busied yourself back into finishing your ice cream, ignoring the way her eyes were burning the side of your head.

“Are you guys fucking in your apartment? Is that why we haven't done a sleepover recently?” Yelena accused, making you choke on your ice cream.

“What the fuck, Lena?” You coughed. “We haven't done any sleepovers because you have been sleeping at Kate’s since you started hooking up.”

“Hey, we sometimes stay at mine. And don't change the subject; you didn't answer.”

“We’re not. We’re roommates, and he's my best friend.”

“I’m your best friend too, but you don't look at me like that, do you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “If that wasn't sexual tension, I don't know what it was.”

“Maybe you're projecting."

She slapped your arm. "Shut up. But you might be right; thankfully, my period is over, so..." she grinned, already thinking of her date night with Kate.

"Lucky girl."

"Going back to you and Bucky. Why the hell does he even keep calling you Bunny?" She scoffed. "It sounds so… sexual, you know?"

"I already told you, he has been calling me that since your birthday. He couldn't hear my name over the music, so he called me by my costume."

"I know that, but that was during the first semester, ages ago, before you two lived together. He knows your name by now."

"It's just a cute nickname. I like it." You shrugged, but you couldn't lie; the nickname had begun to sound more intimate the last couple of weeks, especially since each time he said it with a much more sultry voice than he did before, it took you back to not-so-innocent moments.

"Dot and every guy you had dated hated it, which reminds me — Do you want to go out on a double date with Kate and me? She has this friend that I'm sure is your type. Who knows, Bob might give you a hand and break your dry spell."

You scrunched your nose at her suggestion. Something about someone else touching you in a sexual context made you sick. "I'm fine, Lena. I'm good with my own hands and toys, thank you very much."

"Ugh, you're no fun." She groaned. "The offer is there. Bob is a great guy, but Bucky isn't a bad choice either, if you two decide to finally start dating."

You gave her a shoulder check and resumed your walk towards your next lecture.

If only she knew.

You two were just having fun, helping each other out. You reminded yourself frequently.

You made each other get the edge off… in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the living room, in the hallway, in his room, in the laundry room, in the hallway, in his car. While, after, and before studying or going to work.

His gaming sessions weren't an exception.

Usually, even before you started this, while he was playing video games in his room, you would find your way there and read on his bed or play one of your cozy games on your portable console. Sometimes you would grab popcorn and other snacks, sit next to him, and watch him play.

It stopped being innocent one time you were reading another smutty book that got you so worked up that you ended up touching yourself on his bed. Bucky had looked over his shoulder after you let out a whimper before covering your mouth. He muted himself and asked you to approach. Once you were next to him, he patted his thigh and asked you to sit facing his setup.

“Grind, Bunny. Make yourself feel good.” He muttered before he lowered his mic again and unmuted, going back to his game. You rolled your hips over his thigh, leaving a wet spot on his skin. You leaned on his desk and buried your head in your arms to muffle your cries.

Since both of his hands were occupied, he gave you his attention by kissing your shoulder from time to time. Whenever he was killed in-game and had to spectate his teammates, he took you by the hips and aided you in your movements — sometimes he would die on purpose early on the match so he could play with your clit with one hand and cover your mouth with the other.

When you were close to your climax, he muted his mic, and with his warm mouth in your ear, he praised you as you came, ignoring the trash talk from Sam and Steve about how shitty he was playing that day. In return for the favor, you had sunk to your knees under his desk and suck him off while the other match started, making him lose again and bark an excuse to his friends to disconnect, and then took you to his bed to make you sit on his face while you kept his cock deep in your throat.

The first night Bucky slept with you in your bed after this agreement started hadn't been planned. You had slept together before; naturally, after so much time knowing each other, you had taken naps on the living room couch, or in his bed if you fell asleep there, but your room had been the exception — until that night.

"Hey, are you still awake?" Bucky asked from the other side of your door.

"Come in." You replied with a yawn.

"Did I wake you up?" He peeked his head out, opening the door slightly.

"You didn't. What's up?"

He was standing by the door, visibly nervous.

"Bucky?"

"Can I lie down with you?" He sounded tired. You knew he hadn't been sleeping well, too stressed about his projects. He always pressured himself; you had called him out many times, but he had been raised this way, and old habits died hard.

"Of course you can."

He climbed into your bed and lay down under the covers behind you since you were on your side. His arms quickly wrapped around you, one tucked under your head and the other around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.

You stayed silent in that position, caressing his arm around you, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck.

“They will still love you if you don't get straight A’s, you know?” His hold around you tightened.

“I'm not so sure about that.” He replied, his voice sounded so… small.

“Well, I do. Because I don't care if you get an A or a C. You're still you, and I love you for that.” You said. “You’re kind, gentle, and yeah, you're a little awkward, and sometimes you forget how to socialize properly—”

You smiled triumphantly when he chuckled.

“Shut up.”

“You are funny, smart, and the best human being that I know of — not because you are perfect, but because you get up every morning and just… try.”

“Bunny…”

“And if your parents don't see that, fuck them, seriously. You don't need to go back there during the break. You can stay here, or go with me to my hometown, or even better, we can both take that trip you always tell me about.”

You couldn't see him, but you felt him melting around you, embracing you close as his breath eased.

“I'm so lucky to have you as a friend.” He mumbles

“Of course you are. I'm amazing.” You chuckled.

“Yes, you are.” He kissed your shoulder over your pajama shirt. "I hope you know all those wonderful things also apply to you. In fact, let's add it to the house rules.”

“What do you suggest?”

“No more stressing over school; we are allowed to fail. How about that?”

You hummed, “I like that. Took us long enough, but it's a good rule now that it's our final year.”

“Let’s try to sleep, Bunny.” He said, closing his eyes.

“I'm trying, but a big nerd came into my room in the middle of the night and won't stop talking.”

“Shut up.” He kicked your leg.

You returned the kick. “You shut up.”

“Shh.”

Stillness lasted almost an hour; you both were already drifting in your sleep when you shifted your hips slightly, brushing against his front. You stayed like that until you fell asleep.

In his sleep, Bucky jerked his hips forward in a sloppy rhythm, which woke you up eventually. Your eyes adjusted to the dark of the room, unable to move since he had you trapped against him.

“Mmm, Bunny.” You heard him whine; his hips were thrusting against your ass, his cock hardening with each movement.

You blinked away sleep and turned over your shoulder; to your surprise, he was asleep, mouth slightly open and chest rising in a steady rhythm.

He moaned your name, and you wouldn't lie, having him basically humping you from behind and moaning in your ear was making your panties wet.

His hand, that had been resting heavily over the curve of your waist, moved down, resting lower, dangerously close to your pussy.

“Bucky, wake up.” You managed to say, biting back a whimper from your part. “Bucky.”

“Mmm?” He hummed, keeping his eyes closed.

“You’re…” You squeezed his arm, but he didn't let you finish. As soon as he regained consciousness, his throbbing cock called his attention; the need to cum ran hot all over his body.

He tensed when he realized what he had been doing.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Bunny.” His voice was thick with sleep. He moved his hips away from you, but yours followed. “Bunny?”

“Wait. Do you need help with that?” You whispered, wiggling your ass against him.

He choked a moan.

“Bunny…”

“I can help.”

“We said no penetration.” He sounded pained.

You bit your lip and then shifted, angling yourself so his cock was nuzzled right below your ass cheeks.

“You don't need to put it in. Just… use my thighs.” You offered.

He was speechless.

“Did you read that in one of those books?” He teased.

“Shut up. Do you want to try it or not?” You wiggled your ass again, making him jolt forward.

“Fuck, wait, don't we need lube or something?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Bottom drawer, behind you.” He looked at you. You rolled your eyes. “I use it with my sex toys, dumbass.”

He would definitely ask about it later, maybe even ask you to give him a demonstration.

Bucky peeled himself from you to reach the drawer. When he opened it, he saw some silky bags of different sizes, a bottle, and a small towel. His curiosity won over, and he took one of the smaller bags, as well as the bottle of lube and the towel.

You turned on your back when you heard the shuffling behind you; he had turned on the lamp on your bedside table.

“I told you to grab the lube.” You scolded him.

“Which one is this?” He held the silky bag high so you could see it.

Your eyes trailed from the bag to his eyes. “My vibrating bullet.”

You saw the devilish grin that appeared on his face. He could picture you perfectly, on your back in your bed late at night after he had fallen asleep next door, holding the vibrator under your panties, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry, brows knitted in the expression he had come to learn like the back of his hand.

His cock twitched.

“Can you use it while I fuck your thighs?” He asked, even if the warm soft light only lit one side of his face, you noticed his heavy-lidded dark eyes; the bright blue was only a slim ring around his blown pupils.

You sighed through your nose, but nodded. The idea sounded really, really good. You lifted your hand and gestured for him to give you the bag.

Bucky let out a happy noise and then proceeded to free his hard cock. He put some lube on his palm and then smeared it along his length. He positioned himself back into position and then slid his cock between your thighs.

You were looking down, watching as his wet tip peeked between your plush skin. You lowered your hand and teased his tip when it peeked out.

“Fuck, Bunny.” He groaned behind you, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he rolled his hips. “Use it, make yourself good, please.”

You complied, taking out the vibrator from the bag after he handed you the lube.

The moment the added stimulation registered in your body, your hips jolted back, meeting his thrust and making both of you moan in unison.

Bucky gripped your hips, keeping you steady as he fucked himself between your legs. With the angle you held your hips, the bottom side of the vibrator brushed his tip when he rutted in.

“Fuck, Bunny, you're taking me so well.”

You whimpered his name, turning your head slightly and kissing his arm that was still tucked under your head.

“Keep going, don't stop.” You encouraged him, tightening your hold around his cock by crossing your legs.

He cursed, digging his fingers into your hips.

“Oh God, I’m not gonna last.”

“It's okay, cum Bucky, cum for me.”

He came with a groan, his hips jerked in sloppy thrusts until every drop dripped between your thighs. With his hand, he turned your face, and keeping eye contact, you came undone, with hot pleasure ripping you apart and pulling you back together for his eyes only.

Mouth hanging open.

Lips trembling.

Brows knitted.

Bucky really wished he could've kissed you in that moment. Muffle your cries with his lips, drink up your moans, and your taste.

But he didn't.

He just stared at you in awe, and if he hadn't just come, he was sure he would've reached ecstasy the moment your eyes locked in his.

He held you in his arms until you came back into your body, and after a few minutes, he got up with the towel in his hand. He emerged from your bathroom after cleaning himself, with your towel now warm in his hand.

Bucky climbed the bed, and mumbling praises, he cleaned the residue of his spent and lube from between your thighs, then he removed your soaked panties, and cleaned the evidence of your arousal.

He discarded the towel, and after roaming in the drawer you pointed out, he took a new pair of panties and, to your surprise, he put them on you, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh when he was done.

Back in your bed, he took his place behind you and cuddled you, holding you in his arms as sleep took over.

Those nights repeated, especially once the semester got to that point where both of you lived and breathed projects and heavy assignments.

Sometimes he would find his way into your room, giving you an orgasm or two before falling asleep. Morning with him also meant waking up with his mouth on you, kissing down your body, or tongue deep in your pussy.

“I like to taste you first thing in the morning. Works better than caffeine.” He had said the first time you had woken up with him under the covers.

You returned the favor, of course, waking him up, stroking him, or with his cock deep in your throat.

The mornings in your room together led to a shower together — only when your shower routine allowed it — and then to the kitchen, where both worked on breakfast. It was easy, the domesticity of all; it made your heart gallop and stop at the same time.

You knew things had changed; god, they probably changed before this whole agreement, somewhere between doing groceries and movie nights with your roommate.

Of course, you weren't the only one who had noticed that change.

“Okay, spit it out, tell me what's going on?” Yelena asked, rolling the grocery cart.

Bucky’s birthday was the following day, and you had been working on his surprise party, which meant an express grocery visit to buy all the last-minute items.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” You muttered, taking several bags of chips and dumping them on top of the napkins.

“Oh, but you know. You had been glowing this past week, and I know you; I know when you're hiding something.”

“Lena, just drop it; nothing is going on.”

She hummed.

You thought she had, in fact, dropped it. She didn't.

“You know,” she said once everything was loaded in her car, and she got ready to drive out of the parking lot. “Jason asked about you.”

“Jason?”

“Tall guy, huge biceps, dreamy eyes. You hooked up with him during first year.” She detailed, keeping her eyes on the road.

Oh.

Jason.

The one Bucky had found you tongue deep in his throat.

That Jason.

“I remember.”

“Well, he is a friend of Kate. I met him at a reunion with her group of friends.”

“Sounds like you're finally going steady.”

“Stop deflecting.” She said, giving you side-eye. “He recognized me, asked about you, and I invited him to Bucky’s party, so you can reconnect.”

You widened your eyes. This was the last thing you needed.

“Yelena Belova.” You scolded.

“Wow, full government name.”

“Why the fuck did you invite him? He doesn't even know Bucky!”

“Kate also doesn't know him, and she's going.”

“That's different! She's your girlfriend.” You slapped her arm. “Uninvite him! I don't care! He's not coming.”

“Jesus, woman, I’m just trying to help you out! Exams had been stressful; maybe you need to fuck the stress out, you know.”

“Well, don't. I'm totally fine, I do not need more help.” The words spilled out of your mouth, blinded by the successful rage bait that your friend just did.

Yelena grinned.

“So you are getting help with that. I knew it. You looked extra chirpy these last months.” You widened your eyes in horror. “So who's the lucky guy?”

She glanced at you for a second, a quick read of your face, and then her jaw dropped.

“Oh, my God! Are you and Bucky finally together? Is this why I haven't been at your apartment? You don't want me to disrupt your love nest!”

You buried your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

She squealed.

“That’s not a no!”

“Lena, we are not together… we are just having fun.”

“You don't sound like you're having fun.” Her brows knitted with concern. “Babes, what’s the problem?”

“We are fuckbuddies. But I’m not sure if he wants more.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No. Well — I suggested some rules at the beginning; he agreed.”

“God, babes, for someone so smart, sometimes you do be an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you stopped to think that maybe he agreed and you put those rules, because both of you thought that was the only way the other would agree to be that close to actually being something real?”

You shook your head.

“Babes, that guy has been head over heels for you since that night you met. And you had been too!” You opened your mouth. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed a breath out of your nose. “I actually was about to agree with you.”

“That's a first. Continue.”

“I’m such an idiot, but how do I even start undoing it?”

Yelena parked her car right outside your building.

“Maybe start undoing all those rules of yours.” She shrugged.

And you took it literally.

Maybe it was a mistake, and you should have stopped to think about it more clearly, but you were desperate.

Yelena left after she helped you take all the groceries upstairs and hide everything out of Bucky’s sight — which, in retrospect, wasn't necessary since Bucky knew you always threw a party for him. The only surprise was the theme.

And this year, the last birthday being a college student, the theme was costumes.

Just like the day you met.

Bucky arrived at the apartment a few hours later, coming back from hanging out with Steve, who, as every birthday week of his, was tasked with keeping him busy and out of the apartment if needed.

“Bunny! I’m home!” Bucky exclaimed, peeling off his jacket.

“In my room!” You shouted without peeking out.

You heard him padding around the apartment, and just as you predicted, he opened your door seconds later.

“Bunny…” Bucky mumbled, flabbergasted.

You were standing just outside of your bathroom, resting with one hand extended towards the wall. You were wearing a white lacy set of lingerie, paired with an open silky translucent robe that framed your body. On top of your head, like a crown of a queen, were the same bunny ears that you had been wearing the night you met.

“Happy early birthday, Buck.” You said with a smirk.

“Angel…” He said, mouth dry.

“Wasn't I your Bunny?” You pouted.

“You look like an angel.” You chuckled, walking barefoot towards him. “I have died, and I’m in heaven.”

“Easy, you're not dead yet.” You stopped in front of him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His hands shot to hold your naked waist to keep you steady; he didn't remove them even when your heels touched the floor. “This ain't your birthday gift, though; this is a sneak peek at your party tomorrow. You have to pick a costume.”

His eyes widened. “You’ll be wearing this tomorrow?”

“The bunny ears. But this will be under the dress.” You winked at him.

And he whimpered.

He actually whimpered.

“That's torture. Do you know how hard it would be to keep my hands away from you, knowing that?”

Maybe you don't need to. You wanted to say.

“Someone will have to restrain me so I don't end up giving a show out there.” He added.

You laughed.

“Yeah, maybe you should keep that for the bedroom.”

“Or at least until we are alone.”

“Smart.”

“Is that why you're showing me now?” He asked, his hands pulling you closer to him, forcing you to look up to meet his eyes. “To taunt me.”

You nodded. “That, and because I wanted to try out something.”

“What?” He scanned your face, stopping for several seconds at your lips.

You took it as a green light.

You stood again on your tiptoes, resting your hands over his shoulder and the nape of his neck.

And then you kissed him.

He gasped in your mouth, but then he melted in the kiss, cupping your head to control the angle, deepening the kiss.

Heat spread all over your body, overheating you to the point you felt like you were on fire. Without leaving his lips, you removed your robe and then pulled him from his collar, guiding him to your bed until he was lying over you.

“Bunny… the rules.” He said, pulling himself away from your lips, a pained look on his face.

“Forget them.” You guided him back to you, and he surrendered.

Your hands traveled around his body, touching whenever they could reach, pulling at his clothes to remove them.

“I want to feel you.” You whimpered.

“Okay.” He nodded, kissing your neck. He removed his shirt; his jeans followed shortly after, landing near his shoes and socks.

“Boxers too.” You mumbled against the crook of his neck.

Kissing and nipping the tender skin and making him groan.

He lay naked over you, your legs parted and hugging his hips, pulling him close until he could feel the growing wetness in your panties. Bucky moaned in your mouth, as you bucked your hips; the friction over his erection made him see stars.

This was new.

You knew it. He knew it.

Even when he fucked your thighs, he was never that close to your pussy. And when you were in a similar position, there were always at least two layers of clothes between you.

His hips rutted against you, and then you guided your hand between your bodies, pulling your panties to the side.

He gave you a puzzled look.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“More than anything. I want to feel you.”

He whimpered, and after a nod, he resumed his grinding. You mewled as his heavy cock glided between your folds, kissing your clit with each dive.

“More, I need more.” You moaned. “Please, Bucky, give it to me.”

Bucky sat on his heels, looking down at your squirming figure, but you followed him up, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss. He got distracted, lost in your lips, to the point that when you pulled apart to lie back down, your panties and bra were gone, your glistening pussy exposed, weeping to have him inside.

The groan that left him was borderline animalistic. Knelt before you, he grabbed his cock with his fist and began rocking his hips, the tip of his cock hitting your clit with more pressure and precision. You spread yourself open for him, with your hands hooked behind your knees and holding your legs up.

“Bucky, please.” You groaned.

“What do you need, Bunny?”

“You, please, inside.”

He whined, “Bunny, no…”

“Why not?” You cried out.

“The rules.” He said simply.

“Fuck the rules.” You groaned. “I want you, all of you. Please, Bucky.” You begged.

He stilled his hips, needing to focus and think with his brain and not his other head. Because he wanted to feel you, too, bury himself in your heat.

“What if you regret it?” He searched your eyes, his concern only confirming what you already knew.

“I won't.” You worked to steady your breath. “Because I’ve been wanting these since I met you. Especially once I realized how much I love you.”

He shifted, too lost in his mind to realize he had done it, making his cock nuzzle between your folds and kiss your clit. You swallowed your moan.

“You love me?” His blue eyes, obscured by his desire, were bright with unshed tears.

You nodded frantically, and a chuckle escaped you, letting go of the strain of your legs but keeping yourself open. “So much it made me scared to lose you and stop myself from saying it out loud.” You confessed.

“Bunny —” He looked at you with a bright smile. “You don't have any idea of how much I love you.”

“I think I might have.” You smiled. “And I’m pretty sure that anyone who has met both of us knows how much we love each other.”

“Do you think that me gifting you flowers, any chance that I had, was too on the nose?” He scrunched his nose, leaning in and placing a hand next to your head.

You laughed, throwing your head back, making the bunny ears — that until that moment were forgotten — shift, and dig into your skull. Bucky noticed the discomfort in your face and reached out to place the bunny ears back in place.

“Yeah, probably. But me throwing myself in your arms right after might have contributed.” You said, lost in the tender way he looked at you.

“So we are both idiots, keeping each other away from what makes us happy.”

“Pretty much.”

“What now?” He looked at you.

“Well, right now we can continue what we were doing.” You bucked your hips, feeling the delicious drag of his cock against you. “After that, we can talk more about it, but let me tell you, I’m tired of the rules, tired of being a dirty secret, tired of loving you in the shadows.”

“I agree.”

“Do you want to be—” You clamped your hand over his mouth.

“Don't you dare ask me to be your girlfriend when we are about to have sex.” You threatened, and then you removed your hand.

“Later then.” He smiled. “Where were we?” He knitted his brows, feigning ignorance.

“I don't know, where do you think we were?” You teased.

“I think, Bunny.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with each word he said. “I was about to fuck you.” His smug smile was bright when he pulled back enough to see your reaction. “Am I right?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me if you need me to stop or change anything.” He instructed, lining himself with your entrance.

“Wait.” You gasped when you felt his tip tease your opening. He stopped, pulling back away from you. “Slow, please… You are big.”

He nodded, and then he pushed inside. Your mouth gaped, feeling your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth inside you.

“More.” You whined after a few shallow thrusts with only his tip inside you.

He sank deeper, your slick adding to the intrusion. Your hand shot to grip his forearm next to your head.

“You’re taking me so well, Bunny.” He praised. “My pretty Bunny, so wet and tight for me. Breathe, baby, you can do it.”

You mewled, feeling him reach deeper until he was buried to the hilt.

“That's it, so good, such a good bunny.” His voice cracked, pleasure ripping down his spine after a few thrusts.

Your legs returned to the initial position. Spread open, legs up. You felt him reach deeper, each drag adding pressure to your sweet spot.

“Oh fuck, right there.” You whined.

His pace fastened, tightening the coil in your belly with each drill of his hips. He rocked your entire body, making your breasts jiggle with each movement that made your ass hit his thighs, to the point that if he hadn't been holding you in place, he would've already pushed you out of bed.

You were creaming around him, mixing with his precum, forming a ring of slick at the bottom of his cock. The wet clap of skin against skin was loud, mixing with your moans and cries.

“Oh, Bunny, you feel so good. You're gripping me so tight, you don't want to let go, don't you? You want me to stay right there, nuzzled inside you.”

“Yes, ah, yes!” You cried out, wrapping your legs around him with a leglock, heels pressing his butt.

“Bunny, baby, I need to pull out,” Bucky said, groaning.

“Cum inside me, please, breed me.”

“Oh, Bunny.” He whimpered, his self-control snapping like a twig. “Is this why you said no penetration before — mmm, because you knew how much you'll want my cum inside you.”

You nodded.

“Please, I need it.”

His pace grew more erratic; he leaned in, arms braced so he could piston harder. Your arms wrapped around him, nails digging in his skin.

He knew very well that you were on the pill since long before you met him; still, the fantasy of getting you pregnant, marking you as his for the world to see, was making him dizzy in pleasure.

You were babbling now, too cockdrunk to even speak without slurring words that weren't yes, please, Bucky, fill me.

“Such a needy, Bunny.” He taunted you. “Come for me, baby, let me feel you.”

He felt you coming around him first, then he saw your pretty face contorted with pleasure.

Mouth hanging open.

Lips trembling.

Brows knitted.

Your legs trembled as you came, gushing around his cock. Your back arched.

And finally, he achieved what he had only been dreaming of. He kissed you, swallowing your moans.

Your climax triggered his, milking him as he spilled his seed inside you, filling you to the brim. His hips jerked; shallow thrusts made to pump his cum inside you and make it stay there.

“That’s it, Bunny. Take every drop.” He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You slurred, still on the peak of your climax that had prolonged with the joy of being bred.

You came down slowly, falling back into his arms as he cooed praises. He stayed buried inside you, just shifting enough to make you moan, and making sure not a single drop was wasted.

“That was…”

“Intense.” Bucky completed.

“Very much. When can we repeat?” You joked, making him laugh over you.

“My bunny and her jokes, I swear.” He kissed your lips. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.” You giggled when he kept peppering kisses all over your face and neck.

He pulled back slightly so he could see your whole face. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening the bunny ears again.

“Never have been better, but I think my legs are cramped now.”

“Shit, Bunny!”

Bucky quickly straightened his back, bringing you up with him until you were sitting in his lap; the shift made some cum drip around his cock and down to the sheets.

“Better?” He kissed your shoulder, and as you got comfortable with your arms around him, he placed one hand on the curve of your ass, and the other caressed down your spine with lazy strokes.

You nodded, feeling sleepy and satisfied.

“Happy early birthday, Bucky.” You mumbled, reciprocating the caresses on his broad back.

“Thank you, Bunny. Best birthday present.” You nuzzled into his neck. “We are gonna have to explain a lot tomorrow.”

You considered lying, but you knew it would eventually come out.

“Yelena already knows.” You confessed. “She rage-baited me today until I spilled it out. I didn't tell her all the details — but she inferred we were sleeping together. She also helped me see how stupid I was not to tell you how I feel.”

He hummed.

“Why do you look so calm about it?” You narrowed your eyes at him, meeting his eyes and watching him blush. “Barnes?”

“Sam and Steve also know, superficially, nothing in detail. They've been nudging me to confess how much I love you for the past year, but I didn't want to risk our friendship.”

“Oh God, I can't believe our brain cells canceled each other.” You whined, mortified.

“If it helps, you're way smarter than I am; you at least made us progress — I was about to take my feelings to my grave.”

You slapped his arm. “Dumbass.”

He laughed.

“Ready to move?” You nodded against his shoulder. “What do you think about a bubble bath, soaking there until we look like raisins, and then we watch that movie you told me last time? I bought that ice cream you love.”

“Fuck me, you know me so well.”

“Of course I do, I’m your best friend.” He kissed your temple. “And your future boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are.” You smiled at him, and before he helped you stand up, you kissed him.

You were getting addicted to his kisses, you realized, which in part was great because you had so much time to make up for that you would be surprised if you ever were more than a few minutes without feeling his lips on you.

Time for new house rules.

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Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.

And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.

The heat that crawled up your back was instant—your body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.

Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of them—you didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.

He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Bucky—"only my ma calls me James"—, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.

He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed you—the only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.

You quickly came to learn that the problem was Bucky—everything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.

The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.

His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favourite—the long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.

When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a stranger—having already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friend—an absolute angel—was quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.

While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to her—sporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at ease—offering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.

You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at first—shuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big part—his teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questions—"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"—, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warm—and yeah, slightly chaotic.

Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDA—unless red wine was involved—and they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.

Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting people—truly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.

And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.

Uncomfortably so.

He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.

Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.

He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffee—he remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interested—a welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.

Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.

And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.

The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.

Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on you—drifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."

Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.

He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole day—your whole life.

Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifeline—tethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.

The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.

Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hour—Nat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero stories— to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.

The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between you—the ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellations—staring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.

"You got this, sweetheart."

Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tock—inches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

"Better luck next time, angel."

What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?

Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind clouding—you couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.

God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.

The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.

Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzz—Bucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.

"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at you—soft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.

You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."

"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."

The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with me—he's way out of my league."

Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.

His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.

Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."

"…Are you saying I'm an alien?"

"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collar—another shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you under—the scent that you now associated with home.

Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you're—" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."

Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyes—threatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.

You found a smaller version of your voice. "I…I'm not that special, Buck."

He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only person—other than Steve—that I let call me Buck?"

You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buck—the nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.

"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."

He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your forehead—the mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.

"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."

"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stoned—remind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."

The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.

The four of them were in their usual booth for the night—the one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite them—the latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted—but you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.

You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.

"What do you want now?"

"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.

"No."

The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the best—even Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."

You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."

"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.

Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout this—I'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."

You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinking—probably something stupid, too. "Wait—is there another prize for that?"

You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."

Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smile—he looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.

"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."

He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."

Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.

Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "No—wait, I didn't—that wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to help—help us…" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.

Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.

"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.

Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"

"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.

"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nights—something about testing a theory…" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.

"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."

"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.

"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.

He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.

"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."

Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.

Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your name—saving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.

"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.

Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."

Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balance—narrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.

You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.

"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."

You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."

Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."

You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.

"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."

You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's just—ew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.

She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."

Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.

"What—you're—that's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's like…a brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.

She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.

"Is it…am I really that obvious?"

She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."

She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.

You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.

Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names into—finding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.

Don't screw the crew.

The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.

"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.

Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbag—the one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."

You glared at him. "That's bullshit, Wilson—I didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."

Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in movies—I only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"

Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one hand—his eyes shooting daggers at Sam.

You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"

"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, no—there was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."

You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.

"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."

Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"

Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."

You were suddenly speechless—not sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being so…commanding. Protective.

You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eye—her mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friend—a sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.

Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.

Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."

"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."

He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"

A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.

Your girl.

Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.

Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"

"…Shrek 2."

Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laugh—the one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.

"It's the soundtrack, right?"

You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."

You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.

Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the table—your manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.

"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."

The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.

"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last week—hold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.

"Here it is—last Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.

"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.

Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirers—they're some of my biggest tips."

You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."

The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.

Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"

You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"

"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."

You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the bar—my arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."

Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.

You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.

Allie—your fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Dean—grabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.

She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."

"What?"

She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.

Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That's—it doesn't say my name…" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."

Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."

Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.

"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."

Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."

"We don't even know if it's about me!"

"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."

"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.

"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.

You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about you…right? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.

The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.

James B.

★★★★★ a month ago

Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.

Oh.

That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.

You don't know if it's about you.

You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measure—"It's hardly a compliment—wars are started over literally anything."

Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.

"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.

"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."

"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."

Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveaway—for people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.

It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.

"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"

"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"

"Or we could just ask who he is."

Something about that made you uneasy.

After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about you—but you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.

Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of them…they read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.

It was beautiful and terrifying.

And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knew—you didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.

"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."

Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the lounge—Sam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night's—was nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.

Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after another—the beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.

You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deep—it felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.

A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throat—a tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.

Bucky had company.

Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozen—your towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.

Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.

The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wall—then, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.

You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.

You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm down—to will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.

You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.

Inhale. One, two, three, four.

Hold. One, two—

It didn't sound like she was faking it.

The breath rushed out of you quickly.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.

Inhale. One, two, three—

Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.

You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.

Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?

The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones off—your heart was already broken enough.

Did he call her sweetheart, too?

You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.

Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake up—your body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.

The headphones went back on a second too late—leaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.

A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.

Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.

You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yours—you knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushes—they are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.

Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's room—two faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bay—at least until the shower could drown out your sobs.

You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurred—the water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.

Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.

"Bucky! Oh, fuck—don't stop, please—"

"Yeah? You like that?"

"Yes—god, so much!"

"You feel so good, baby."

Thump, thump, thump.

You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.

It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.

You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came over—subjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.

You fucking hated giggles.

By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met her—you didn't even know her name—but you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.

No one brought her up—there were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six am—narrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existed—not until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.

The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grew—he stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.

The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.

When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would do—you handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your name—just "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.

What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.

"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.

"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not the—"

Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.

Because there she was—sitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.

She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.

The two of you weren't even comparable—you were from completely different planets, different universes.

It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.

You're a fucking fool.

She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.

Big mistake.

Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.

"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.

"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.

Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possess—energy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.

You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.

"We're watching Interstellar tonight," Nat spoke softly. "Steve's pick."

You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.

Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"

You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.

A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.

You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.

At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed wounds—too preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.

You walked into your shift the next day with another request.

You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.

You loved quiz night—you loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.

Nothing was out of the ordinary—the opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.

And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.

You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.

The bar had become your safe place—which honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.

She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.

You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.

"I need you to swap sections with me—please." You said in a frantic breath.

She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper's—I am not giving that away."

Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."

Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "…But you hate working the floor."

He nodded towards one of your tables—one of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trio—more specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.

Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.

Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"

You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."

"You said please—pretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.

You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"

She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."

Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's arm—like that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.

Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.

"Hey, hey, woah that's—" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"

Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.

"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."

The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.

"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"

You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.

"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.

That broke you.

Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.

You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.

You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's so—" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were never—ugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.

"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy that—he was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.

You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeper—the fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.

"…my sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm home—I don't feel safe in my own home. Which—I know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up here—on fucking quiz night, my night—and I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.

Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.

She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."

Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.

Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."

"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughing—the first genuine one in weeks.

Thursday 6:18pm

Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10…

You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)

Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x

You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!

Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(

You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx

"I'm moving out."

It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited to—telling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.

Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your body—fearing for their reactions.

Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.

"What?" She asked softly.

You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyard—at the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his child—avoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommate—kinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"

You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.

"I can sort out getting the room filled—can probably pay double rent if necessary—"

"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.

You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard to—"

That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"

He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.

Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.

Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."

Okay, time for the lies—just like you practiced in the mirror.

"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."

Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingers—your tell that you would rather be anywhere else.

"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."

"Great idea," Sam mumbled.

"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessary—I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."

Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."

"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offered—we have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."

That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."

You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's not—I didn't want to bother you—"

"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into water—revealing something that trembled close to desperation.

"Bucky," Nat warned.

"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chin—locking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.

"Buck—"

"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.

"Well, that was…" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.

The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Nat—she could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expected—hoped, really—that they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.

"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.

Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."

You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memes—he had an affinity for the gradient instagram reels—and Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.

Bucky was radio silent.

Tuesday 5:36pm

Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?

You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)

Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx

You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol

Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(

A month passed before you saw Bucky again.

You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problem—your feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for it—hated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.

Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.

Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shifts—asking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.

But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.

It was on a quintessential late summer evening—the kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.

You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.

Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.

You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instant—hated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.

"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.

A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.

Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.

"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slipping—comparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.

He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."

You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I—uh—how, how have you been?"

You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."

"That's good, great. I—we've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."

You had to leave before you did something foolish—before you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.

You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"

Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fine—they're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."

What the fuck did that mean?

"Um—okay, well, that's good? I should—"

"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "I—I want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I think—it doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "I—um, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'round—if you felt uncomfortable because of me."

It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitude—what you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.

Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."

Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pick—I'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."

Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."

If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.

And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."

You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forward—walking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.

"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.

You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.

You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.

You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.

"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."

"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."

A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."

You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the market—he has an update on James B!"

A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"

Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"

You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"

He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last night—don't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.

James B.

★★★★★ 13 hours ago

Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.

Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.

What the fuck?

"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.

"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."

"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.

"They do normally sit in your section—or, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.

Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Shit—I'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."

"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the door—stopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.

Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and lively—every table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morning—you were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.

Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."

You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clench—you shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."

You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.

"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."

"Okay, now I am beyond intrigued—you better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.

The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boys—Sam—had gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the air—in the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.

"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."

An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.

"Honey, there is no new roommate."

You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterday—he said they were fine."

"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. Bucky…he's been paying for it."

"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.

"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truth—I honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."

"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.

"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but—Steve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the room—saving it in case you want to come back."

Shock rendered you speechless—frustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotion—anger.

Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.

You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing today—he's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."

You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.

"Brunch is my shout—go knock some sense into him."

It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you down—you were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.

Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"

"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.

You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left it—empty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.

"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.

He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted out—the perfect picture of barely contained rage.

"Well, I—you see, it's—" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"

"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me moving—it makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.

Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leaving—and you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"

He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.

Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."

His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "…What?"

A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.

"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my world—my heart—was being torn apart—" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your fault—that my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of you—of us."

You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, what—feel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.

"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.

"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and her—I heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."

"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealous—which I know is a terrible—"

You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.

"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."

"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beating—your body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chest—the fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.

He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.

"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like some—like a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."

His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."

The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.

"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."

You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "But—the first review was, like—" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month ago—the heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"

"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"

"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.

"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.

"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "You…you broke my heart, Buck."

He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chest—right above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once again—this time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."

"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."

He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.

He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

You managed a small nod before his lips were on yours—desperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from you—happily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.

The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.

The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.

His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thin—trust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.

"Wh-what? I haven't—I never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.

"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yours—a shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear me—but I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."

A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your body—a mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.

"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a taste—to let me worship you."

Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.

"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw you—like my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breasts—his thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my head—didn't fucking work now, did it?"

The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitated—needing clarification before you could let him consume you.

"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.

"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."

Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."

Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, that—that wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."

"Why didn't you reach out, then?"

He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."

You saw Bucky almost every day for over a year—you knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lying—you could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.

You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."

"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.

The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.

He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.

"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obliged—your need for him making you ready to do anything he said.

He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.

He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.

You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.

He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."

"Yes, Bucky—please. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.

His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."

He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.

You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.

"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.

He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."

You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.

He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hips—revealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.

"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.

"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your panties—you were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"

You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyes—the desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before I—"

You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwear—circling it with a steady pressure.

"What was that?" He asked smugly.

Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussy—his hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.

"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.

He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."

His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.

He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."

You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.

"Bucky, please."

He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.

He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.

"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."

He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.

"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.

He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussy—with your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.

He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.

Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.

"Fuck, Bucky—right there! Please, I'm gonna—" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved man—like you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.

The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.

Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.

You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."

He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dress—trying to relieve the ache in them.

"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."

You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pants—your mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.

His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."

He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.

You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.

Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.

"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.

"Please, I am—I will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.

He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lower—his stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.

Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.

He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.

Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a soft—almost unbelieving—smile.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"

"Yes, Buck. Only yours."

He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."

He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.

"You're so wet—wanna live between these thighs, doll."

A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.

He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were being—telling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.

Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of you—getting to know what you liked.

The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingers—the obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.

"Let me come—please. Been s'good for you, Buck—"

You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighter—his resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.

A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomach—causing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.

"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."

With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his hand—dripping and staining his sheets.

Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.

"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.

"Need'a minute," you slurred out.

His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.

"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hi. How you feeling?"

You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good—really good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.

One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.

You grinded your hips against his—gasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.

"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.

"Fuck—okay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.

"Are you clean?"

His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other week—wait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.

"I believe you. I'm clean—obviously. And on birth control."

His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.

"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understand—"

That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groin—squeezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."

He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around him—his cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.

He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.

He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on it—twirling your tongue around it.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.

He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proud—your mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seen—long and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.

"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.

"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.

He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.

He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.

"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.

"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.

He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.

His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this before—never felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevated—your nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.

You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relax—you weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.

"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.

Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.

The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.

You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.

"You feel so good—oh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.

"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.

"Yeah? My pretty girl—my little angel—likes it rough?"

You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.

He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrusts—each one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.

The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.

Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.

He groaned into your ear. "This is—god, you're made for me."

His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his temples—and he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.

Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burst—the heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.

Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.

"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.

His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.

He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."

You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.

"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.

Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clit—your back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.

"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.

"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.

Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.

He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.

You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.

"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.

He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chest—a satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.

"I love you too."

"When can we move your stuff back in?"

Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.

You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."

His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"

"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."

"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right away—I am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."

You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"

He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.

Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.

The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.

"So, you're James B? This whole time?"

His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "Yeah…"

"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. And—I don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and then…it just happened?"

You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"

"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."

Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviews—we only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."

Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.

"…Are you jealous?"

The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him like—like you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."

Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?

"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."

Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.

You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of you—his dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."

The sound of the front door opening had you both freezing—your former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.

"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"

a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard 😔) yes, team, reader should’ve made bucky grovel HOWEVER high emotion tension filled make up sex is hot 🫦 bro is buying her flowers and taking her on dates every day for the rest of their lives 😌

the chasing (3.2k) - where you introduced yourself to one of your peers, having heard all the rumors about him. he is obsessed with asking you out. (fluff, pre-marriage)

power move (1.6k) - where you see your ex husband flirting and decide to pull a power move to stop it (fluff)

the intervention (1.4k) NEW ! - the pittlings arrange an intervention when they think robby is harassing you (fluff)

the warning (1k) - where you warn your ex husband to stop flirting around (fluff)

the reminder (1.2k) - where one of your kids ends up in the er and robby reminds you why you divorced (angst + comfort)

the vacancy (1k) - where robby finds out you haven't been dating since your divorce (fluff)

nightcall (1.2k) - where after an incident next door, you call robby and ask him to come home (fluff + angst)

the smirk (1.3 k) - where robby finds out you like someone else (angst)

the realization (3.6k) - where robby realizes you are dating someone new (angst)

instagram stories - your ig stories when you start dating

myths (500) - where robby hears all the myths about your boyfriend

the plan (1.5k) - where you realize both your kids are playing matchmaking (fluff)

the anesthesia (2k) - where you end up in the er and confess a thing or two under anesthesia (fluff + angst)

the crush (300) - where you diagnose one of the pittlings to have a crush with the chief

the sabbatical (3.8k) - self explanatory really (fluff + angst)

out of office (500) - where you call robby on day 2 of his sabbatical to ask about a case (fluff)

the "emergency" (1.8k) - where you receive a call from the er saying your kids are there (fluff)

dental evidence (500) - where robby left his dental evidence on your neck (fluff)

playing nice (500) - where you pretend to be great at co-parenting at your daughter's birthday party (fluff)

the old habits (1k) - where you go out with your friends (fluff + smuttish)

the test (1.3k) - where you and robby have a pregnancy scare (angst + comfort)

the vasectomy (900) - NEW ! where you find out robby actually did what you asked him to. always has.

the interrogation (700) - where your kids find you asleep in the morning and interrogate you about your family (fluff)

the gala (800) - where you and robby are forced to attend a gala together (fluff)

big ideas (700) - where robby asks abbot and langdon dating advice (fluff)

the date (1.4k) - NEW ! you and robby go on a date and he asks a big question

the punch (1.2k) - NEW ! you’re assaulted at the ER and Robby tends to your injuries

“Stacey, you’re with me,” you called out, heading toward the elevators.

Your new resident followed close behind. She had started only a few days ago, already making a name for herself as sharp and ambitious, with a full year of Ob-Gyn at Presby under her belt. She was a good doctor, undeniably smart, and—as you’d noticed—strikingly beautiful. You’d also witnessed the peculiar phenomenon of the Ortho-Gods suddenly finding reasons to do paperwork on the OB floor whenever she was on shift, a fact she seemed blissfully unaware of.

Once the elevator doors slid shut, you briefed her on the code you’d been called for. “It seems straightforward, but I want you to get a feel for the pitt.”

Stacey’s face lit up, her cheeks flushing pink. “I have to say something first.”

You braced yourself. You knew the drill: Yes, he’s my ex-husband. Yes, we have two kids. Yes, I still love him. But Stacey took the conversation in a direction you hadn't anticipated.

“I am like so excited for this. When I told my attending at Presby I was coming to PTMC, she said, ‘Lucky you, getting to learn emergency medicine from Daddy Robinavitch himself.’ And then, on my first day, I came downstairs and saw him, and... oh my god, he really is a daddy.” She spoke with a sudden, infectious confidence, looking at you with wide, excited eyes, treating you like a best friend sharing hot gossip.

But you weren’t her best friend. So you stared at her, your eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Stacey froze, her face draining of color. “Oh my god. I don’t know why I said that. That was so unprofessional—I’m sorry, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours—I—”

You scoffed, raising a palm to cut off her rambling as the elevator chimed. 

You stepped out into the chaotic hum of the central hub and led her straight to Trauma One. Inside, Robby and Langdon were already mid-discussion. Mel stepped back, allowing you to take the lead after a brief introduction to the patient.

“Can I take the lead?” Stacey asked, her eyes wide with eagerness.

You nodded with a small smile. She jumped into action, moving closer to the gurney to suggest courses of action and assessments (because those were definitely not orders).

“New kid on the block, huh?” Robby asked, his gaze shifting from the patient to you.

“Doctor Stacey Fox, meet the pitt. Pitt, meet Doctor Stacey Fox,” you introduced, unable to resist a little jab. “And this is Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Chief of Emergency Medicine. If you plan on sticking with emergency Ob-Gyn, he’ll be just as much your attending as I am.”

“Mom and Dad,” Langdon teased.

You ignored him, turning your focus back to the monitor. “Signs of pre-eclampsia?”

“No,” your student said, waving a hand. “But she’s forty-two. It’s a risky birth.”

“Why?” you pressed.

“Because she’s… old?”

You stared at her.

“...er?” she tried, grinning weakly.

Beside you, Robby let out a sharp, amused huff.

“Because she could have gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia, or placental complications,” you recited, your voice tight. “Any of those present?”

“None,” Dr. King added.

“Doctor Fox?” you prodded.

“No,” she said, her eyes darting nervously around the room.

Robby leaned in, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ve got this.”

The glare you shot him could have scorched steel.

“There are other things I’d offer for your stress, but right now, a break’s my best,” he pushed, a teasing, lopsided smirk playing on his lips.

“Fine,” you snapped, taking a step back. “But I’m taking ER Ken.” You gestured with a single finger, and he quickly peeled away the extra layer of latex and scrubs on his way out.

Once you were safely out of the trauma room, Langdon leaned in. “Is Dad coming home soon, Mom?”

You reached the hub, frantically searching for a lollipop in the supply drawers. “Shut up!”

Langdon stepped into your path. “What’s up?”

“Did you know Presby calls him ‘Daddy Robinavitch’?” You gestured toward the room with your thumb once you’d finally unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it into your mouth.

Langdon cackled. “WHAT?”

Your skin crawled as you explained the elevator incident, and to your utter misfortune, he only laughed harder.

“Stop it!” You slapped his arm, though your heart wasn’t in it. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, you know exactly what to do,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes.

“Get back in there and smoooooch your husband.”

“Not funny,” you groaned.

“I’m dead serious!”

“So am I,” you muttered. “Daddy Robinavitch. I made him a daddy.”

Langdon’s expression softened, his gaze shifting to something behind you. “If it makes you feel any better, he only has eyes for you.”

You turned around and caught Robby watching you. His expression wasn't arrogant or teasing; it was raw, soulful, and heavy with a plea you knew too well. Your annoyance dissolved into a tender, involuntary smile.

You saw him turn back to the patient, supervising the procedure. Arms folded on his chest, shoulders squared. You noticed the difference when he looked at you and when he looked at the patient. He went from being your husband; a warm, soft, loving man. To the chief of Emergency Medicine.

When you returned, the room was filled with the thin, piercing wail of a newborn. A healthy baby boy was crying his lungs out, and Robby was carefully handing him to the mother.

“Great job, everyone,” you said, your voice warm.

Stacey beamed at you, her eyes sparkling.

“You taught me well,” Robby said, his voice quiet, his hand finding the small of your back.

Stacey’s eyes darted between you both, and as if on cue, her mouth opened to speak.

“We’re taking these two upstairs,” you said, overriding her before she could say another word. You instructed the nursing staff on the room number and follow-up care.

Robby signaled for you to wait a moment and your head turned to his side, granting you minimal privacy under the gawking eyes of the entire pitt.

“What got you so worked up?” he whispered into your ear.

You looked up at him, your gaze daring and sharp. “I’ll tell you later.”

One of his brows arched. A challenge.

You walked back toward the elevators with your student, the silence between you thick with tension.

“That was a great job,” you complimented her, softening your tone. “But you need to work on your bedside manner.”

“I know. That was awful. I’ve already apologized to the patient.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry to you, too.” Her entire face was red, “The whole… the ‘daddy’ thing. It won’t happen again.”

The elevator dinged, announcing your floor. You looked at her and smiled, the lingering heat from your interaction with Robby still buzzing beneath your skin.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said lightly. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”

“Really?”

The elevator doors opened.

“No,” you said, a flash of confidence firing through you. “My kids call him Daddy, too.”

When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.

“Oh my god, John!”

You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.

Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.

This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.

“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.

“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.

It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.

You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.

“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.

You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.

“Making it last,” you heard him say.

You wished he wouldn't.

When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.

It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.

“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.

Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.

“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.

“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.

“Nop.”

“And what was her name this time?”

“I didn't catch it.”

You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.

She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.

“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.

“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.

“I'm dedicated.”

“Wanna check out a cough in five?”

“I'll be there.”

You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.

It was a chain of terrible love stories.

“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.

“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”

“You should just talk to him.”

You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”

“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.

“It's not him, it's the women.”

Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”

“-no.”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”

Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”

“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”

You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.

He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.

Carter had no right to look at you like that.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”

“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”

“Trauma?”

“Cough.”

He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”

“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.

John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Something's up, what?”

Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.

Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.

John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.

How stupid could men be?

John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”

You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.

But that was almost two years ago and things were different.

You were in love with him.

He had no idea.

Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.

John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”

You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”

John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.

“Carter!” Benton called.

Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.

Maybe things weren't being so bad.

“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.

Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”

“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.

But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.

“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.

Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”

“To him it is.”

John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”

He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.

When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.

“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”

Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.

There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.

John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.

With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.

The waiter came by and John waved him down.

“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”

Home. Home with his date.

“We’ve been… busy,” you said.

Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”

There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.

The wine was delivered.

“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.

You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”

“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”

There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.

At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.

You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.

His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.

John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.

You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”

John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”

It was sincere, almost loving.

You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”

“What? A guy can’t say it again?”

“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.

“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.

It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.

You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”

“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”

You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”

You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.

“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”

Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.

Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.

A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.

You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.

“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”

“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.

John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.

You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.

“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.

“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.

John was polite in standing and hugging her.

You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.

“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”

“Marigold,” said John.

“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.

You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.

They both looked to you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.

John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.

“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.

John's face fell. “What?”

“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.

Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.

You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.

Two days later he was at it again.

“John! Oh, John!”

You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.

They were all blending into one.

“John! John! John!”

You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.

“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”

You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.

Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.

You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.

For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.

“John-”

“- wait, shh, shh-”

Nope, still there.

You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.

There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.

All the more reason to get to the ER.

You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.

“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.

You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.

He called out your name.

“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”

You didn't answer.

“Did the hospital call?”

“Just go back to bed, Carter.”

It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.

You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.

“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”

You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.

You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.

You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.

John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”

“Leave it, John.”

“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.

His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.

He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.

“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.

You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”

The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.

“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”

You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”

He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”

“Because I'm going into work.”

“We're not on nights.”

“Then I'm going in for fun.”

“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”

You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”

“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”

You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”

John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”

“No, you don't.”

He frowned.

At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.

“Hey, John, is everything okay?”

She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.

You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.

You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.

John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.

“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.

“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.

It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.

But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.

“John?” the girl asked again.

“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”

Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?

You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.

“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.

You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.

“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”

You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.

John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”

“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.

John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”

“I just want to go,” you admitted.

“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”

He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.

You nodded.

“Can I come with you?”

You shook your head.

John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”

You cried. “John-”

“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”

“John-”

“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”

“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”

The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.

“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”

“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.

“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.

John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”

The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.

You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”

You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.

He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”

You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.

Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.

That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.

Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.

Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”

“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said.

“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”

You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Damn.

“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”

You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.

“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.

But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.

It was going on four. He'd followed you in.

You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.

John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”

You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.

“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”

His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.

“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.

“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”

His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.

It didn't feel as painful when he did.

John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.

It was enough to hurt you all over again.

But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.

You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”

The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.

He found nothing.

Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”

“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.

John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.

“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.

When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.

Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.

John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.

It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.

Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”

“With my boyfriend.”

“And how long ago was your last period?”

“Two weeks.”

“Are you late?”

“Not yet.”

You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”

The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.

John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.

“John?” you asked.

“You love me?”

The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.

“I'm sorry- what?”

He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”

It wasn't an accusation the second time.

You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”

“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.

And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.

You, with little other choice, barged past him.

You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.

“I'm sorry!” she called.

John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”

Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.

“Probably not,” Mark replied.

Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.

You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.

John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”

“Who told you?”

“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”

“There was nothing for you to know.”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”

“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because- because it's me!”

You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”

“Of course I love you!”

“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”

“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.

The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.

He stood there, exposed.

Yes I do!

It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.

John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”

You levelled your gaze on him.

As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.

“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”

You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.

The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.

“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.

It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”

“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”

He clenched his jaw.

You waited for more. “Can't what?”

John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.

“You're not making sense.”

“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”

You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.

John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.

“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”

“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”

You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.

Your brain went to the only sense it could make.

“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”

John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”

You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”

Carter nodded earnestly.

He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.

A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.

“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”

“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”

You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”

For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.

“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.

“Tonight, yeah.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”

She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“So what were the girls?”

“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

A chance.

You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.

Were you too tired for a chance?

A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.

John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”

Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.

Nobody knew what to say next.

“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”

You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.

The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.

In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.

You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.

But there was only signs of you and John.

He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no.”

The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.

You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”

John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”

“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.

“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”

He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.

“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.

You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.

You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.

“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”

The apartment you were stood in.

“What?”

John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”

You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.

“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”

John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.

“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.

His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”

You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.

“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”

But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.

The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.

“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”

“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.

He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.

John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”

The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.

“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”

John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”

Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.

You laughed. “Are we stupid?”

John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”

Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.

Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.

“I'm so sorry, baby.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.

“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”

You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.

Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.

“I don't think you have, no.”

John breathed out against you. “No?”

“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”

“- we do, we do-”

“ -we should at least give it a try.”

“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”

You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”

“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”

There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.

“Not for a long time,” you told him.

John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”

“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”

The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.

There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.

It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.

“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.

This time, you could admit to him without fear.

“No, no, not for me, my patient,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I wish it was for me.”

“Why do you need a condom for a patient?” you asked, amused almost. “Is he hot?”

“What? No? My patient, he's HIV but apparently very, very active and he doesn't have condoms. He says he-he prefers it without and I've explained everything to him but there's no condoms in the draw where we keep them!” explained Samira.

“We have a condom draw?” asked Trinity, taking only that as the necessary information from Mohan's ramble.

You handed her the chart. “You sleep with women.”

“What? So I'm not allowed in the condom draw?”

“It's for sex ed teachings, people who are young and having sex,” you shrugged. “Stuff like that. Come on, I can help you out.”

The nurses desk was practically vacant. Around you everyone busied themselves with greeting the nigh shift and getting them out, taking away patients like the changing of the guard. It was almost too early to be dealing with tough patients who wouldn't protect themselves.

You led the way around the counter, Mohan and Santos (who took an invitation for herself) followed you over to the desk as you reached down for Robby's bag, propping it up.

It was no surprise to them that you were reaching for his bag, reaching for his stuff like it was yours. What was Robby's was yours. The real surprise had been when Mel found the two of you eight months ago making out in the storage room, shrieking and dropping a bag of blood that then splashed all over you.

And obviously at the scream everyone ran over and found the two of you rather compromised and covered in blood. You still weren't really done living that down.

You fished around in Robby's bag, the owner somewhere not there to see as you brought out an opened box of condoms. “Here,” you said handing her a thick strip as Santos laughed.

Samira took them wearily, a small dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Won't you... miss these?”

“No,” you said, rocking on your heels, suddenly feeling the familiar creeping heat of embarrassment. “We have... more.”

Santos smirked. “Keeping Robby in shape, huh?”

Samira shuddered. “I really don't want to think about my boss like that, but thank you!” you said, waving the strip like it was a flag and rushing off before her patient could walk off. She was a good doctor, dedicated you knew and you were just happy to help her reach her potential.

Distracted by watching her leave you failed to notice Trinity sneak over to Robby's bag, peeking inside like a nosy cat.

“Hey!” you lectured, pulling the zipper shut on her hand.

“What? Just wanted to know what else you got in there? Does he keep a pair of panties? Vibrator if it gets quiet,” she teased.

You blushed, shaking your head and looking down to the bag. “You have no shame, that's your boss you're talking about.”

She made a pfft noise. “You're the one screwing him.”

Yes, you were. Proudly and happily.

Javadi slid up next to you, practically shoving you a tablet and asking for your advice. You were somewhere deep in your residency, one of the first they were introduced to on their hell of a first day. Not as scary as Robby, easier to talk to than Langdon. It was typical for the Pittlings and Mohan to come to you when they needed advice. You liked it really, as much as Santos teased you and as much as Mohan and Javadi doubted themselves.

“Hey Crash,” said Trinity, all but giddy with the new knowledge she had about Doctor Robby's contents in his bag. “You wanna know what's in this bag of secrets.”

“No,” you chastised.

Javadi's eyes lightened up. “Is that Doctor Robby's bag?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said, pushing it back down to your feet.

“Hey,” Samira joined the group of you again, handing you back the strip of condoms. “He said he can't take these.” The rest of the doctors and nurses hustled around the Pitt, un-knowing of the personal dilemmas being aired out.

You lifted your shoulders. “You needed condoms, those are condoms.”

“Yes but they're not the right size,” said Mohan. “He says they wouldn't fit, they're too big.”

Oh.

Perhaps at some point you'd been shocked at the size of Robby. Before you'd only had your imagination and hints of him beneath his scrubs. The times when he'd brush past you in the teasing beginning of your relationship and you'd feel something prod at you. The first time he'd dragged you to his bedroom, lips seething in heat and teeth nipping in want to only lay you out on his bed and drag his pants and underwear down to show all of him- then you'd been shocked. Mouth watering so.

Over the months the shock transformed to desire, reaching hands and an eager mouth that you stopped thinking about the size.

You didn't think anything of it when you handed Mohan a strip of five extra-large condoms.

Standing at the nurses station it may as well have been a deserted island and you stared down at the condoms like it was your first offering of food.

“Uh-”

Javadi snatched the condoms from Samira first, staring down at them with mouth agape. “Oh my god.”

“Javadi-”

“Holy shit!”

You looked back and Santos had pulled out Robby's bag again, pulling out the box and staring at the size stamped on the front. “Santos!”

“No wonder you walk in limping.”

“I do not- I do not walk in limping!”

“Well, there was that one time-” said Mohan.

“No, there wasn't!” you argued. “I'd bruised my ankle.”

Mohan chuckled to herself. “Sure.”

Trinity smirked. “Bruised something.”

Javadi was still staring at the strip of condoms in wonder. “How do they even get this big?”

You snatched them away from her the way you might have if a child found them. Quickly you stuffed them in the box, threw them back in Robby's bag and kept it behind your back.

“Wait, why do you have a box of condoms for work?” asked Javadi.

“Oh please,” said Santos with a groan. “They're always at it in work. Better safe than sorry.”

“We are not always at it at work,” you defended.

“The storage closet?” asked Mohan, apparently abandoning the venture of finding fitting condoms for her patient.

You held up a finger. “That was one time.”

“The toilets,” added Santos, sadly remembering the time you and Robby had hid yourselves in the bathroom for a break. A break that was only supposed to be comforting touched turned hot and reaching quickly.

“That one time in the exam room where we thought we were examining a broken hip for a Mrs Driscoll-” began Javadi.

“Okay! Okay, I get it!” you interrupted.

“I think it's nice,” Trinity quipped her lip, arms crossing over her chest. “Get some dick when you can right.” She patted your shoulder like a proud sister as she left the group of you, laughing quietly to herself.

Victoria and Samira followed suit, leaving you with the ramifications of your own embarrassment. So what your boyfriend was largely endowed, wasn't it a compliment? Weren't you the luckiest girl in the world to have Robby with soft and tender touches turned to almost hateful thrusts with how hard he loved you.

You made sure Robby's bag was tightly closed before sliding it back under the desk.

The day brought the same usual storm the ED always brought. Enough to distract you from the mornings events and the package sitting inside of Robby's bag. You were left with only a creeping heat crawling up your neck, the last dregs of your doctors eyes on you and their giddy smiles.

You'd only managed to make it to the staff lounge for a coffee by mid day, taking the mug that was yours, marked with an inside joke and given one secret Santa round.

“Hey.” Robby slipped into the room, leaning his back against the sink and standing next to you.

“Hey yourself.”

For a moment there was a silence where you poured coffee for the both of you, handing him his mug.

Robby's fingers grazed yours, the simplest touch sending shivers through your skin. “Can I ask you something?”

You hummed, head tucked away. He wouldn't have heard about the mornings teasing's, would he?

“Santos has been... off today,” he said.

He would.

You gulped, a feign of concern falling to you. “She has?”

“Keeps looking at me and smirking. She's doing this thing with her hands where she-” he demonstrated, spreading his hands to different distances, some small, some bigger. His hands wavered around the imaginary object between his hands.

You were left groaning.

Robby's head tilted toward you. “Do you know anything?”

In attempts of hiding away the story your head ducked and shook side to side.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you said.

Robby's fingers were slightly calloused but no less humble as he pinched your chin, realigning his gaze with yours. His brows rose, gaze pouring into yours. He didn't even have to ask you again.

You sighed. “This morning Mohan had a patient with HIV and she wanted to give him condoms but there was none where they usually are so I gave her some of ours. But they weren't exactly... the right size.”

There was a small furrow of confusion in his face as he waited for you to elaborate.

You turned your body into his, lowering your voice. “Not everybody can fit into an extra large, Robby.”

The furrow gave and a small grin split his cheeks as he glanced down to your shoes, a pink blooming under his beard and to his cheeks. It was different from your own embarrassment. He was more pleased with himself.

Robby straightened, hands wavering. “So how does... this connect to-”

“Santos was there this morning when Samira asked.”

He chuckled, tongue poking out into his cheek as he shook his head in amusement.

“It's not funny,” you said, nudging him.

He rocked on his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Your coffee was turning lukewarm in hand, the bitter taste suddenly too sweet as you made to walk away from him and stew in your own humiliation.

Robby's fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged, using you to pull himself in closer. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he teased, voice dropping into the low drag in his condescending way. The sort of voice he used to coax you down into bed with his darkening eyes and lustful approach. “Is my dick too big? Do I fuck you too good?” His hands grabbed at your hips, bringing you into him, tongue darting out to your neck.

Your body wriggled in his hold, trying to escape as his arms grew strong around you. “Stop!” You laughed.

“Make me.” He nipped at your neck, licking over the sting he caused.

The door was pushed open and Langdon stumbled in the doorway, catching sight of the two of you tangled in arms and laughter.

“Are you two doing it in the lounge now?” he asked.

You guessed you just should've been thankful Langdon wasn't there that morning, otherwise there would have been competitions between him and Santos on who could make the best jokes out of your misery.

Slowly, Robby moved away from you, pulling himself up straight and pulling at his hoodie before leading the way out the room.

McKay was wheeling a patient away to x-ray, Samira was giving aftercare instructions to an elderly couple and Mel was somewhere lurking in a corner talking to Dana.

Santos, however, was still being the most productive, sitting across from Javadi and still trying to make sense of some invisible size between her hands.

You watched, un-able to stop as Robby walked behind Santos and spread her hands apart just a little, enough to leave more than enough inches between her hands.

Robby walked away, satisfied.

It means Clark probably already has feelings for someone else. His time of finding distraction in you is coming to an end, which means that whatever you and Clark have — this strange, unlabeled, annual thing — will also conclude.

The thought has your stomach twisting.

“Nothing. What should we do today? What’s fun around here?”

Kara gives you a look. “My idea of fun is getting drunk and it’s impossible to do on Earth. How about we take you somewhere else? A planet with a red sun?”

That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe then she can leave you there so you don’t have to ever face Clark ever again. Or your stupid feelings. This stupid crush.

Yes, in the time that it took you to bathe and reflect on your quote-unquote relationship with Clark, you’ve established that you may have formed some feelings for him. An unhealthy, unreasonable attachment. You see now that it’s impossible not to fall for Clark Kent; you’re just like all those other girls in college who threw themselves at his feet for even a chance.

Clark is perfect. Tall, smart, sweet. Thoughtful. He’s everything everyone could ever ask for wrapped up in a perfect little bow. The invisible cherry on top of him being Superman is a nice little addition that you feel territorial over.

No one else knows him like you do.

Except Lois — and how could you ever compete with Lois?

“When can we go?” You blurt out.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on with you? I’ve joked about that before and you always tell me that you’d rather go skydiving without a parachute than go to outer space.”

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” you mutter.

As if summoned by your own despair, Lois appears at the door. Her eyes look brighter, her smile wider. Your heart squeezes, wondering what’s brought about that expression.

You hate yourself for feeling this way — you should be happy for them; your two good friends finally finding each other after years of pining. Instead, that ugly green monster has reared its head and is now driving the ship of your emotions.

“What’re you two talking about?”

“She wants to go with me to a planet with a red sun,” Kara gasps. “We have to go before she changes her mind.”

Lois would absolutely love that. She’s an adventurer. A risk taker. A bold soul. Perfect for Clark.

She is also incredibly perceptive.

“You said you’d rather swallow hot coal before you ever let Kara do that. You doing okay?”

Why does everyone have such a good memory?

“I’m fine! Let’s not fret over a perfectly normal character development. I am still at an age where I want to experience new things.”

Kara looks at you incredulously. “I wouldn’t worry if you didn’t sound like you got lobotomized in the past few days. Did all that farmwork finally get to your head?”

“Or Clark’s dick,” Lois adds with a laugh.

“Gross!”

“Look at the three of you ladies.” The new voice has the three of you whipping your gazes to the door. Ma Kent stands at the door, hand on her chest as she stares at you all in awe. “I’m so happy my dear Kara has found such great friends.”

“Ma,” Kara groans.

“You should’ve seen her growing up. She was always getting into fights, would come home bleedin’ and all scratched up.” She shakes her head, which earns another protest from Kara. “Now, Pa and Clark are fixing up the roof, why don’t all four of us go into town for a little bit of shopping? I could use help picking out things for the house.”

“Just because we’re women doesn’t mean we want to go shop—”

“We’d love to, Mrs. Kent,” Lois intercepts with a smile.

She glows at Lois. “Please call me Martha.”

As the group of women fills the car, Clark is waving at all of you from the front porch. His eyes move towards you, then stay. It’s like he’s reading you and you feel as if all of that bitter jealousy is written all over your face. So you look away, missing the way his gaze cracks with your dismissal.

You’re keeping yourself sidetracked from all these stupid feelings by exploring the town. Ma Kent takes you on a full tour of the tiny village, which all of you cover in basically an hour. It doesn’t have much, but it’s cute. Homey. Everyone seems to know the Kents around here, much to Kara’s dismay as she gets her cheek pinched one too many times by people noting how she grew up so pretty.

Luckily, before Kara can direct her laser eyes at the latest woman to do just that, Ma Kent’s exclamation has all of you turning.

“Well, I’ll be darned.”

You look up to find that she’s stopped in front of a shop. That marvel in her eyes should be signal enough for you to run for the hills. She’s then grabbing your hand and pulling you in.

White. White is all you see.

Racks on racks of wedding dresses and all sorts of bridal wear. If you didn’t know any better, you were blinking away the glare of the sun in this shop. Kara snorts next to you. “Better get ready. Ma loves weddings.”

“Sweetheart, have you thought about what wedding dress you want? Are you and Clark going to do something small? Big? Should we go for something simpler? No matter, we should try on everything until you find the right one.”

You don’t have time to argue because then Ma Kent is now speaking to the shop owner.

The lie is quickly spreading with her now telling the shop owner that her dear son Clark is getting married. Gossip undoubtedly spreads quickly in a place like this and you’re already dreading the day Clark has to tell her and them that none of this is real — that this wedding will never happen.

“It’s fine, you should go try some on,” Lois says, nudging your shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“I can’t do this. I’m lying to that poor woman who’s gonna get her heart broken when Clark and I eventually break it off,” you add with air quotes and a wince.

Lois mumbles something that ends with not happening, but you don’t catch her actual words. Then you’re getting whisked into the dressing room, handed one dress after another. You squeeze into one with the help of the owner — Mrs. Mills as you now know — and step out.

It’s a more old-fashioned number taken probably from the Cold War. Puffy sleeves, extra heavy-duty lace, and a neckline that’s choking you. You look like an antique.

Ma Kent is immediately on her feet. “Oh, look at how wonderful you look. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Um,” you pause, gaze flying over to Kara and Lois for help.

Kara is too busy snickering but thankfully Lois has some sense. “She looks gorgeous but I don’t think this dress is her.”

So then you’re in and out of dresses until your limbs are aching from the weight of some of these gowns. You nearly give up hope — maybe you really aren’t meant to be a bride — until you find this next one.

They say that when you find the dress of your dreams, you just know. It’s like everything just clicks. You don’t need to look at another dress.

This is it.

This dress knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You’ve never once thought of yourself as a bride, but this one makes you feel like you could actually be one. You could picture yourself walking down the aisle, surrounded by family and friends. Bouquet in hand, big smiles all around.

At the end of that aisle — Clark.

You don’t even register the curtains being parted until you hear the gasps behind you. Then you turn and you swear you see Ma Kent shed a tear. She’s got a hand over her mouth, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Honey, oh, sweetheart. You look beautiful. You look positively perfect. The most beautiful bride-to-be.”

There’s thickness in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow down. Because you agree. You don’t think you’ve ever looked — or felt — prettier in your life.

Ma Kent puts her hands on your shoulders as she smiles at you. “You know, before you, I’ve never seen my boy with anyone like this. Sure, he’s had his crushes growing up, but the way he looks at you — like you carry the moon and the stars in your hands — it’s how pa looks at me too. I’m glad he met you. I’m glad that he brought you to us.”

The guilt hits you in full force, like a truck running over you. It’s a fresh wave of new emotions that tides over you, mixing in with the heartful words that strike you to your core. You can’t even find the right words to say as tears well up in your eyes.

“Gosh…”

You briskly wipe away your tears, clearing your throat as your eyes go to the door. The door where Clark stands.

He’s just… standing there. His blue eyes drag from the tip of your toes, up the curve of the dress, the bodice, and then your face. You watch as his throat moves when he swallows. For a moment, you think you also see his eyes glisten.

Then it’s as if it’s just you and him. The air sucked out of the room. You and Clark in a bubble shielded from the outside world. This distance makes it feel like you’re both standing on each end of the aisle. Suddenly, you can see all too clearly Clark in a custom fitted tux. You in this dress, your hair done up, face painted.

Just you and him, minutes away from forever.

Clark opens his mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, the illusion is shattered when Ma Kent shouts at him. “Clark! This is bad luck. You can’t see the dress — let alone the bride in the dress — before the day!”

He burns red to the tip of his ears as he flounders, focus bouncing between his mother and you. Mostly you. He can’t seem to stop staring at you, gaping at you. The more he looks at you, the redder he gets. “Sorry, sorry!” He flusters, “Mr. Morris told me you were here, I didn’t realize—” Ma Kent whacks him on the shoulder but he still can’t seem to decide whether to look away or keep staring at you. “You look—”

Jimmy beats him to it. “Whoa, you look good. You know for a prete—”

Clark interrupts him this time, slapping a hand over his mouth before he can finish the sentence. Then he looks at you again — awe and wonder and what you may mistake as adoration. “You look…” he swallows, “really good. Beautiful. Just so—”

This group seems to make a habit out of interrupting each other. Ma Kent takes her turn. “Out! Both of you!” She’s using all her might to push the two boys out of the store.

Still, the last thing Clark sees before he gets shoved out is you.

A night out is exactly what you need. One night of drinking and dancing to get your mind off the fact that you’re slowly falling in love — or maybe have been in love — with your best friend’s brother — your annual situationship. With Clark Kent.

A night of drinking yourself into oblivion in the one place you never thought you’d come to and the one place you least expected to fall in love.

Kara is flicking through her closet when she notes, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and my brother, but if he’s got you down, we’re going to change that tonight. He either needs to get his shit together or we’ll find you someone new.”

But then she pauses and she turns to you, an uncharacteristically soft look on her face. One that is both sympathetic towards you but also firm.

“But I also know my brother and he’s soft at heart — and I know you and the walls you’ve put up around yours — so I need you to also be sure before the rest of us are left here to pick up the pieces.”

You don’t know what that means. If anyone’s getting their heart broken, it would be you when Clark eventually turns you down for the girl of his dreams. You’re a blip in the grander scheme of his life, perhaps it’s time for you to learn your place.

You haven’t had a moment alone with him since this morning. Not that you want it. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye after the wedding dress incident.

The look in his eyes, the lines carved onto his face, when he saw you, is engraved in the back of your mind. It’s an expression that constantly flashes every time you close your eyes. Some silly part of you mistakes it as love. That foolish part of you thinks that there might be hope with Clark. Maybe he could feel the same way.

But that hope is dashed when your mind also reminds you of how he shifted away from you that morning, how he looked embarrassed next to you with Lois before him.

So perhaps Kara is right — either you find a middle ground with Clark or — you hate the thought — you find a rebound.

Kara puts you in a pair of cowboy boots and a sundress, topping it off with a Stetson to match. You look cute — a far cry from your usual corporate getup. A light touch of makeup, enough to make you look somewhat alive, and you’re good to go.

The plan is to go bar hopping tonight. One drink (or two) at each bar before you go to the next. You do that until you run out of bars to go to which is apparently a big fear out here when there are not too many around.

As you’re putting on the finishing touches, the engagement ring — the fake one — that Clark bought for you seems to taunt you from your dresser. You don’t have to put it on. Not tonight when his parents aren’t around. Not when you think you’re out to find someone to mend your Clark-shaped broken heart.

But you can’t resist and slide it onto your ring finger. It still glimmers just as bright.

When you finally step out of the room, your eyes first land on Clark. His focus previously on Jimmy immediately moves towards you, towards the sound of your thundering heartbeat. There’s a flicker in his eyes — a flame that lights as he assesses you from head to toe. The following movement in his throat is oddly reassuring.

He’s making his way towards you, long legs moving fast to make sure you can’t escape again — not like the last few times. Then you’re tilting your face up to look at him.

“You look… wow,” Clark breathes out, “uhm, it looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” you cough awkwardly.

Unfortunately for you, Clark has also gone full cowboy with his double denim look and a hat that pairs well with yours. Broad shoulders stretching out the light-wash blue of his shirt, the color that makes his eyes pop even more. You can practically see a button straining to keep his shirt together across his chest.

God truly isn’t fair, but you suppose you’re not sure what god created a specimen like Clark Kent.

“You look good too,” you murmur quietly.

Clark’s eyes shine with the compliment, his charming smile stretching an inch wider. “Thank you. Listen, about today, you—” he stops himself, teeth catching his bottom lip. “I’m sorry ma made you do that.”

That’s not the reaction you were hoping for. Your smile wobbles as you wait for him to continue.

“I’ll have a chat with her not to rush you into this. I know this is all… pretend,” he enunciates slowly, eyes gauging your response, but you don’t move an inch.

“Right, it’s all pretend,” you echo numbly.

You don’t know what you were expecting—

This is a lie. You knew exactly what you wanted to hear from Clark.

You wanted to hear a repeat of this afternoon. A confirmation.

You look beautiful. Perfect. I’m actually in love with you. Will you marry me for real?

Your rational brain slams onto the brakes of your imagination. You shouldn’t let your fantasies run amok, lest they get lost in bouts of insanity.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Clark says softly, “so if things get too far and you want to stop this, I completely understand. I put you in this situation and that’s unfair to you.”

“It’s okay. I get it. We’ll… figure it out,” you mutter.

“I—” he starts again but stops himself. You could see his eyes swirling with a thought, a conflicting one by the look on his face. Apparently, he decides against it and shakes his head, instead offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You nod and loop your arm through his.

The problem with Clark is that he can’t seem to say no — and that he doesn’t get drunk. So when others ask to drink with him, he tries to deny them politely, but then they only insist harder. It gets to a point where Clark just has to drink with them to get them to leave him alone. But once one succeeds, that means every girl in the damn bar is trying to get with him too.

All of this to say is that he is constantly being dragged away from you.

First bar, one girl approaches him as he’s getting drinks for the rest of the group. She keeps him preoccupied as he throws awkward glances seeking help in the group’s direction. Every attempt to save him is foiled by said girl who keeps him trapped there. So you throw back your first shot of the night.

Second bar, it’s one girl after another once Clark caves to the first drink. You didn’t know that the number of attractive bachelors in Smallville added up to one Clark Kent, so he seems to be the only desirable man in the entire place. For some reason, the women here are immune to Jimmy’s charms, much to his relief. You down two additional shots here, followed by a cocktail with double tequila. Then you dance with Lois and Kara.

Third bar, you’re the one getting approached. Kara gives you two thumbs up while Lois stares at him skeptically. Clark is being cornered by yet another woman. So you take that man’s hand and dance with him. When you chance a glance at Clark, he looks a little ticked off but he doesn’t do anything. He just sits there and glares. So you keep dancing. But then Clark gets up and offers his hand to Lois and that is when you choose to turn your back on him and accept this stranger’s offer for another drink.

Fourth bar, you’re sufficiently sloshed.

On the bright side, you’re definitely enjoying yourself and you’re definitely not paying attention to Clark getting flirted with for the thousandth time that night. He barely looks at you too, too busy trying to be nice and reject this onslaught of advances. Sometimes, you wish he could be more assertive, put his foot down when he has no interest.

Sometimes, you wish you had put a stupid label on your thing with Clark so you could freely stake your claim on him. But as it stands today, you have no right to be jealous. You have no right to deny him the pleasures of other people’s company.

Your irritation boils over into pettiness, which is a terrible shift when you hear an all too familiar voice calling your name in the crowd.

It’s a voice you haven’t heard in years but one that still sends chills down your spine. Not the good kind.

You’ve managed to avoid this man for most of your adult life; how is it that you managed to bump into your douchebag of an ex, who had you swearing off relationships forever, in this bumfuck town of all places?

“You look incredible,” Patrick beams, pearly white gleaming underneath the bar’s dim fluorescent lights.

“You look like you don’t belong here,” you deadpan, whirling around in search of your friends.

Patrick catches you by the elbow. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Aw, why are you being so cold to me? We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

You don’t care about him, you haven’t thought about him in years, but the audacity of this man to act like this when he was the one who dumped you through text with two words. “Seriously, piss off, Patrick.”

“One dance, then you can tell me to go to hell. Just one.”

“Patrick—”

He’s already taking your hand. You blanch and end up trapped in the crowd on the floor, Patrick’s palms on your waist as he begins to move his body. You feel your dinner coming back up at the touch of this man. You can’t believe this loser really had that much of an impact on you, enough for you to forsake any romantic relationships.

Every time you try to leave, Patrick’s twirling you around and bringing you back to him. At some point, he’s got his front pressed up against your back, arms wound tight around your body. His breath is warm on the back of your neck and you feel repugnance crawl up your throat.

Just as you’re about to try and make your fourth escape attempt, you’re wrenched out of his hold and into the hands of another. You tip your face up to see Clark.

He’s looking at you warily but you know better; there’s a hint of a flame in his gaze — anger. It’s not directed at you but you have a pretty good idea who it’s for.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you clear your throat, drawing yourself away from him too.

Despite being irrationally annoyed with him — somewhat reasonably considering he’s been practically ignoring you all night, you are thankful to see him. You slacken against him and he softens a tad as he wraps his arm around you.

“Clark, buddy! I haven’t seen you in a while too. You two a thing now?” Patrick taunts, words slurring together into a jumbled mess as he trips forward. Clark is quick to shove him away from you, hauling you closer towards him. “Oh, come on. We can share. She’d like that too.”

Your blood runs cold as you seethe at him. “Go to hell, Patrick.”

Clark doesn’t say a word but you can sense the rage roll off him in waves. He proceeds to use his massive frame to split the crowd and drag you off the dance floor and out of the bar. You’re about to stomp your way back inside when Clark catches your wrist and pulls you off to the side.

“Clark, let me go.”

“You’re drunk.”

Your irritation spikes. “So what?”

He grits his teeth and inhales deeply. “Why’d you let him touch you like that?”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” you snap, “I got stuck in there.”

“Because you weren’t being careful,” he snips.

You cross your arms over your chest. You roll your eyes. “Since when do you care?”

He narrows his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you have other women to entertain?”

Clark’s jaw shifts. “Are we really talking about this again? I thought I made it very clear to you that I only want you.”

“Sure didn’t seem like it,” you mutter, “whatever. You can do whatever you want. We’re not dating.”

A look flits across his eyes, too fast for you to decipher, but then his gaze hardens again. “So what do you want from me?”

One thing. There’s only one thing you can ask from him. One thing you have any right asking of him. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Really?” He laughs, “Out here?”

“Never stopped you before.”

Countless nights fucking outside beach houses and bars, or that bistro in New York, or the boardwalk in LA. You’ve ticked off a lot of places in your list of the most risky locations to have sex, so this shouldn’t be any different.

For some reason, it feels like it is.

Clark lets out one final grunt before he pounces on you. His mouth slants over yours, tasting of liquor and something syrupy in whatever cocktail girl number ten probably bought for him. The thought irritates you and you end up nipping on his bottom lip particularly hard. He yelps and jolts back.

“What was that?”

“Felt like it.”

He blinks at you, confused, annoyed for a moment, before he breaks into a chuckle. “You look cute in green.”

“I’m not wearing—” you stop yourself when the realization dawns on you. “Funny.”

“I try to be,” he grins, dimples carving onto his cheeks.

Clark doesn’t give you a chance to bite back another stupid retort before he’s kissing you again, deeper, harder. He presses you against the wooden walls as his mouth wanders south along the column of your neck, leaving wet welts in his path. His teeth nibble tiny constellations on your skin, like he’s mapping out the sky above you. The stars begin to blur when he tugs your sundress down to free your tits, nipples practically aching for attention.

“Missed me?” Clark teases.

“No,” you answer tersely, shoving his head back down to your chest. He doesn’t need to be asked twice before he’s giving you all the attention you need. His mouth is warm as it latches onto one nipple, hand overpowering as it palms your other breast. His knee nudges between your legs until his thigh is pressed up against your barely-covered pussy.

“No panties?”

“Thong.”

He curses under his breath. You smile to yourself. A rare occurrence. You always give yourself a mental pat on the back when he does.

“Remind me to kill Kara,” he grumbles into your chest.

“Can you not talk about your sister when you’re sucking my tits?”

“Fair point.” Clark pushes his thigh higher until he’s grinding his muscle between your legs.

A moan pours out of your lips at the friction — the firmness of his leg combined with the scrape of the denim against your pussy. Your underwear is practically buried in your cunt as his hand wanders to grab a handful of your ass.

“Perfect,” he mumbles, “you’re too perfect.”

Your heart melts with his words. How could he be so soft with you when he doesn’t even want more? You urge those selfish thoughts of your mind, instead focusing on the delicious heat building between your legs.

“Does my thigh feel good on her, honey?”

With your eyes closed, you nod. Your teeth catch your bottom lip to stop another moan from spilling out but you feel Clark’s hand on your cheek, his thumb on your chin to free it.

“I wanna hear you.”

“C-can’t be too loud,” you stutter when he bounces his thigh.

“No one’s going to hear. Everyone’s too busy inside,” he insists as he positions you atop his thigh. “Use my leg. Can you get yourself off for me?”

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes at how intense the feeling is in the pit of your stomach. You’re already always so aroused with Clark around, but it’s amplified tenfold when you’ve got alcohol in your system, your inhibitions and guard completely lowered.

“Yes, you can,” he coos, squeezing your hips. “I know you can, honey. Just gotta grind on my thigh. Just like that. That’s a good girl.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice. When Clark uses that voice on you, you know you’re a goner. You’ve started rutting yourself on his thigh, feeling pathetic and ashamed, at the same time completely empowered by how much this is affecting Clark. He’s watching you with those dark eyes, drinking in every inch of you as you grind your cunt down on his leg. You tug the gusset of your panties to the side so you have more of your skin rubbing directly on him, leaving a dark pool of your juices on his leg.

“‘M making a mess,” you whine quietly.

“It’s okay,” he soothes you, “keep going. I want you to make a mess on me, want you to mark me. Need you to know that I only want you, need everyone to know that I only want you.”

And it’s definitely the liquor that’s making you vulnerable because you’re then looking up at him, doe eyes pleading, when you ask him, “Promise?”

Clark’s eyes flutter at the expression on your face. “Promise, honey. I’m all yours.”

With that in mind, you begin to mindlessly grind your hips down on him. Every shift of your hips chases a friction that fuels the fire burning inside you. When you tilt your hips in a particular direction, his thigh bumps up against your sensitive clit. You end up leaning forward to get more and more of that feeling, adjusting yourself until Clark doesn’t try to smother your moans, instead he drinks in every little noise that leaves your lips.

He continues to bury his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and lapping at those marks he’s left behind. All the while you’re humping him pitifully, hips stuttering when you get a little too close. Clark’s hand buries in your hair, yanks your head back until you let out a cry.

“Let them hear you. Come on. Let yourself go for me. She likes my leg, doesn’t she? It feels good for her. Keep rubbing her on me.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you cum all over his leg. You nearly slide off his thigh but Clark moves faster to hoist you up against him, letting you ride out your orgasm scraping yourself against his thigh.

“Good girl,” he mutters, “my turn now. Can you take me?”

Your nod is weary but it’s enough for Clark to slowly ease you off his leg and turn you around, forcing you to plant your hands against the wall.

“Going to need you to hold yourself up. I’ll be here to catch you okay,” he reassures you, lips gentle against the back of your shoulder, before you hear the clink of his belt and the hiss of breath past his kissed teeth as he buries himself inside you. The stretch is mind-numbingly delicious, particularly as he grabs onto your hips and pushes your leg closed together.

His grip is bruising as he begins to piston in and out of you, blissfully ignorant of the muffled thumping music behind those walls. He doesn’t falter when the front door to the bar opens and chatter spills out with drunk guests exiting. The two of you are cloaked in the shadows as Clark continues to drive his cock deep inside your pulsing cunt.

However, the harder he fucks, the louder you get. At some point, one of the patrons does turn and your heart stops, thinking you’ve finally been caught.

But Clark slaps a hand over your mouth while the other grabs your breast as he fucks up into you in earnest. Every stroke feels intentional, every stroke feels like it’s designed specifically for you. He knows how to angle his hips just right to hit all those sensitive, electrifying spots inside of you.

“Perfect puffy pussy,” Clark groans. “You’re too good to me. I never want to be inside anyone else. I never want anyone else to be inside you. Will you promise me that?”

You blather your agreement, words barely coherent with the force of his thrusts and the hand covering your lips. Your fingers slip against the wall, you’re pretty sure the wall itself is rattling with how hard he’s jerking his hips forward.

“You’re perfect. Perfect for me. Pussy’s shaped to my cock now,” Clark moans. “Need to teach her who she belongs to. Whose cock she can take. I’m gonna make sure this pretty pussy knows every inch of me.”

His balls slap up against the back of your thighs as his length sinks over and over again inside you. Clark’s always had both length and girth, but this position has you feeling more of him. He treats you like a ragdoll, a fleshlight, for him to fuck and use. He gropes you all over, exploring every curve and dip on your body like he’s committing it to memory.

You bump your hips back as you grow impatient, that second flame scorching every one of your nerves as you try to stop your knees from buckling. Clark holds onto you tighter, presses you against him as he whispers promises into your ear.

I’m always going to catch you.

I’ve got you, you can let go.

I’m going to keep you full.

Clark’s body tenses and you know the telltale signs by now. You arch your back a bit more, enough for him to grab your hips again, thumbs digging into the swell of your ass as he plunges into you a few more times before he spills inside you.

Warmth coats your insides as Clark’s forehead presses against your shoulder blades, his hands trembling with the weight of his climax. It’s as if he’s been holding back, his cum filling you up and beginning to leak from where the two of you are connected. It’s thick and sticky and you feel it cling to your walls. Your breathing is labored as you try to regain your bearings, as you remember where you are.

“Shit,” you huff in a laugh.

“Got that right,” Clark chuckles behind you. “Are you okay?”

Always so careful.

“I’m fine, Clark. I’m not fragile.” You bump your ass backwards against him.

Clark grunts when he feels him push deeper inside you again, spurring his cum back in you. “I know, I just want to be sure.”

When he finally pulls out, the cum leaks down your legs and thankfully Clark has a few napkins handy. He drops to his knees and cleans you up, just enough to make you presentable. You slide the straps of your dress back onto your shoulders as you lean up against the wall.

“He didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Clark asks warily.

You cock an eyebrow. “Who? Patrick? What would he tell me?”

He searches your eyes for a second, swallowing thickly. “Nothing. I was hoping he wouldn’t say anything stupid to you.”

“Aside from forcing me to dance with him, I don’t think he can do anything dumber than that. For now,” you add casually.

Clark’s lips pinch together. “Stay close to me. I don’t want him catching you off guard again.”

“Okay, guard dog.”

His mouth finally quirks up into a smile, his hand reaching out to pinch your hip. “Should I bark for you?”

And you laugh.

When you return to the group, clearly much less presentable than you were earlier, Jimmy is the only one who points out the dark stain on Clark’s jeans.

“Must’ve spilled on myself.” Clark shrugs.

None of them looks like they believe it. 

“So,” Kara begins. Her eyes are avoiding you, which is never a good sign. “You and my brother.”

Flames lick up your neck again and you hide your embarrassment behind your cup of tea. Your head is still pounding with the aftermath of your mistakes last night. Everyone else is fast asleep, hoping the liquor wears off eventually. Clark is already up and running, nodding his head at you with a smile before he disappears into the barn. 

Kara is sulking because she still can’t feel the alcohol on this planet. So now, she’s taking that out on you. 

“Are you guys a thing now?”

The words you shared last night are a blur, your inebriated state amplified by you being absolutely cockdrunk, but your best friend doesn’t need to know that. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter honestly.

“Really? That stain on his jeans wasn’t you marking your territory?”

“Kara!” You snap, cheeks warm.

“Hey, there are things I wish I could unsee. If I had to see that, you have to have the tough conversations.”

Pursing your lips, you look down at your mug again. The tea ripples with your sigh. “I honestly don’t know, it’s a weird situation.”

“You’re both adults. You can talk.”

She’s not wrong, but you’ve never been good at dealing with emotions. Exhibit A: Clark. Exhibit B: the nearly permanent toll you took from your very minor breakup with Patrick. 

“I don’t know how to start. Also,” you pause, that familiar sinking feeling returning. 

You hate to call it insecurity, because the last thing you want to be worried about is a man. But you can’t help yourself when it comes to Clark — it’s easier to pretend you don’t care than face the possibility of him rejecting your feelings. Unless you’re a hundred percent certain he feels the same way, not even a shred of doubt, you can’t seem to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. 

Because if he’s in love with someone else, if he chooses someone else, then you don’t have to think of the alternative — that you are simply not good enough to love even after all this time. 

Kara peeks at you, eyebrow raising. 

“Nothing, never mind,” you clear your throat.

The corners of her lips tighten. “I’m your best friend, you know this, right? I’m your best friend first regardless of whatever you have going on with my brother. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you should be able to trust me with it.”

Your face softens as you slide an arm around her shoulder. “I know and I’m thankful for that.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, I’m just here to make sure you’ll be my sister-in-law someday. For real. Not some fake story Clark made up so ma still thinks he’s her golden boy.” 

Her name rolls off your tongue again in a scold. 

As if summoned, the front door creaks open and out pops her mother. “Just the person I’m looking for. Kara, I’m out of milk, can you run into town and grab some?” 

“What’s the point of having cows if we still have to buy milk?” Kara grumbles under her breath.

“You know you can’t drink raw milk,” she chides. 

“We can do that, Mrs. Kent,” you smile, elbowing your best friend. “Anything else you need?”

The older woman’s face practically melts and that guilt sucker punches you in the gut again, especially when she says — “You can call me Ma, we’re going to be family soon.”

Thankfully, before your conscience has you confessing the god-honest truth, Kara jumps in. “We’ll go now. See ya later, Ma.”

You shoot her an appreciative look. 

The two of you make a pit stop for a treat-yourself coffee in town. While you enjoy the Kents’ instant coffee, nothing beats a fresh cup doused in all sorts of syrups and creams (at least that’s what you tell yourself when you swipe your credit card for the overpriced beverage). 

Kara is telling you about her latest research project at the university where she’s completing her PhD. Neither of you expected her to go down this route, but she enjoys experimenting and torturing professors, so the two vices combined make for an interesting educational experience.

That’s when you hear your name again — and it’s not the barista.

Your blood runs cold the moment you register the voice. Twice in less than twenty-four hours after years of absence has to be some cosmic joke. 

Patrick sidles up to you, a little too close for comfort. Apparently, Clark’s warning does nothing to deter him from bothering you. 

“Fancy seeing you again,” he grins. 

You feel that expensive coffee coming back up. Kara immediately slides between the two of you, a glare set in the firmness of her eyes. “Didn’t know this place let dogs in.”

“You’re still funny, Kent,” Patrick muses, unfazed as he redirects his attention to you. “You disappeared last night.”

Clark’s face in the darkness flashes before your eyes, the press of his fingers in your hips. 

“What’re you even doing here?” You snap.

He seems to think about it for a moment. “Visiting a… friend,” he notes. Kara stiffens next to him. 

“Why don’t you go back to them then? I don’t think we need to see each other.”

“That’s cold,” he juts his bottom lip out.

You can’t believe you once found this man attractive. You can’t believe you banned all romantic relationships because of him. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve acting like this when you’re the one who dumped me.”

His eyes spark with surprise. “Hey, that wasn’t my choice.”

Your glare only deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This guy is insane,” Kara mutters, latching onto your elbow. “Let’s just go.”

“Oh, come on, Kara, you were there too.”

Your confusion shifts to your best friend, who bares her teeth at Patrick. “What?”

“Kent told me to break up with you.”

Your heart stops. 

“Clark. Remember the guy who pulled you away from me last night? It makes sense now why he told me to end things with you. He wanted you for himself. Didn’t think he had it in him but I have to give him credit for that,” he whistles low with a chuckle.

You’re not laughing. You’re not even thinking. 

Your mind is reeling with a million thoughts, a million memories. Your young, stupid self crying for hours about Patrick ending things, your first relationship. Months you spent blaming yourself for unanswered questions. You cried with Kara — hell, you’ve cried in front of Clark. 

All this time— 

“You knew?” You whip around to face your best friend who now has guilt written all over her face.

“Look, he did it for a reason.”

“A reason you didn’t bother to tell me.”

“You should talk to him,” she winces.

“Hey, if you’re still interested, I wouldn’t mind reconnecting. We can pick up where we left off,” Patrick offers you that grimy smile.

You’re too nauseous to even process the ridiculous request. 

“Patrick!” 

The three of you look up and all color drains from his face when he sees the woman approaching him. She seems sweet. Her eyes glitter when she sees the two of you. 

“Hi! Are you Patrick’s friends? It’s so nice to meet you.”

It dawns on you then that this isn’t just a friend, not with the way she wraps her arms around Patrick’s bicep. Not with the way she leans in to peck him on the cheek.

You’re about to hurl.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you spit at him and turn to her with a sympathetic look. “You deserve better than him, trust me.”

Before any of them could respond, you’re already hightailing out of there.

Kara doesn’t breathe a word the entire ride home, but neither do you. You’re too busy fuming.

To think that your very first heartbreak was caused by Clark. It doesn’t even seem plausible. He would never do that; he’s not the type to. But you need to hear the words directly from his mouth. 

You’re on a path of rage when you stomp through the house looking for him. You call out his name over and over until he sticks his head out of the bathroom, hair wet sticking to his forehead and a befuddled expression.

He smiles only for a second before he sees the look on your face. His eyes dart to Kara behind you before flicking back to you.

“Uh, hi?”

“You told Patrick to break up with me sophomore year. Yes or no?”

Clark pales. His lips part and close.

“Clark,” you grit out.

“Yes.”

The disappointment hits you like a bullet train. You didn’t want to believe it but deep down, you knew the truth; Kara’s face said it all, you were just hoping that Clark would at least provide some sort of explanation. Rationalize why he did what he did. It isn’t the fact that he told Patrick to break up with you that upsets you, it’s the fact that he watched you despair over this man for months and never said a word — and to then start this with you, albeit unintentionally, and agree to your no-strings-attached conditions knowing full well where that condition is rooted — is what devastates you.

“That’s it?” You whisper, “You’re not going to tell me why you did it?”

Clark’s gaze merely shifts away. An abandonment of accountability.

“Clark, you’re not that type of guy. I just need to understand why you would do something like that.”

“He wasn’t good enough for you,” he quickly breathes out.

“That’s not your call,” you grit out.

“I was trying to protect you.”

That’s where he gets you. This supposed moral high ground. Clark has always been the good guy, the one who’s polite and sweet, the favorite. But saying this when he barely knew you? Saying this now? You can’t help the frustration that explodes in your chest.

“I don’t need you to protect me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“So you’ve said,” he mutters under his breath.

“Jesus, Clark, we weren’t even doing anything back then and you felt it appropriate to intervene? Were you going to intervene with any guy you also deemed not good enough for me now too?” The words that come out of your mouth are hurtful; they have the intention to hurt. You see the impact you intend flicker across his eyes.

Your brain is telling you to stop but you’re no longer listening to that part of you. Instead, you cave into the demands of your fragile, wounded heart.

“You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to do these things if you’re not even in a relationship with me. At this point, I’m not even sure if you’re my friend.”

His blue eyes snap towards you — cold, faltering with the sting. “That’s not fair. I’ve always been your friend first — before all this.”

“A friend wouldn’t have done that without reason. Without telling me.”

He takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. But it isn’t fair that you’re making all these assumptions about me based on what he said. You know me. You should know better.”

“Well, maybe I don’t.” Your voice fractures, betraying the sorrow simmering under all the anger. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

The moment you say it, you regret it.

Clark has never been a mistake, not to you. He’s one of the best decisions you’ve ever made — becoming his friend, starting this thing with him, falling in love with him. You don’t regret a single moment; if not for the memories you now hold close to your chest, then at least it reminds you that you are capable of love. That it is still possible for you.

But you know that you’ve crossed a line now with the expression etched onto his face. You look away.

“Ma’s just come in, we shouldn’t do this out here,” Kara coaxes gently, “come on.” She guides you to her room, where she proceeds to let you cry into her sheets.

It seems rather silly when you think about it — you started this with no commitments with Clark to avoid crying over a man, and yet here you are today, doing exactly that. Part of it is you mourning what you’ve just lost, this conversation has changed everything between the two of you. Part of it is remorse after the fact — words you can’t take back, words you don’t mean.

“I’m an idiot,” you rasp, rubbing your eyes furiously. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I was just upset.”

“He knows that,” Kara murmurs as she tugs you into a hug, your head instinctively fitting into the curve of her shoulder. “Clark understands. The two of you just need room to breathe and process all this.”

You draw away from her. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

She sighs your name in a way that does not reassure you. “It’s not my place.”

“You were there.”

“Clark made me swear and, as much as I love you, I also love my brother and I keep my word.”

Your eyes narrow at her and you can see her resolve crumbling in real time. It’s not visible to the naked eye but you’ve known Kara for far too long to see her giving in. “Kara…”

“Stop. Don’t give me that face.”

“Kara, I need to apologize to Clark. I need to have a reason to apologize to him.”

She groans, “You’re the worst. You know you’re the only one who can bully me into doing anything. Not even Lois can do it. I’ll bite her before she tries.”

“She would wear tactical gear before she does anything like that.”

“Right,” she grunts, “I hate you.”

“You absolutely love me.”

“I do,” she relents, “which is the only reason I’m telling you this.” 

You cock an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Alright, so, this was probably a month into the two of you dating. I never liked him by the way, but you were all starry-eyed because it was your first relationship and I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Please don’t remind me of my poor decisions, I have enough of them keeping me up at night.”

“Right, so I was hanging out with Clark in the library—” you give her an incredulous look, “—okay so Clark was in the library and I went to find him to figure out vacation plans. We were walking and that’s when we saw Patrick with that blonde girl from statistics making out against one of the shelves.”

Fucker. You should’ve known, especially after today. All those times you brushed off his constant need to hide his phone when you come into the room, or leaving you at night because he has to meet his friends, or constant excuses to go to the library when he barely passed any of his classes. The signs were there and you chose to put on blinders.

“Clark saw red. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move that fast. One second Patrick was there and the next he was up against a wall. Mind you, Clark wasn’t even into you back then — not like he is today. He’s always been protective of you, you know.”

It’s not surprising. With Kara practically adopting you as a sister, Clark always was thoughtful with you. When he thought of something for Kara, he would always consider you as well. It’s nice, particularly as you’ve never had a big brother protecting you.

But you suppose your attraction towards Clark was never a surprise either. You never considered him a real brother, not when he looked like that.

“Anyways, long story short, he basically told Patrick to break up with you, told him not to give any stupid excuses. Made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you either.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell me? It was Patrick’s own mistake!”

“You should’ve seen yourself back then. You acted like Patrick was the be-all end-all. You called that sleaze perfect once and I nearly gagged.”

“That’s all the more reason to tell me!”

Kara sighs and shrugs. “In Clark’s mind, he probably thought he was protecting you. He didn’t want you to think it was your fault. You have a way of taking responsibility for things that aren’t yours to stress over. He likely thought you were going to blame yourself.”

“Jokes on him, I did that anyway,” you mumble.

“Well, we thought that asshole would at least do it nicely. Didn’t think he would do it over text with two words.”

We’re done.

And then he didn’t pick up your calls or answer your devastated texts. You cringe thinking about how embarrassingly desperate you were back then to get answers. What a waste.

Knowing all this, you feel even worse. Clark was only trying to protect you; you had a feeling it was something along those lines. It’s Clark after all, he wouldn’t do such things for selfish reasons. He was thinking of you. He’s always thinking of you.

“I need to suck up my pride and apologize, don’t I?”

Kara’s lips twitch. “I think he would appreciate it. Though, I suppose he also does owe you an apology — knowing him, he’s probably already preparing a speech on what to say to you too.”

Clark disappears for the remainder of the day. In fact, he really only comes in for dinner. He looks worse for wear with the shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion that hangs heavy in his gaze. When he sees you, there is a brief moment when light enters his eyes, brightening his baby blues, but then they quickly dim again as he throws his face away.

Fuck. Have you really screwed this up beyond repair?

The meal is only awkward for those who know. Lois and Jimmy sense trouble in the air but, aside from some confused looks, they don’t voice their concerns — not publicly at least. Clark is quieter than usual and Lois, who sits next to him after you sat down next to Kara, nudges him subtly.

He softens for her.

The interaction across from you has your heart aching. After what you said to him, you have no right to be jealous. Clark deserves better than an emotionally unstable person like you who can’t even tell right from wrong, who can’t even apologize. He deserves someone good, someone strong. Someone he doesn’t need to constantly protect.

The realization sinks into your bones, integrating itself into your very being. That little voice inside your head that tells you to worry only grows louder. It tells you that there’s probably a reason why Patrick cheated on you, why Clark would prefer Lois or that girl from the carnival over you, and why love isn’t meant for you.

It’s irrational. It’s stupid but you can’t help it when your heart is already breaking.

After dinner, you offer to help with the dishes but Ma Kent tells you not to worry and to go wash up for bed. You do as you’re told, but, after you’re dressed in your pajamas, you go looking for Clark. You have to tell him now — apologize, beg for his forgiveness, and maybe, maybe tell him how you really feel. Rip off the band-aid now.

Unfortunately, by the time you find him, he’s chuckling with Lois next to him. They’re washing the dishes, making conversation over suds between their fingers. You don’t mean to eavesdrop; you just happened to be there when they were talking.

“Well, that’s because you’re the idiot who waited this long!” Lois laughs, the sound is affectionate. Delighted.

Your stomach twists.

“I can’t help it,” Clark grumbles, “I was too scared to ruin it.”

“Let’s be honest. You had nothing to worry about, Clark.”

The puzzle pieces slot together in your mind. They click into place. The conversation, their interactions, the smiles they share. You’ve always known that Clark admired Lois, it appears as if he’s finally made his feelings known.

And Lois feels the same way.

You had nothing to worry about.

I was too scared to ruin it.

Waited this long.

God, how could you be so silly? To think Clark Kent would love you. To think you had a chance with him.

You turn on your heel, ready to escape the scene before you can break, only to run headfirst into another solid, soft body. You look up to find Clark’s dad looking at you.

“Will you spare me a minute?”

This can’t come at a worse time.

But you nod and you follow him into the living room. His fingers run over the picture frames — family photos of the four of them, Clark and Kara, some individual photos. There are some photos of Clark you haven’t seen before, boyish smile at his elementary school graduation, pearly whites at his college graduation, sun-kissed skin of him in that field out back. Pa Kent smiles almost sorrowfully at the memories before he turns to you.

“I just want to say — I think you’re a good thing for Clark. He clearly loves you very much. I can see it in his eyes. He’s never been like this with anyone else.” Your throat tightens as you bite your lip to stop the tears from falling. “He’s always been a good kid, tried to do right by everyone. Definitely tried to be so good to us. Keeps threatening to come home,” he chuckles, “but I want to know that he’s in good hands. That you’ll take care of him.”

He chokes on his words, tears welling up in his eyes. You flail, unsure of what to do, searching the room for a napkin for him even as you feel the wetness on your cheeks.

“Oh, you silly, soft man,” another voice interrupts gently, and a tissue appears before him. Ma Kent pats her husband on the back as he sobs quietly into the cloth. “Don’t scare her away before she’s officially part of our family.” She smiles in teasing apology when she turns to you. “He’s all mush when it comes to Clark. The same thing will happen when Kara finds someone too. Clark may seem strong, but he’s also all heart like his dad here. It seems Earth has given him another weakness beyond Kryptonite.”

The knowing look she gives you nearly shatters you. The truth hangs on the tip of your tongue. You could tell them right now. Save them the suffering from the secret, but you can’t do that to them — and not to Clark. This is something he has to tell his parents. When he eventually breaks the news to them that this engagement has fallen apart, maybe he has his new, real relationship to show.

And they’ve met Lois, so naturally they would fall in love with her. They already adore her. It’s hard not to love someone as wonderful and smart as her, so you can’t blame them.

For now, all you can do is nod and smile. “He’s my weakness too.”

Your week with the Kents comes to an end much too soon. Kara’s preparing to jet off back to her city while you’re on the first flight out that day. You had switched to an earlier flight, save yourself the pain and the heartache of having to face Clark and his parents for a second longer.

When you come down that morning with your suitcase packed, everyone’s at the breakfast table. Your eyes land on Kara first who you informed of your flight change. She doesn’t look surprised, but the rest of them do.

“I thought you were going to fly back with us,” Lois frowns.

“I have, um, a work thing, so I booked an earlier flight. Don’t mind me though, you all enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to call a cab.”

Clark is quick on his feet to approach you. You haven’t really seen him the last couple of days. You spent most of it avoiding him after all. He doesn’t fight it; instead, he seems to be maintaining a respectable distance too. Probably out of consideration for his new, actual relationship.

You’ve moved back to your original plan to crash with Kara as Jimmy joins Clark and Lois takes the extra guest room. All of this you do after their parents are asleep to avoid suspicion.

The lines on his face deepen as he comes up to you. “Don’t be silly, I can drive you.”

“It’s a far drive, you really don’t have to. I don’t mind. I’ll take—”

“I want to,” he interrupts softly.

“Let him take you, sweetheart,” Ma Kent insists as she comes up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s been so nice to meet you. I’m happy I finally got the chance to see the woman who stole Clark’s heart.” Your smile wanes for a moment. “I’m sure Clark would want to take you to the airport and spend some quality time in the car.”

Crap, you didn’t even think about the extremely long drive to the airport. Whereas before you had plenty to distract you, this time, you’re left in the tense aftermath of your conversation — and your lack of apology.

You haven’t even agreed when Clark’s already throwing on a cap with the car keys jingling in his hands. He once again takes control of your suitcase. “I’ll put this in the truck while you say goodbye to everyone.”

Again, no room to protest.

Jimmy sends you off with a big smile and another teasing remark about you and Clark. “Maybe we’ll see you around Metropolis more often now.”

You doubt that.

Lois is the only one who flags your red-rimmed eyes. “Are you sure you want to leave so quickly? I’m sure work can wait. We’ll miss you around here.”

Again, you doubt that.

“It’s okay, I have to catch up, otherwise it’ll be a rough week for me. I’ll miss you guys too.”

“Clark and I are going to do a piece on elections in your city so maybe we’ll come visit you at some point?”

We. You didn’t think it would sting despite what you’ve already heard, and yet here you are kicking yourself once again. All you can do is nod and murmur an of course.

Pa Kent is next and he’s practically pouting at you. “I hope I didn’t scare you off last night. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, please,” you smile, “I thought it was very sweet. Thank you. I would stay if I could. I promise.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime, alright? With or without Clark.”

“Seconding that.” Ma Kent holds you at arm’s length again. “It’s been such a joy having you here, sweetheart. We can’t wait to see you again soon.”

You bite your tongue and nod just as Kara wrangles you into a headlock and ruffles your hair. A laugh bubbles up your throat. “You better come visit me before our annual pilgrimage next year. I expect lots of gifts.”

“You fly for free, mine involves torturing myself through TSA and paying for tiny seats. I think you should be visiting me.”

“Touché, I’ll see you in a month or so,” she grins, “also, I can come with you, so you know, it’s not awkward with Clark.”

You shake your head, giving her arm a squeeze. “Thanks, but it’ll be fine. I need to talk to him anyway.”

She doesn’t look appeased but nods.

By the time you step outside, Clark is leaning against the truck. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps stretching that t-shirt, strong brows puckered in a deep frown. Any other day, you’d ask him for a quick pit stop on the way to the airport, promising you have more than enough time to get through security. However, things are different now.

“Ready?” You ask, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He seems caught off guard that you’re already in front of him. That’s surprising, he usually hears you coming. Guess he’s stopped tuning in to the sound of your steps.

Clark clears his throat and swings open the passenger door for you, holding out a hand.

You slide your palm over his, a peace offering, before hopping into the seat.

The air is thick with tension you couldn’t cut through with a band saw. You have to roll down the windows to let some air in to cool your stiff shoulders and the heat up your neck. Time passes by quickly and slowly all at once. The world outside blurs before your eyes as Clark peels down the highway.

This is your chance. You can apologize now, keep things polite and concise. This can be an amicable end to this arrangement you have, so he can have a clean slate to start with Lois.

But the words are stuck in the caverns of your chest and it’s beginning to irritate you how cowardly you’re being. Perhaps there’s a piece of you that’s also dreading this conversation, knowing that this would finally end this years-long adventure you two have had. Even with the gaps in between, Clark has been a steady presence in your life.

“It’ll be a real awkward drive if you’re this quiet the entire way,” Clark breaks through the silence first. His smile is light, almost in jest.

You offer him a wry smile in return. “You’re right. We don’t have to make this weird.” With a deep breath, you begin. “I’m sorry. For all the things I said. That was unfair to you and you’re right, I do know you. I don’t think you’d do anything without reason. I was just hurt that you and Kara kept this from me all this time, you both knew how horrible that breakup was for me. Still, it’s no excuse for my words. You’re my friend and I love you immensely. I know you had my best interest in mind.”

Clark reaches over and squeezes your leg. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture but you can’t help the way your core pulses on instinct, years of trained response. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve told you — I assume Kara did…” You nod. “I thought I was doing what was best, I didn’t want you to get hurt. It’s not your fault that he’s an absolutely terrible person. You deserve better than that. You always have.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “for protecting me then and protecting me now.”

“You’ll always have me, I promise you that.”

A laugh of disbelief slips past your lips. “I was pretty stupid, falling for his charm like that. I should’ve known that he was too good to be true. He was always showing up with flowers and gifts and would say all these little lines that seemed so sweet at the time. So stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Clark corrects you, “you just… believed in love. You believed in a love that you deserve, because you do deserve all those good things. You deserve someone who means it when he tells you that you’re beautiful and wonderful and smart. You deserve someone who makes you a fresh cup of coffee every morning with an abysmal amount of additives and remembers your favorite treats and gets them for you just because. You deserve… good. A good, grand kind of love.”

Curse your silly little heart. Just when you think you’ve reached the bottom, you find new depths of your heart for you to fall into with your love for him.

Many say that if you love something, then you let it go. You should know when to let it go — and you love Clark and this is one of those moments. Despite what Clark said to you in the throes of passion — I only want you, his conversation with Lois that night has made it clear where you stand.

You were always meant to be a temporary distraction. Not someone’s forever. Not Clark’s.

While you make small talk the rest of the ride, you settle on a decision that both weighs heavily in your gut but frees your heart.

Clark guides you to the very last point before he has to leave you. He’s silent for a while and you can tell he’s deep in thought. However, before you can let yourself chicken out again, you finally muster up the courage to tell him.

“Hey, listen,” you swallow, “I don’t want things to be awkward. We have a great group of mutual friends, we have this trip we do every year. We had a good thing.”

His eyes squint, noting the use of past tense. He’s always been observant.

“But I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you blurt out, “like you said, we deserve love. Maybe it’s time for us to finally pursue it, right? We’re not getting any younger.” Your attempt at an awkward laugh is drowned out by the quiet hustle and bustle of the tiny airport.

Clark still isn’t saying anything. So you continue to ramble.

“And you know, same goes for you, you should be able to be with someone you love—” Lois’ face flashes in your mind, “—and you deserve someone who treats you right, who loves you, who understands you. And I just don’t think either of us can get there if we keep this up.”

“Is that really what you want?” Clark asks quietly.

It’s not, because all you want is him. But when you look at him, all you can see is the love he is capable of, the love he deserves — and you aren’t on the receiving end of it.

“Yes,” you simply say.

He searches your eyes for a moment then gives in. “Alright. If that’s what you want.” His arms draw you into a hug and you hide your quiet tears in his chest. You don’t know if he feels it dampening his t-shirt, but he doesn’t say a word. You never liked it when someone comforted your tears. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Safe flight. Let us know when you land.”

You nod and pull away from him, swiping away at your eyes before he can notice. “Thanks, Clark. For everything.”

With that, you turn and make your way further inside. You don’t look back once. 

Rain hasn’t stopped pouring since you came back from Smallville. Fall comes early. Everyday you look out the window from your tiny cubicle and watch the drops roll down the glass. Everyday you pop open an umbrella to grey skies and make your slow walk home. It’s like whoever is up there is mocking you for the very position you’ve put yourself in. Sad and alone.

You’re officially back to your humdrum life.

As promised, you text the group the moment you land safely. You get quick miss you’s from everyone and Clark reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You don’t know what to make of that. The group has been relatively quiet as everyone settles back into their daily routines. There are occasional pictures from Jimmy of the Daily Planet office and these are the only times you get glimpses of Clark.

There are, of course, photos of Clark and Lois — she did mention that they’re working together on a new piece, so that shouldn’t be surprising, but you put away your phone and instead turn on the television to the most depressing romance movie you know (if you didn’t think of Me Before You, then you’re wrong). You cry and cry and cry. At least you can blame it on something other than your fragile heart.

Your auto-generated playlists on the way to work reflect your mood — yearning, miserable, heartbroken. It doesn’t help so you’re quick to switch to AC/DC before your feet reach the office lobby. 

Your coworkers pepper you with questions about your vacation.

“Didn’t you say your best friend had that cute brother? How was he?” One of them teases.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, simply laughing and waving it off. He’s in love with someone else, you want to say.

After work, you join your colleagues for the occasional happy hour. It distracts your mind for a few hours until the buzz is the only company you have in the quiet of your apartment, then it only makes you spiral further. You close your eyes to sleep and you see Clark. You have wet dreams like a pubescent teenager, except they aren’t fantasies, they’re memories.

You wake up drenched in sweat before you splash your face with cold water and a good dose of reality.

All in all, life is the same — slightly worse, but, as they say, it’s always the darkest before the dawn.

You make the mistake of signing up for dating apps. Men with terrible pick-up lines, men with terrible mustaches, and terrible men in general are the only ones in your messages. It doesn’t help when you compare each one to Clark and none of them come close.

You agree to one date and, while he was pleasant, you can’t help but be preoccupied with your own self-pity.

The two of you thankfully part ways at the restaurant and you make your way home with your feet aching in your heels and your back sore from slouching in your own misery. You’re rummaging through your purse for your keys when you hear the sharp intake of breath.

A familiar breath.

Your head whips up to find Clark standing there. His eyes rake over you and something you mistake as awe descends on his face. He looks adorable, positively edible in a trench coat and a bright yellow umbrella next to him. He’s still in his suit which means he probably came straight from work; you wonder if he flew here.

“Clark, what are you doing here?”

“That’s a nice welcome,” he drawls sarcastically.

You give him a look but smile anyway. “You know what I mean.”

“Lois and I are in town for work. I, uh, came to give you this,” he pulls out a shirt from his satchel. It’s one you had left in Clark’s room in your hurry to leave one of those nights. “You left it at my parents’ place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring it back. I would’ve seen Kara eventually.”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs. Squirms.

“Well, thank you,” you breathe out, accepting the shirt from him.

Your fingers brush. Electricity zings through you like a warning.

You’re not sure what to say now. He’s not leaving but he’s also not saying anything more. He seems conflicted for a second, looking at you, at the floor, then at the elevator. He’s probably itching to leave to avoid how awkward this is.

“I should, uh, I should go,” Clark coughs.

You pause, hesitating. “Did you want to come in for coffee or something? It’s still pouring out.”

His tongue presses against his teeth, lips stretching out a bit wider on the brink of a yes, but then he stops. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, I’m inviting,” you smirk. He’s shuffling his feet like he’s nervous.

“Is this an invite for—” he stops himself, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

It wasn’t. However, now that he’s mentioned it, you can’t get the idea out of your head. One last time. One last night to relive the memories. One last night to act upon the dreams that have plagued you these past couple of weeks.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Clark croaks, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

You look down at your dress and your heels, splashes of rain dotting your stockings and shoes. “Oh, thank you.”

“Anyway, I shouldn’t bother you any longer, you must be busy.”

He turns. Your hand darts out, fingers catching his sleeve.

Clark turns back, eyes wide.

“Stay,” you find yourself saying.

His eyes look torn, blue flickering into something darker. Sadder. “You said you couldn’t do this anymore.”

“It’s still summer,” you try to reason — both with him and yourself, “maybe one last time for old time’s sake?”

Clark’s chest rises with the hitch of his breath.

The two of you are at a standstill.

With every passing second, embarrassment sinks deeper into your skin. It’s as if he’s prolonging the rejection, dragging out this moment to find a way to politely turn you down when—

“I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

Your hand drops, heart plummeting. You should’ve known better. Stupid, stupid.

“O-oh,” you stutter silently, wringing your fingers together on your purse handle. Perhaps he and Lois acted on their feelings already. More than the confession you overheard weeks ago. You can’t help yourself, you’re a glutton for punishment. “Is— is it because you’re in love?”

His eyes widen, surprise coloring his face. “How, wait, how’d you know?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” you force out a smile.

Be happy for him. Be happy for them. This is a good thing.

Clark groans, hand reaching up to run over his face furiously. He goes underneath his glasses before he looks sheepish, cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. “Am I really that transparent? Gosh, I’m sorry. I really wanted to tell you a different way.”

“No, god, no, it’s fine,” you cut him off, “I mean, it’s a good thing, right?”

He perks up, ears pinking. “Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m happy to hear it.”

Are you? Liar, liar. You will be eventually. You can’t wait for him to leave so then you can burrow yourself in bed in the pity party you’re throwing for yourself.

“Are you really?” Clark looks shy, his face alight.

Clearly, you’re not a very good liar because the smile wipes off his face quickly. You realize then that you don’t look like you mean what you’re saying. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line to stop your tears, your throat is dry like sandpaper.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” You busy yourself with zipping up your purse, anything to stop him from looking into your eyes. You may actually burst into tears on the spot.

“You look upset. Did you… not want it?”

“No, I just—” you gasp and you can’t stop it now. The dam has broken and you can feel the saltiness on your tongue. Clark looks very concerned, hands moving around like he’s trying to help but doesn’t know how. “I’m fine. I’m just fucking selfish, I guess, I’m glad you and Lois are together now and—”

Clark blanches. “What? Me and Lois? What are you talking about?”

Your cheeks are still wet when you tilt your head in puzzlement. “Aren’t you two… together now?”

He looks positively aghast, nearly gagging. “No, why would you think that?”

“Back at the farm, you two seemed really close.”

“We’re friends!”

“But I heard you talking,” you start and his face twists further, perplexed. “She said something about you waiting too long and that you shouldn’t have worried. You said you were scared to ruin it.”

Genuine confusion is all over his face before it melts into understanding. “Oh. Oh gosh. No, that wasn’t about— no, that wasn’t her. Lois is like the older sister I never had. That— the idea of it would be… gross. Not that there’s anything wrong with her! I just don’t see her that way.”

“Wait, so who were you talking about?”

Clark moans, doing a full turn in a pace. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” 

Your brows pinch. 

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

The gears in your brain stop turning. Your lungs stop working entirely. Your entire circulation is cut off. You’re trying hard to process this but you can’t seem to connect the dots.

He takes a step forward, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. His umbrella falls with a thud somewhere in the back but you don’t even hear it. All you can hear is the thundering in your ears. “Thought you said it was pretty obvious,” he gives you a wry smile, “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“That’s not—” you choke, “that’s not possible. We’ve been fucking for years, sure, but you weren’t in love with me.”

“No, you weren’t in love with me,” Clark huffs out a laugh, “I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t completely head over heels for you.”

You balk when you look up at him, eyes shining. “So you let me sleep with you all these years because you were in love with me? And I just — what — used you for your body?”

He laughs again, brighter and louder this time. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did, because I’ll take you any way that I can get you. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it,” he grins, cheeks dimpling with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I did. Thoroughly. Each time.”

“You’re insane.”

“Is that what you really want to say to me?”

You shake your head, face aching and you realize you’ve been smiling so wide this entire time. “I love you. I love you so much. Love you so much that it hurts. I missed you.”

Clark groans and crashes his lips down on yours, tightening his grip around your face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“You never said anything,” you whimper when he begins kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

“I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“Lois knew,” you mutter in realization.

“Lois has always known,” he makes his way back up to you, kissing your lips then your cheek then your eyes. “She knew the moment I met you, I was a goner. I couldn’t think of anyone else but you.”

“We met like five years ago, Clark.”

He grins unapologetically. “Then I’ve been in love with you for five years.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, embarrassed.

“No, I just love you. Now, will you let me in? I want to take care of you. Missed you too much. You left too fast.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. Your key is in your door and then it’s open and Clark’s toeing off his shoes quickly, messily, so unlike him in his rush to pin you up against the door. He intertwines your fingers together and presses them into the wall.

Then he pulls back, staring at your left hand. His lips pinch. “You’re not wearing it.”

You look at your bare hand. “Oh. I didn’t think I’d need it. I was— I need to also tell you I was on a date before this.”

Clark’s face sours before he settles on bitter understanding. “We weren’t… together, so it’s not like I have any right. I should’ve told you at the airport, should’ve stopped you the moment you told me you wanted to end this.”

“I was thinking of you the entire time, if that helps,” you add sheepishly. “I was trying to get over you. I’ve been moping for weeks, crying to myself.”

His expression thaws as he kisses you again, gentler this time. “I never want to be the reason you cry ever again. Only happy tears.”

“We were both silly.”

“Yes, yes, we were,” he murmurs against your lips. “Where’s the ring?”

“Um, that drawer.”

You’ve started keeping it in your kitchen because your desperate self, the one with zero self-control, tried it on every night before you go to sleep, tormenting yourself with what could’ve been until you finally shoved it under your extra kitchen towels.

Clark separates from you only briefly to dig through the pile and pull out the silver band. He practically flies back to you, taking your hand and slipping it on your finger. Right where it belongs. His lips twitch into a smile as he lifts your eyes to meet his.

“So everyone knows you’re mine,” Clark whispers, “until I can make it real.” 

Your lips tug into a smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

+ sam: aaaaah it's done!!!! thank you so much for tuning in. i really hope you've enjoyed this little journey with these two. i've grown so fond of them <3 if you liked it, i really do appreciate any reblogs / comments / likes!! and ofc my inbox is always open if you wanna come yap about them hehe

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Smallville in the summer is a far cry from your ideal vacation. The closest airport is two hours away and you’re greeted by the sight of a building that looks like it barely functions and hasn’t been upgraded since the Middle Ages. You had been cramped into a small airplane that you’re convinced does not have all of its nuts and bolts considering how much it rattled (you don’t want to think about the strange tilt of the wings). It takes you a full hour to get your suitcase from baggage claim that has no air conditioning; mind you, it’s because there is no overhead compartment, so they forced you to check your carry-on into cargo (an equally cramped space).

To make matters worse, Kara’s work forced her to delay her trip by one day which means you’re already locked in to arriving a full day earlier than everyone else, thinking that you’d get to spend some quality time with her after being separated for nearly an entire year (it’s been a rough year for both of you).

“How am I supposed to get to your house?” You had asked — more like whined after she told you the bad news.

She sounded even more upset than you. “Don’t worry, Clark will be there!”

Your heart had leapt to your throat at the thought.

Now, you’re faced with this incredibly difficult, exceedingly troubling situation. Said situation is basically being stuck in a car for two hours with Clark Kent.

Clark Kent stands at over six feet tall, sticking out like a sore — but stupidly delicious — thumb outside the airport. He’s in a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt that appears to be fighting to keep its threads intact around his bicep. His long frame is leaning against a rusty red pickup truck.

The moment you push the doors open to step outside, his eyes spot you. Brilliant, bejeweled blue even from this distance. He covers that distance in no time with his ridiculously long legs, barely breathless as your name falls from his lips.

“It’s been a while,” he beams softly. His hand immediately commandeers your suitcase like the caveman-gentleman that he is. “How was your flight?”

You shudder at the sound of the tumbling cogs still echoing in your ear. “Terrifying,” you mutter, “how do you even fit in those tiny planes?”

The question sounds foolish now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Forget I asked.”

His smile is shy and sheepish as he blinks down at you. “Perks of the job, I guess.”

“I hardly think being an unpaid superhero should count as a job. Otherwise, I’d be reporting… someone to the Department of Labor for withheld wages.”

Then he laughs and the sound is buoyant and clear in this empty parking lot. You feel it spark warmth, tingling to your fingertips.

Girl, get a grip.

You fan yourself a little under the pretense of the disgusting heat. At least the air is cooler out here than inside that sauna. Your bare legs that stretch out from under your shorts certainly appreciate the kiss of the wind. You’re able to breathe a little easier despite the humidity.

An act that is short-lived when you notice how his gaze flickers to your exposed skin.

Clearing his throat, Clark stops when he reaches his truck. He carefully lifts your bag to the bed of his truck and straps it down. You eye it suspiciously.

His lips twitch with the threat of amusement. “It’s not going to fly out. Promise. Flat roads from here on out.”

“Don’t mean to be rude but might be faster if you just flew both of us back to your home,” you suggest with a raised eyebrow.

It would make it easier for you too to avoid being trapped with him for a full hundred and twenty minutes in a car with nowhere to go.

Clark chuckles as he swings open the passenger seat for you, even going as far as to offer you a hand to help you climb the height of the vehicle. You almost imagine the ghost of his hand pushing you up by your ass, but that’s just distasteful dreaming.

“I’d rather keep our mayor in the dark about how Superman had landed and was raised in Smallville. I don’t think that’s the kind of marketing the other guy would be interested in.”

“The other guy is really only popular in Metropolis so maybe he could use a bit of a boost from a bumfuck small town.”

He laughs again and you have to stomp on those ridiculous little flutters.

The drive is peaceful. With both hands on the wheel, Clark taps his finger against the leather to the rhythm of some pop song crackling through the speakers. He makes small talk to fill the silence. He asks you about life, about your job, about the tiny apartment you’ve been trying to furnish for the last few months. Cordial. Polite. Safe. All conversational topics that are reasonable for two friends.

That is, until he asks whether you’re seeing anyone.

It should be a normal question to ask a friend. Hell, even a stranger. But you know Clark better than that and you know the underlying curiosity underneath.

Heat creeps up your neck again. You feel as if you’re back in that cursed airport as you find your voice to respond to him. “No, not seeing anyone right now.”

He doesn’t even look at you when the corners of his lips tip up into a pleased smile. You knew what he was asking — and you basically gave him the green light. He takes your confirmation as permission.

His right hand slides off the wheel and lands on your thigh. His very large palm stretching across your leg.

You swallow thickly.

“This okay?” His voice is soft. Genuine worry laced into his question.

Instead of verbalizing your response, you only manage a nod as you prop an elbow on the door. Your face turns towards the deserted road outside to hide your embarrassment. To hide the racing of your heart. The anticipation bubbling beneath your veins.

It doesn’t take him long for his hand to slide higher and higher until you feel his fingers toying with the button on your pants. Deft fingers that pop it open easily. It’s terribly sexy how good he is at that.

He reaches down your pants, fingers skimming over the thin fabric of your panties until he finds your clothed slit. A delighted hum slips past the seam of his lips when he finds you already damp. His fingers trace along your sensitive lips, featherlight, but you’re eager enough that you find your hips jerking upwards in search of his touch.

Your chest rises and falls with the breath that hitches in your throat. “Are we really doing this already?” You rasp, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to prevent the moan from escaping.

You hate how responsive you are to him. How your body’s been trained to respond to him. That familiar touch eliciting those familiar sparks of electricity. No matter how many times he’s done this, how many times you’ve fallen apart in his hands, you’re no less receptive than the first time.

Clark chances a glance your way and simply murmurs, “Missed touching you.”

A whimper actually does crawl its way out of your throat this time. How are you supposed to say no to that? You let your legs fall open, hips lifting off the seat just enough so he can tug your pants a little lower, sneak his fingers in even deeper. He applies a little bit more pressure on your slit, you can feel your panties soaking up your juices.

“So wet already, honey,” he whispers.

Honey. The first time Clark used that pet name on you, you’d told him absolutely not. However, like everything else he’s done, you’ve grown used to it. Your insides turn gooey when he uses that sweet little nickname. Something so syrupy when he’s doing something oh so filthy.

“It’s been a while,” you mutter under your breath.

“Were you waiting for me?”

At that, you can’t help the defensive scoff that spits out of your mouth. “No.”

Maybe.

“When was the last time someone touched you?”

You don’t want to answer that. It’s an embarrassing answer — one that you fear will inflate his ego too much.

Unfortunately, your non-answer is answer enough.

“Been a while,” he echoes your earlier sentiment.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Why? Didn’t find anyone you liked these past few months?”

You press your lips together. The day that you admit you can’t seem to finish with anyone else, not when you’ve already had a taste — or ten — of Clark, is the day this world comes to an end. Not even Superman can pry this information out of you.

“No,” you answer easily.

Clark’s thumb presses down on your clit and you immediately jolt forward with a groan. His fingers tug the gusset of your panties to the side as he slides his fingers easily along your slick folds. He moans when he finds how quickly you coat his fingers.

“Me too,” Clark admits. “Haven’t been — gosh, you’re dripping — haven’t been with anyone since, you know, last time.” Whether it’s to save you from your own confession or Clark is just being his honest self, you don’t know. Still, you appreciate the thought.

Your face warms again with his words and maybe any other time, you would have the self-control or decency to stop him. However, in that moment, when you’re pent up from your frustrating flight and months of reaching your orgasm only by your fingers alone, you can’t help but appreciate his fingers on you.

You slide down a little further on your seat, granting him access to finally push his fingers inside you. Thick, long fingers that curl that delicious flash of friction in your pulsing cunt.

It’s criminal how good he is at this. At sex in general, really. You know that it’s partly attributed to his superpowers. Clark knows the rhythm of your heartbeat like it’s his own. It’s how he knows exactly when whatever he’s doing is working on you. How he’s learned what your body loves, what makes it burn. He can hear how your heart rate skyrockets when he slides his fingers deeper, when he does a slow drag out to pull a moan from your chest. He knows when he’s doing a good job, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t enjoy hearing you admit how much you want him out loud anyway.

He takes some sick satisfaction in making you ask for it.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

“You know what.”

“I need you to use your words, honey.”

Curse whoever ever said Clark is the good boy next door, the one who buys you flowers and opens your door. He does all that and can be so sweetly condescending in the sexiest way possible. While you’re usually irritated by any form of male patronization, there’s something about the way Clark does it.

Like he’s doing it for you because he knows you like it.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Clark,” you gasp as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you.

Your vision of the road is a blurry mess, greens and browns melting together as your eyes roll to the back. Your head slams against the chair as your hands curl around his wrist. Clark doesn’t miss a beat, keeps stroking you with his fingers like it’s his purpose.

His eyes dart between the road and you, conflicted now that he’s started this game that he has to finish. He drinks you in, the sight of your neck stretching out as you tip your head back, as your hips lift to chase his fingers.

“I can’t— I’ll finish you when we get back. I need to drive—”

“Pull over.”

“What?” He balks.

“Pull over somewhere,” you pant, tightening your grip around his wrist to keep him there. You roll your hips to rut against his hand. The ball of his palm pressing against your clit as he finger fucks you until your brain is turned to mush. “Clark, please.”

You swear you hear him curse before he takes a turn down an abandoned dirt path. He uses his hand covered in your slick to put the car into park and, before he can utter anything, you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over to his seat, straddling his thick thighs.

Clark’s eyes widen, pupils blowing up as he looks at you. He groans almost painfully. “I’m so hard. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“All night?”

He eagerly nods as he helps you shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your drenched panties on top of him. “Knew Kara and the others were coming later. I couldn’t stop thinking about having you like this. Or at home. Wherever you’ll let me have you. Missed this pussy of yours.”

Your heart slams against your chest as your cunt traitorously throbs with the kind of desperation that would be concerning to feminism. “Yeah? Did you jerk yourself off thinking about me, Clark? Hope you kept your voice down so your parents wouldn’t hear you stroking this fat cock of yours to the thought of my cunt.”

“You—” he growls, “Sometimes I wish I could just slide myself down your throat to stop you from saying such filthy things.”

A smirk curls on your lips. “You like me filthy. You like me dripping all over you.”

Your fingers fumble with his pants this time, hurriedly yanking the fabric down to free his cock for your access. You’re quick to position yourself on top of him, tip hot red and angry dipping into your entrance. Your slick is already rolling down his length when Clark’s hand squeezes your hip.

“C-condom?” He asks. The reluctance in his voice is obvious. It’s not that he won’t fuck you without one. It’s that he doesn’t want to.

“I’m clean, are you?”

Clark nods and his expression morphs into parted lips and blue eyes blown wide as you sink on him. With your hands planted on his broad shoulders, you begin to ride him — slowly at first as you adjust to his size again.

He’s big. Too big sometimes. You’re lucky with how wet you are right now that the slide eases the burn of the stretch. His thick cock has your pussy tightening in resistance, but you keep going, all the way until he’s buried deep inside you.

“Feels so good,” he moans, “you’re always so tight, but you always make it fit, don’t you? You take my cock so well.”

Your pussy clamps down around him, your pace faltering with his words.

“Look at her. She’s swallowing me right up. She’s greedy, always taking me all the way in,” Clark coos as he watches his cock disappear into you over again, each time you burrow him deeper and deeper inside you. “My favorite pussy. She’s so pretty taking me in like this.”

You lean back and place your hands on his thighs as you roll your hips to drive him in deeper. “Fuck, Clark. Every time I see you, feels like you've gotten bigger.”

“No, honey, it’s just because your pussy tightens up,” he chuckles, fingers brushing your hips. “She just has to get used to me again. I’ll stretch you out, don’t worry. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.”

“Play with my tits,” you rasp. “Want your hands on my tits.”

You know what you’re doing. This is both for you and him. You’ve always loved seeing how big his hands are, how they cover your breasts entirely. How he can be both delicate and rough when he toys with your nipples.

His fingers unbutton your shirt slowly and, the more he does, the wider his eyes go.

Clark lets out a moan when he sees your nipples in the open air. “No bra?” He squeaks. “You went through TSA like this?”

Your lips tip up into a smirk. “Don’t worry, nobody gave me a pat down.”

“Better not have,” he growls low, “these are mine.”

Your pussy and heart flutter with his possessive declaration. You nearly bite out a snappy retort, asking him since when am I yours but the words fizzle out behind your ribs when Clark grabs your hips and begins to earnestly fuck up into you. He’s careful not to hurt you, but tests your limits with how hard he’s gripping you. You’re sure to bruise but these kinds of marks, he knows you don’t mind. You like when he stakes his claim.

His head dips to take one nipple into his mouth, one of his hands rising along your torso, thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he lifts it slightly. His tongue circles the peaked bud, hot and wet until you’re throwing your head back in ecstasy. He nibbles lightly on the sensitive skin, enough to draw out another whine from your throat.

“So pretty. You’re always so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Pussy feels like heaven. So tight around my cock, honey. All mine. Tell me your pussy is all mine.”

You gasp when Clark thrusts up particularly hard, keen eyes searching yours. Swallowing, you hold on to the last thread of your pride as you resist the urge to cave into him.

“Come on, tell me. I won’t let you cum if you don’t say it.”

“Clark,” you whimper, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean,” he murmurs, “just want you to tell me that this pussy is mine. That nobody else has touched it. That nobody else will ever touch it.”

It’s a terrifying admission, even in the heat of the moment. Deep in your gut, you know that no one else will ever feel as good as Clark. No one else will ever get you to finish the same way he does. Fireworks and heat streaking across your skin.

But you give in to him so he will give in to you.

“My pussy’s yours,” you cry out.

“Say it again.”

“My pussy’s yours. Only yours.”

“No one else can touch it. You’re always saving this pretty, tight pussy for me.”

“Fuck, it’s yours, Clark. Please, please, fuck— hnng, need to— I want to cum, please.”

Clark groans as he angles his hips just right so that he’s fucking into that delicious spot inside of you over and over again until you can’t find it in you to think or even breathe. The gasp is wrangled from your throat as he rips the orgasm straight from under you, your back arching as your fingers dig into his shoulders, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body shudders against him as you feel him spill inside you, warmth painting your walls as he jerks a few more times.

You slump forward, forehead against his shoulder as he continues to cum inside you. You can feel the cum leaking from where you’re joined, too much for you to keep inside yourself. It trickles down your thighs, dripping onto Clark’s jeans as evidence of your little tryst.

A giggle slips past your lips as you sigh against him.

His clean hand (he knows you have a thing against it otherwise) reaches up to stroke your head as he turns to press his lips on your temple. “What’re you laughing about?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Just— this. We really couldn’t wait to find a bed to fuck.”

His chest rumbles with his laugh. “Well, my ma and pa are home too so we wouldn’t have had a chance until tonight.” He pauses, then says, “And we both know you can’t keep your voice down.”

You launch yourself back with a glare, hand weakly swatting his chest. “Hey, speak for yourself. If I sucked your dick, you’d be crying and begging for me to stop because you can’t handle it.”

“That’s just because I want to cum inside you instead of your mouth.”

Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing. Traitor.

“You like that, don’t you?” He grins easily.

“Whatever,” you mutter. Wincing, you extract yourself from him and feel more of his cum leaking from between your puffy pussy.

Before you can move back to the passenger seat, Clark sits you down on his lap. His hand settles on your inner thigh, thumb pressing against your swollen pussy lips to open you up to him. He watches as his cum dribbles out of your cunt, before he uses his fingers to fuck them back into you.

“Don’t want to waste it,” he smiles boyishly.

This fucker.

“You’re the worst.”

“You won’t be saying that when I tell you I’ve figured out the many other stops we can have along the way — you know, if you wanted a second or third round.”

You’re warm to the tips of your ears. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s been a while,” he chuckles.

Clark’s parents greet you with a good dose of midwestern charm, followed by a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and Earl Grey tea. He regards you with mild amusement as you glance at him in alarm when his mother wraps you in a massive hug, telling you that she feels as if you’re one of her own.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you from Kara and Clark! It’s such a joy to finally meet you, honey. Come on in. Are you hungry? Did you want to clean up first? I’ve got some extra towels in Kara’s room for you. Clark, be a dear and show her around, will you? I just need to pull out the cinnamon loaf from the oven.”

It’s like a tornado, a whirlwind of movement all at once. A very pleasant tornado. Clark ends up giving you the comprehensive tour of the farmhouse. The Kent house looks fully lived in — well-worn vintage furniture with stitched florals, family photos dotting the walls and shelves to show any guest how loved the two Kent kids are, and touches of an old-fashioned home with typical cliché quotes hanging in frames or sewn onto throw pillows.

Clark blushes when you stare a little too long at the live, laugh, love painted onto a piece of wood above the toilet. “Ma loves that kind of thing. She buys a new one almost every time she goes into town.”

“Wish I had known, I could’ve gotten her another one for her collection,” you grin. “It’s sweet, Clark. Very charming.”

His smile softens slightly as he guides you to Kara’s room. “I’ll let you get settled in then. I have to help pa out with a few things, but let me know if you need anything. You have my number.”

Kara’s room is similar to the one she had in college. Posters of her favorite rock bands, pink wallpaper painted over with abstract murals that you find all too familiar. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with frilly pink sheets that you doubt she picked herself. For the next hour, you unpack all your belongings, finding yourself dreading stepping outside and facing the music.

You had met Kara in college, freshman year, and the two of you were bonded for life. It started with a snooty remark from another student, and you and Kara had intervened at the same time, finding your sister-in-arms on day one. Two of you were similar in that you were both bull-headed, a little bit temperamental, but fiercely loyal. You loved her the moment you met her.

Sophomore year found the two of you unsurprisingly rooming together. The two of you were truly inseparable then. You thought you knew everything about her. That was until she said—

“My brother needs to come by,” she groans.

“You have a brother?”

That was when you were introduced to Clark Kent. Before you even met him, you had a strong inkling that you wouldn’t be a big fan of the guy. He was a year older than Kara but he was in a frat. Not that there’s anything wrong with participating in social activities on campus, but Greek life? Yes, you had formed your own preconceived notions about him.

So when Clark finally “swung by” to pick up one of his jackets while Kara was gone, you were caught off guard by the sight of this bumbling six-foot-four-mess who kept fidgeting with his thick-rimmed glasses. Clark, with his nervous smile and constant shifting, was a complete antithesis to Kara who had a permanent scowl and a sharp tongue.

Then you started seeing him everywhere on campus. You’ve seen him around before but now you can’t stop noticing him. He’s the mop of curls trying to shrink himself at the front of your English literature classroom, he’s the light laughter ringing across the dining hall, he’s the designated driver who physically gathered up the drunkards and piled them into the group’s car to send them home at the end of the night.

But he’s also the guy who’s always surrounded by some of the frattiest guys on campus and the guy who’s constantly swarmed by women grabbing at his biceps and running their hands down his chest.

“Your brother’s a bit of a player, huh?” You pointed out once to Kara, your eagle eyes focused across the room on Clark, who was humoring Bonnie from psychology as she yapped his ear off.

He didn’t seem to mind, laughing at whatever she was saying, which had her beaming.

Kara turned around, eyes following yours as you witnessed the atrocity that was Bonnie straight up flattening her manicured palm on his left tit. “Who? Clark?” She snorted, “The furthest. You can’t see it but that man is plotting the most polite escape route. Give it a second.”

Sure enough, the moment his eyes landed on you, they burned a brighter blue. He said something to Bonnie that had her pouting, turning to look at your table, before he made a beeline in your direction, sliding into the empty seat next to you.

“What happened with Bonnie?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“You know her?” Clark raised one right back. “She was, uh, talking about the frat’s winter gala thing.” His face distorted in a wince. “Asked me if I had a date.”

“Oh, while groping you?” Kara snickered.

Clark threw her a look. “Be nice. She meant well.”

“She meant she wanted your dick,” Kara noted then winced, “I don’t know why I just said that. I take it back. I don’t want to know about your sex life.”

His neck flushed a deep red as his eyes darted toward you for a brief second before he whipped his gaze away with a cough. “Anyways, I didn’t want to lead her on. So I told her I was already going with someone else.”

“Well, now you have to show up with a date,” Kara noted.

“Yeah.” Clark scratched the back of his ear then flicked his gaze towards you again. “Funny story.”

Dread sank into your gut. “Clark, no.”

“I’m sorry,” he flinched, “but she wanted to know who and I saw you and obviously I couldn’t say Kara so… here we are.”

“I have to go to your frat’s winter gala? Over my dead body.”

“It’ll be fun! Drinks and food. I’ll cover your ticket, obviously,” Clark pleaded. His blue eyes were shining in a way that made you melt. It was hard to say no to Clark Kent.

That was how you ended up as Clark’s date. That was how you ended up meeting your first ex in college. A fratboy of all people but he won you over with his sense of humor and charming smile. That was how you ended up with the most devastating heartbreak with a breakup that lasted all of one second over a text.

That was how you ended up swearing off relationships forever.

That was how you ended up in Clark Kent’s bed the summer you graduated college. One time turned to two turned to fucking on the kitchen counter while the others were asleep upstairs on your group’s annual trip. This “summer fling” became a recurring, annual rendezvous. As long as the two of you were single, you somehow always ended up in each other’s beds — or any other viable surfaces.

However, what was made very clear from the very beginning was that you were not looking for a serious relationship whatsoever. The last thing you needed was to get your heart broken again when you promised to focus on your career.

So this arrangement works.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a knock sounds on your door. Clark pops his head in, curls damp and glasses sliding down his nose again. He’s a little pink when he catches you midway through changing into a comfy t-shirt. A smirk curls on your lips. Even after seeing you naked all this time and talking like a fucking porn star during sex, Clark still blushes whenever he unintentionally catches you in a… compromising position.

“Um, ma wanted me to tell you to come down whenever you’re ready. We usually eat dinner as a family. If that’s okay with you.”

You finish shoving your arms through your shirt before bending down to reach for a pair of shorts. You hear the hitch of his breath behind you. Smirking, you slowly roll yourself back up. “Like what you see, Kent?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles under his breath. Your eyes fall to his sweats where he’s currently adjusting his not-so-little problem. “I can be quick. And quiet. If you want to.”

A laugh rises from your chest. “Keep it in your pants. I don’t want to be late for my first dinner with your parents.”

With a slightly disappointed sigh, he nods and guides you downstairs.

Dinner is as you expected — delicious food with a side of chaos. While Clark’s dad keeps mostly to himself, nodding along to whatever his wife is saying or whispering with Clark, his mother peppers you with endless questions about your life, your job, and your relationship with her children. “I’m so sorry we’re only meeting now! I hear so much about you from both of them. It’s such a shame.”

“I hope Kara only has good things to say,” you tease.

“Oh, Kara adores you but Clark also won’t stop talking about you.”

That catches you by surprise and you shift your attention to Clark with a curious look. “Is that so?”

There’s that pink again. Endearingly embarrassed. “Oh, yes,” his mom gushes, “tells me all the time what a sweetheart you are and how smart you are, how he enjoys watch—”

“Ma, how about some more mashed potatoes, hm?” Clark distracts her, offering a massive dollop of her potatoes. “How about you tell me what’s going on with the kitchen sink? Thought you wanted me to take a look.”

His mother is successfully distracted when she instead begins to fuss over everything wrong with the farmhouse. His father tries to reassure Clark that he’s got it under control and that he should just enjoy his vacation. Clark only nods along, partially listening. You know the look he has when part of his mind is far away from the conversation.

You can’t help but wonder what his mom was going to say.

After dinner, you insist that his parents get some rest while you and Clark do the dishes. It’s a back and forth for a bit, debating on whether guests should be doing chores, debating on whether you’re guests at all. Thankfully, you win when Clark manages to urge them out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Clark is the actual winner when he also pushes you out of there for you to get cleaned up

You do a full scrubdown, washing away all the grease from the flight. The water is warm on your skin, much needed after a long day. You almost slide yourself into Kara’s mattress to sleep when you realize Clark missed one part of his tour.

So you tiptoe down the hall, careful not to wake the Kents with the creaking beneath your footsteps as you sneak into Clark’s room, closing the door behind you.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, chiseled, bare chest on full display, as he frowns at his phone. He looks up, fumbling with the device when he sees you. His arms quickly go to cover his stomach and his legs, as if he’s at risk of exposing an ankle to a Victorian lady.

You roll your eyes. He clears his throat. “What’re you doing here?”

“You never showed me your room, I wanted to see if you had anything embarrassing in here. Like Superman plushies or something. Or your old porn collection. Maybe a Playboy or two.”

“I don’t… have any of those,” Clark says, pink to his ears.

“Sure, you’re telling me if I look in that drawer over there that I won’t find a couple of risque magazines?” You begin drifting in that direction and Clark is immediately in your path. You’re face-to-face with his pecs.

“Take my word for it.”

Sighing, you cave and instead wander around the rest of the room. It’s a quaint room. Small bed that you’re not even sure would fit him. Two small bookshelves with some reference volumes and novels you’ve heard him talk about before. Giant poster of the Mighty Crabjoys who Clark insists is very punk rock. Then there are a few trophies for a spelling bee, debate club, and a science fair — none for his athleticism, because you know for sure Clark would never use his gifted powers for selfish purposes. His desk has an ancient monitor that looks like a stack of brick and more books — comic books, more novels, and CDs (no doubt of the Mighty Crabjoys).

It’s simple and sweet. Kind of like him.

While you’re busy absorbing every inch of his bedroom, Clark has crept up behind you. His arms wind around your waist, lips pasting on your neck. You instinctively tilt your head, a moan bubbling up your throat. “Clark, your parents are down the hall,” you murmur.

“I can be quiet. I’ll make sure you are too,” he whispers as his hands begin to wander. One to cover your mouth and the other going between your legs. “I’ll make you feel good, honey.”

And that he does.

Your second day in Smallville starts off early. And warm. Incredibly, horribly warm. Your eyes flutter open to the wide expanse of creamy skin. Creamy skin on a very, very wide chest. Grunting, you try to push against him, to get his hefty arm off you, but he doesn’t even budge.

Clark grumbles quietly, tucking you deeper into his chest. “Sleep.”

“Clark,” you whisper-yell, “come on. I gotta get back to the room.”

“You’re already in a room,” he mumbles.

You peek up only to find him still with his eyes closed. “Your parents—”

As if on cue, your worst nightmare plays out in real time. You hear the creak first. You try not to panic, praying that it’s someone walking away from the door rather than towards it. But then you hear the knob twist. You feel Clark stiffen in real time, his entire body going taut like a board as his eyes slam open. The two of you don’t move fast enough; in fact, your legs are still tangled together when the door swings inwards.

“Clark, honey—” his mom’s words die out, undoubtedly when her eyes land on not one but two bodies in the very tiny bed that barely fits her son. Clark holds you in closer, tugging the blanket higher to cover your bare back. Your shirt is abandoned somewhere in the room — along with your underwear that hopefully isn’t visible to his poor mother’s eyes. Thankfully, you’re not facing the door, so you don’t have to subject yourself to whatever disappointed face she’s making. “What in the—”

“Ma! Why didn’t you knock first?” Clark coughs, sliding up only to bury you deeper under the blanket.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to have company at this hour, Clark.” There’s a sternness to her words that sends shivers snaking up your spine.

Not even a full twenty-four hours and you’ve managed to ruin your entire reputation with his mom. But if you could just explain this, then maybe—

“We’re engaged, Ma. Alright. We’re engaged!”

What the ever-loving fuck—

“Engaged?” Her tone has shifted significantly, delight clinging to every letter. “Oh my, oh goodness, what wonderful news! I want to say I didn’t see it coming but I did! My boy did talk about you all the time so it’s not much of a surprise.”

“I do not, Ma,” Clark retorts quickly.

She barely pays him any mind. “I have to tell your pa. This is exciting news! My first son! Engaged!” Then she’s scampering out of the room and Clark can only call out, “I’m your only son, Ma!”

The moment she’s out of earshot, your hands immediately fly.

“Ow! Ow! Stop that! Come on, stop it!” Clark flinches as you continue to barrage him with smacks from all angles. Not that it actually hurts. His hands immediately whip out to pin you down, his body hovering over yours. Your chest rises with every heaving breath while Clark just frowns at you, probably concerned that you’ve hurt yourself in your fruitless attempt to hurt him. “Are you done?”

Even in this situation, you can feel that familiar heat stirring between your legs. Clark’s handsome face above you, his one hand pinning you down, the other one on your hip, his stupid, big, beefy chest in front of your face. You hate it.

Unfortunately, this means Clark picks up on your heartbeat, the way your blood rushes beneath your skin at the sight of him.

His lips tip up. “Good?”

“Why in the hell would you tell your mom that we’re engaged?”

“I love my ma. Wonderful woman. Loves everyone dearly. Love is love, she believes in. She’s all about love.”

“So you tell her we’re engaged?"

Clark sighs, “Even with all that, she is very much still an old-fashioned woman from the Midwest. She would not approve of me… bedding a woman outside of wedlock. She would never forgive me if she knew what I’ve been doing.”

Or who he’s been doing — you.

“Oh my god, Clark.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Because you don’t want your mom to know that you stick our dick inside girls before marriage, you drag me into this and act like we’re getting married?”

Clark frowns, lips pinching together disapprovingly. “Girl. One girl. You. And yes, I panicked, I’m sorry. It’ll just be for this trip, alright. We’ll… explain it all away after.”

Another protest sits on the tip of your tongue, but the look on his face reduces you into a puddle. A puddle that molds according to whatever container Clark pours you into. 

“Fine, okay, but what are we going to tell Kara? Or Lois and Jimmy when they arrive?”

He opens his mouth then promptly closes it. Thought so.

“We should think fast because I know for a fact Kara’s supposed to come in anytime now—”

Then you hear the screech, followed by the hurried footsteps, followed by the door once again banging open against the wall with the brute force of her strength. You’re surprised it’s still on its hinges.

And there she is.

“What the hell, dude? You’re engaged to him?”

Clark gives the two of you some space; that is, after he kicks Kara out long enough for the two of you to be decent.

This is the first time the two of you have ever woken up together.

In the years you’ve slept together, the countless nights you’ve spent in a pile of messy limbs, this is the first time.

The awkwardness that follows hangs heavy in the air.

“I’ll, um, I’ll give you time with Kara. I’m going to calm my parents down first, tell them not to overwhelm you. I’ll see you later?”

He says it like a question, like he isn’t sure if you would even see him again after this incident. And you know that it’s mainly his fault but you should’ve also been more careful. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you snuck in, you knew what you were looking for when you went to find him last night.

“Yes, Clark, I’ll see you later.”

Mild relief sinks into his features as he nods and exits the room.

It takes a bit of time to get Kara to stop hyperventilating or talking for even a second for you to get a word in. She’s still reeling at the fact that she saw her best friend and her brother in bed. Together. Naked. She may have also attempted to rinse her eyes with bleach.

After talking her off the ledge, you finally give her the basic answers.

“Yes, I’ve been fucking your brother.”

“No, we’re not dating.”

“No, Kara, how would we be actually engaged if we weren’t dating?”

Lois and Jimmy arrive shortly after and you thankfully get some reprieve from Clark when he goes to pick them up. Fortunately, Clark gives them the quick SparkNotes version of what transpired this morning. Unfortunately, you have to do the full run-down to once again emphasize that you are not actually engaged to Clark Kent. 

Dinner is only an awkward affair for the people in the know. Clark’s parents remain blissfully ignorant, instead focusing on gushing about how thrilled they are that Clark has found somebody.

“You’re the first girl he’s ever brought home. It’s only right that you’re his fiancée! Now, I want to hear it from both of you — when did this all start? How did you know you were in love?”

Kara chokes on her chicken. Lois and Jimmy share wary looks. You shoot her a dirty look. Clark coughs, eyes sliding over to you for a nanosecond before returning to his mom. “Love at first sight when I saw her that first time.” Clark should be an actor, he sounds terribly convincing.

All you can say is “same.”

Clark kicks you under the table and you have to swallow your yelp. A dirty glare his way does nothing to deter him when he gives you a look that insists you give his mom an “actual” answer. 

You wrack your brain. Beyond the good sex, Clark has mostly existed in your periphery. He’s Kara’s brother. Lois’ best friend. Jimmy’s partner in crime.

But he’s always been just Clark to you.

You just happened to be smart enough to put two and two together on him and Big Blue and, for some reason, that brought you closer. 

But if you were to pick a point in which you could were to fall for Clark Kent, it would be that.

“I think it was around the same time. A first year was struggling through orientation week. First week jitters. Clark was an orientation leader at the time. He didn’t have to but he stuck with that kid almost that entire week. Saw him invite the kid to join for lunches with his friends, encourage him to make friends. It was sweet.”

Mrs. Kent looks absolutely awed. She whispers about how endearing that is.

However, all you can feel is the weight of Clark’s gaze on you. Steady, heavy. You risk a glance up. 

His eyes are soft, a little misty if you squint. Lips with a slight up curve. 

“I don’t know if I remember you back then.”

Heat kisses your cheeks. “That was before we were introduced.”

“You knew me?”

“Hard for you to not stand out as a six-foot non-football player.” 

Clark chuckles.

“That’s so very romantic, dear. I’m so glad to hear,” his mom coos, “now all of you off to bed. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? So much good news! And you two should stay together — future newlyweds!”

You choke the same time Kara protests. “But she’s rooming with me!”

Needless to say, Kara doesn’t win this fight and, while Lois gives you a sympathetic look as she enters Kara’s room, you’re suddenly being shoved back into Clark’s room. The same room that got you into this mess to begin with. 

“Clark, we need to get our stories straight if we want to be convincing.” 

“Hmm, sure.”

“We need to talk about when we started dating and when you proposed — not to mention how you proposed! And the details matter, you know, so we should— are you even listening?”

Clark hums again, clearly not listening. “Sure, yeah. We should talk about it.”

He’s taking one step towards you then another and another until the back of your knees hit the bed. “Clark,” you warn, “talk.”

He ducks his head, brushing his lips against yours. His proximity is intoxicating. What were you saying again? Something about talking.

“Fell in love with me before you even knew me, huh? That’s cute,” he murmurs in a breath that you sharply inhale. 

You bite back your embarrassment. “It’s just a story.”

“But you—” kiss “—noticed—” kiss “—me.” 

“It was just, um, I was only, mmm, answering…” Your words trail off as Clark navigates his mouth south along your neck, laying you down on his bed, as he drops to his knees, hands parting your legs. “Clark, we need— ah.”

“Did so good today, honey,” Clark mutters, pressing wet kisses up your bare inner thigh. His teeth nip at your skin. “Now, let me take good care of you tonight.”

Your body is still sore and tingling when you wake up the next morning. When you stretch your hand over, you find the other side of the bed cool. 

You pad out through the creaky front door to find three of your friends enjoying the crisp, unpolluted air of Smallville with cups of coffee, ones that Lois doesn’t have to douse with a whole can of sugar. Clark is still nowhere to be seen. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Kara yawns. 

“Morning,” you mumble quietly. “Has anyone seen Clark?”

“He’s helping out at the barn,” Lois answers first, eyeing you with a strange twinkle in her eye. “Better yet, how about you tell us how long you and Clark plan on being engaged? Are we invited to the wedding?”

You give her a look. “If I ever get married, please know I’ve been kidnapped and cloned.”

“Is it really so bad?”

Cocking an eyebrow at her, you ask, “You of all people are saying that? Miss Independent?”

“Hey, I am voluntarily a solitary creature.”

“That’s because she bites the head off anyone who tries to approach her,” Jimmy chimes in, then turns back to you, “Clark’s not a bad pick. You know, if you were to get married.”

“No, he’s not,” you mutter — and it’s a truth that just slips out. 

When you look up, Kara’s got her eyes narrowed at you but Lois — she’s got a curious yet strangely warm look in her gaze. It’s not an expression that you expect to see from her. 

And Jimmy, well, he’s still half dizzy over the fact that you and Clark are fucking. 

“I need to talk to him, we need to get our stories straight,” you clear your throat, glance wandering over to the barn some distance away. 

“You guys still haven’t discussed that?”

“No, I tried talking to him last night but we got—” The ghost of Clark’s curls between your legs, soft strands tickling your inner thighs. The hot, wet drag of his tongue between your folds. His muffled moans, nose glistening.

“You taste like nectar from the gods.”

“I don’t wanna know!” Kara yelps, slapping her hands over her ears. “I see your face and I don’t wanna hear it. While I enjoy hearing about your sexual encounters, I don’t want to hear about my brother’s.”

You cough again, ignoring the warmth that’s flooded your cheeks. “Right, anyway, I’ll go look for him.” 

While you’ve never experienced country living, you imagine this is close to what it’s like. The unappetizing aroma of manure, the constant croaking of nature, and the sight of Clark Kent in overalls.

Nothing but overalls. 

Shining golden skin. Not a single drop of sweat. Curls mussed up only from the heat, but his breathing is stable even as he lifts bags of soil on his shoulder. Hundreds of pounds. Biceps flexing, veins taut. 

Fuck.

“You’re awake,” he brightens when he sees you, dropping the bags off to the side. “How’d you sleep?”

Your brain short-circuits when he dusts his hands off. Now that there are no bags in the way, you can see everything. Broad, round shoulders. The curves of his arms. Lines running down the length of his forearm, you can practically taste the texture on your tongue. When his overalls shift just right, you get a glimpse of his dusky nipple that you’re desperately needing to wrap your lips around. 

All you can picture is how good it would be to put your hands on his shoulders, bolstering you up while he presses up against you. 

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” 

Clark’s in front of you. His fingers curving around the back of your neck, thumb on your jaw to tilt your face up. His usually bright blue eyes are dark, pupils swallowing his irises. 

“We should—” your breath hitches as his thumb goes down, pressing down on your pulse point on your neck. It jumps. You know he feels it.

“I can hear your heart racing,” Clark murmurs. “I like hearing it. I like knowing what you like — and you like my hand on you.”

“Clark, please,” you rasp. 

“What do you need?” 

“You.”

“How do you want me?”

You swallow, the image so vivid in your mind, like it’s a memory. “Holding me up.” You barely get the words out when Clark wrangles your legs around him, holding you up firmly with one arm as his other hand touches your cheek. 

“What now?”

“I want you. Inside.”

“I can do that,” he smiles, leaning down to suckle lightly on your neck. “Anything else?”

“Must I tell you everything?” You grunt.

“I know what you want. I just like hearing you ask for it.”

With your lips pursed in defiance, you cross your arms over your chest. “If you ask me one more time—” 

A yelp is wrenched from your throat when he finally (finally) brushes his thumb over your sensitive nipple peaking through the thin cotton of your shirt.

He gropes you gently, somehow manhandling you in a way that makes you feel desirable rather than disgusting. His blue eyes are shadowed, drinking in the way you shiver with every tug, every pinch.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs to the wind. 

Clark tugs the shirt over your head, leaving you completely topless. Your arms immediately wind around your body in embarrassment, but he moves faster to extract them and deliver you a chiding look.

You’re sheepish when you tell him, “Someone might see us.”

“Mhmm, let them. I’m taking care of my fiancée.” His lips tug into an amused smirk when you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Please, you like brats.”

“You know me so well.”

He dives forward and takes your tits into your mouth, showering them with cautious but delicious attention. His tongue is hot on your skin. You throw your head back as he drags his lips across your neck. 

With swift hands, your shorts join your shirt in the pile of hay and Clark has unbuttoned his overalls to fall at his hips. His mouth stays on you the entire time — sweet and spicy at the same time. 

Greedy hands lift you slightly higher, only to position you right above his straining cock. The vein in his neck jumps as he grits his teeth.

Clark eases you onto his cock, moving you up and down along his length like a toy, like you’re his personal fleshlight. Your pussy stretches around him, soaking his cock until you’re a whining mess. 

“‘M gonna need you to keep it down,” he grunts quietly, neck flushed red as he bites down his own moan. 

On cue, and as if to prove a point, a moan crawls up your throat. Clark’s hand flies up to slap over your face. Large palm over your mouth, your eyes wide at him. A whimper slides up your throat at the stern, scolding expression on his face. 

“Honey, what did I just say?”

Your pussy clenches around him. His words are almost demeaning, but the gentleness with which they are delivered has you shivering and melting into his touch. “S-sorry,” you stutter pathetically, “I‘m sorry.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I know, but I need you to be quiet, okay. I don’t need my parents coming out and seeing us like this. They might make us marry on the spot.”

Heat spreads throughout every nerve in your body at his comment. It’s a joke, you know it is, but the idea of Clark claiming you as his with his cock buried inside you, painting you in bridal white inside out, has you tightening around him. 

“Is that what you want?” Clark murmurs softly, his blue eyes twinkle with the kind of mischief that has your fingers tingling. 

“No,” you scoff a little too quickly.

“Could put you in a dress. Marry you in this barn right now. Afterwards, I’ll take you outside against the walls while my family’s in here celebrating us. We’ll consummate our marriage.”

The image is painted so vividly in the back of your mind. You in a simple dress, hiked up, Clark fucking you into oblivion against the walls outside. Good god. 

“I can feel her tightening around me, honey,” Clark chuckles. “She likes the idea.”

“Stop being silly,” you clear your throat, “you gonna fuck me properly or what?”

He mutters something about your mouth before fucking you in earnest once more. His thrusts are sloppy but no less powerful, his desire leaks through his stuttered hips, the uneven staccato of his breaths. 

Pleasure builds and twists, coiling tight inside your stomach as Clark’s grip remains firm on you. Moans continue to pour from your lips like prayers to the god before you. He slides his hand up your throat again, squeezing gently, before bypassing it and covering your mouth once more. 

“Gonna need you to keep quiet, okay. I love hearing your pretty moans but I can’t share that with anyone else. Can’t have my parents coming out here and seeing you like this. I can’t have them thinking you’re a filthy little minx, spreading your legs for me anytime, anywhere.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as another groan chases your tongue. His name is muffled behind his hand and you gasp for breath when Clark gives you some room to inhale.

“She feels so good around me. So tight. She’s been waiting for me all morning. Greedy thing, isn’t she? Fed her so much last night and she still wants more.”

“C-Clark, please. Shit. Oh fuck.”

“So good to me. I have so much to give her, she knows that, doesn’t she? That’s why you came looking for me. Wanted one more time even after last night. Maybe I’ll taste myself on you later.”

Jesus Christ. This man has a way of making you picture the most deliciously repulsive images in your mind. Him cumming inside you, his face between your legs, licking you clean until there’s no trace of him left. Maybe even coming back up and kissing you. The taste of him tangled in your tongues.

Clark’s hands tighten. His grunts shorten. His pleas desperate.

Before long, you’re coming apart in his hands, Clark tightens his hold around your jaw to muffle the sound of your cries as he spills inside you. He buries his own moans into your neck as he presses you deeper against the wooden beam. With how hard he fucked you, you’re surprised this barn is still standing. You had felt the pillar rattling behind you.

He huffs a breath before leaning backwards. His hand reaches up to brush away the sweat-dampened strands of your hair from your face. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

Even after years of this arrangement, Clark is always so careful. You know he holds back his strength when he’s screwing your brains out. He could go a lot harder and sometimes you wonder what it would feel like for his patience to snap, for him to fuck you with no abandon. 

You don’t think you’ll survive that.

But you also think you would deliriously enjoy that. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Clark murmurs, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you swiftly say, “just— nothing.” Warmth floods your cheeks again. You’ve only just finished getting your brains turned to mush and here you are thinking about how much harder he could go. 

“You’re thinking about something.”

“I’m thinking how we should really get our stories straight.”

Clark regards you thoughtfully, a contemplative expression carved into the creases on his forehead. Then he presses into you more, cock pushing back in. You can hear the squish of his cum inside you, an indecent little sound in the quiet of the morning. 

“Okay, do you wanna talk now?”

“Clark,” you deadpan.

“What?”

Your cheeks are hot again. “Obviously not like this.” 

“Alright, later then.”

Clark doesn’t look the least bit remorseful, lips stretched into a wide grin. He’s much too gleeful for a man who’s foiled your plans to be responsible again — with his dick. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Instead of spending the day puttering around the farm and watching Clark do manual labor in nothing but overalls (which isn’t necessarily the worst way to kill time), the Kents propose going to the fair that’s in town.

Clark insists that his parents could use his help while he’s around.

They insist that he should spend time with his fiancée.

The five of you pile into Clark’s truck; to avoid suspicion, you ride up front with him, throwing his parents a tight smile as you wave at them as the car treks down the dirt path. The three of them are bickering about something related to agriculture in the backseat while you — you find yourself once again distracted by Clark who looks far too good driving.

Sometimes, you think you need to get your brain rewired for being too easily stimulated by the sight of him. It’s like your brain is wired to tune into him, to every little detail from the way his eyes crinkle, how his lips pucker when he whistles, or that one vein along his arm that jumps every time he turns the wheel.

Your plan backfires when you stare at him a little too long, trying to think of how you could get the two of you to talk to get your stories aligned, and Clark ends up noticing how your eyes never stray too far from him. The corners of his lips tip up, pleased, then his free hand slides over your thigh once more.

It doesn’t do anything. It just stays there. A grounding presence.

The back of your neck warms and you blame it on the mid-morning sun.

The fair is nothing too crazy, you didn’t expect anything grand from a small town near Smallville. It’s more like a community event, with faces familiar to the Kents dotting the crowd. A small market lines the entry area, selling all sorts of trinkets and knick-knacks. Clark bumps your shoulder with his arm as you walk down the path.

“Don’t you like those things? You wanna take a look?”

You cock an eyebrow. “I do like them, how do you know that?”

“I see them all over your apartment,” he shrugs, “especially the flowery-looking ones.” You’ve started collecting miniature toys and figurines with flowers on them. Since you can’t seem to keep plants alive, your little addiction to buying the most useless pieces of paperweight is fulfilled by the replacement of real live decor.

“Oh. Yes, well, I have too many now so I don’t think I should even look at them. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to buy.”

Beyond that, the fair opens up to game booths — your classic ring toss, darts, and shooting a water ducky — and attractions like pony riding, a petting zoo, and so on and so forth. It’s cute. It’s quaint. Nothing like what you see in the big cities. In fact, big cities have no carnivals like these. So maybe you’re a teensy bit excited. 

“Wanna play?” Clark smiles at the obvious enthusiasm on your face. 

Before you can answer, a shrill voice calls out to Clark. Well, it’s not really shrill, it actually sounds rather sweet — like the tinkling of bells — but you see the source of that sound and you feel an irritating itch in your chest.

“Willow! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Oh, so he knows her. That ugly part inside of you wonders if he also has the same arrangement with her. But no, she seems nice. Like the girl next door. The kind of girl you marry — and not with a fake engagement. 

They chat for a little bit and you’re on the sidelines watching them. Kara nudges you by your side. “We’re going to try the dunk tank. Jimmy has agreed to be dunked as long as we can aim. Wanna come?”

Your gaze flicks over to Clark for a second but find that he’s still eagerly chatting with this girl, so you put on your biggest smile and turn back to your best friend. 

“Let’s do it.”

The four of you busy yourselves with the various games. Lois manages to dunk Jimmy four times. Jimmy then proceeds to win a free t-shirt to change into from the ring toss. Kara absolutely destroys Lois at basketball and you absolutely annihilate all of them at darts (pub nights are coming in handy after all). 

You’re having a great time — a wonderful time — until you realize that Clark still hasn’t caught up. Every time you look over in search of him, he’s there helping a new person. First, it’s the old lady with her bags of groceries. Then it’s the little boy with his cat in the tree. Next, it’s the farmer who needs to unload his van of dozens of boxes. 

And then it’s that girl — Willow, was it? — who is apparently a florist and is setting up the most beautiful little booth in the market. 

It’s thoughtful, it’s kind. That’s who Clark is. But then you see him laughing and smiling and just being Clark and all you can feel is pissed. He’s here for you — all of you — so why is he busying himself with others? It’s incredibly selfish and guilt gnaws at your chest. 

So you bite down that terrible feeling and instead focus on the others. You’re fine with this. It’s not as if you have anything with Clark, really. You’re friends who happen to fuck every summer. That’s all. 

Maybe Clark is simply looking for something more long-term.

Your eyes wander to Lois. You’ve always thought that they would be a thing. Two incredibly smart people who work together, who have great chemistry. You know that Clark respects and adores her deeply, as evidenced by how much he talks about her. It seemed to be a matter of time.

Your anger doesn’t ease. Instead, you channel that rage into this shooting game. Clark has only just shown up, standing next to Kara with his gaze on you, a dopey smile in place. 

You hit the target dead center again and again and again. 

“That’s the first time today! You’ve got quite the skills, miss.” The guy at the booth says, both impressed and terrified. “You can pick any prize you want from the top.”

Clark whistles with his fingers and grins. “Good job, that was incredible.”

You hate yourself for immediately blooming with excitement at the compliment, especially when he’s left this group to tend to other people. How pathetic can you be?

The next words out of your mouth are not your best moment. 

“Well, seeing as my fiancé is too busy to get me anything.”

You can see the moment your jab lands and the smile wipes off his face, replaced by a look of sheer surprise. You turn on your heel and make your way to the next game, teddy bear tucked safely in your arms.

It’s not that you’re immature. You’re not. You’re an adult. But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a teensy bit petty.

Every time Clark tries to come close to you, you’re linking arms with Kara and traipsing off. When he calls your name, you pretend not to hear by cheering for Lois as she slams a hammer down on a strength-based game. 

It’s an exhausting endeavor and you’re this close to giving up. Plus, the heat isn’t exactly letting up and you’re starting to feel a little woozy. 

So when Clark approaches you again, you almost cave and lean on his broad frame for support.

“Hungry?” He asks carefully as his long legs finally catch up to you alone.

Your stubbornness nearly denies him once more but your stomach wins out when it growls. Loud. 

Clark doesn’t tease you; he simply takes your hand and whisks you away to the little makeshift food court. He sits you down and begins going from stall to stall, collecting one dish after another until you’ve got a spread in front of you.

It’s all your favorite things — or similar ones that he thinks you’ll enjoy; he would be right.

You’re too busy stuffing your face to notice Clark wringing his fingers in front of you, fidgeting as he tries to get your attention. 

“What?” You finally ask when you peer up after his nth time repositioning himself, shrinking so he would be in your line of sight. 

“Can you tell me why you’re sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

He gives you a look. 

“I’m not! I don’t care who you spend your time with.”

“Who?” Clark perks up, irises bright with curiosity.

Shit. You and your big mouth. Now you’ve gone ahead and given away too much, so you clamp your lips shut and shake your head. You shut down his every attempt to pry by focusing on eating instead.

He only seems to relent when he thinks he’s pushed hard enough, but, knowing Clark, he isn’t going to let the matter slide so easily. 

You continue your day unscathed for the most part. You cling close to Kara who doesn’t seem to mind that you’re sticking to her instead of her brother. Of course, she shoots you questioning looks but the shake of your head prevents her from pushing. 

You’re in the middle of cheering for Lois and Kara when a cloud of pink appears before you. You blink at it before you trace back the source of the dessert. Unsurprisingly, Clark stands at the other end of the cotton candy.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You mentioned once that you’ve always liked cotton candies. It’s all sugar, but that childish part in you relishes the way the fluffy treat melts on your tongue. 

“I do, thank you,” you confirm, ripping apart a piece before popping it in your mouth. The strands dissolve into syrup on your tongue.

Clark looks at you expectantly, a tinge of anxiety in the slight fold of his brows. “Good?”

“Good,” you smile at him.

Perhaps you’ve been too hard on him today. He’s being a good neighbor and you’re giving him shit for talking to someone else.

The two of you aren’t exclusive. That’s the whole point of this arrangement. If he happened to find someone that he wants to actually date seriously, then you’d let him go. 

Somehow, the thought makes your stomach churn. 

“I got you something else.”

You look up at him and he digs around in his shirt pocket and pulls out a thin silver band. A crystal sits in the middle of it, sparkling no less brightly than a diamond. It’s simple, it’s sweet. It’s characteristically you. 

“It’s nothing extravagant but you wear silver jewelry, right? I think this should fit.” Then Clark is taking your left hand and sliding the promise over your ring finger. The band sits perfectly snug. The crystal catches light and twinkles like it’s winking at you. 

For all your pouting, Clark seems to know the perfect remedy. 

“Just, you know, until the trip is over,” he adds nervously. “If that’s okay with you.”

You bring your hand up, watching as the ring glimmers underneath the afternoon sun. Your lips tip up in a small smile. 

“Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“And, if it’s any reassurance,” Clark adds, quieter, low enough that the others can’t hear — eyes trained solely on you, sharp and honest, “I only have eyes for you.”

Your heart beats against your ribs. Heat frames your face at the same time he smiles softly at you. 

You don’t respond, but that’s answer enough.

The chill beneath your fingertips rouses you from sleep. When your eyes flutter open, Clark’s big, warm body is nowhere to be found. You remember falling asleep cuddled up to a living, breathing heater and now you’re shivering as you tug on an extra sweater. Your footsteps are quiet as you pad out into the hallway in search of him, navigating through the darkness until your eyes land on him, bathed in the moonlight on the bench outside.

Clark turns before the door even swings open. He must’ve heard you.

“You’re up early — or late,” he notes.

“So are you, what’re you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t really sleep, you?”

“Must’ve been all the cotton candy,” you say as you slide into the seat next to him.

The midnight air in Smallville is brisk, you’re beginning to regret not throwing on an extra layer. Clark senses your shivers and immediately scooches closer towards you, draping his flannel over your shoulders and tucking you in close. The draw of his warmth is too tempting to resist and you end up nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Could’ve stayed inside,” you flag quietly.

“The fresh air helps me think. Plus, it’s nice to take advantage of this away from Metropolis. Breathing in fumes doesn’t seem conducive to my health.”

“Good thing your only weakness is extinct,” you tease, bumping shoulders gently.

Clark smiles at you, soft and knowing. “It’s not my only weakness.”

You raise an eyebrow but he doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t press. Instead, you ask him what’s plaguing his mind.

“My parents,” he begins, “I worry about them. They’re getting older, things with the farm aren’t easy and we’re not in a position to hire any extra hands.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m thinking if I should move back.”

Your heart plummets, all amusement evaporating. You don’t know why you’re so disappointed by the thought. Although you don’t live in Metropolis, although you don’t see Clark very often, you’re only a city away, and even then, he still feels light-years away. “Move back?”

“Here to Smallville. I’m not sure yet.”

Your throat is tight when you attempt a joke, “What? And leave your fiancée behind?”

Clark’s lips curl. “Never. I’ll take you with me.”

Oh. Your chest warms. “What makes you think I’d go with you?”

“I’d just have to convince you,” he whispers, tilting his head to press his forehead against yours. His next words are soft, but they have your heart pressing against your ribcage. “And I can be very persuasive.”

A giggle falls from your lips. Clark shrinks himself, bending himself at a slightly odd angle to accommodate your height as you lean your head on his shoulder. The quiet moon is company you don’t want to humor tonight and Clark seems to agree when he rises to his feet and offers his hand.

The two of you drift back into his bedroom. Light still spills across his hardwood floors that whine below his heavy footfalls. But Clark shields you from the stark brightness, engulfing you in a comfortable night against his chest.

When you tip your face up, he’s already looking down at you. For a moment, he only searches your eyes. Looking for something you’re not sure you can provide.

However, he seems to find whatever it is he wanted when he leans down and slides his mouth over yours.

The kiss is soft. Slow. None of the usual heat and messiness that leads to hours of tangled legs and sweaty limbs. This one is patient, it’s kind. Clark tastes like tea and sugar, the kind of concoction that lulls you slowly back to sleep.

Before your consciousness slips away again, Clark murmurs a promise of sweet dreams.

You think you may already have that.

This farmlife experience is much more taxing than you expect. Hours of Harvest Moon on your old game consoles do nothing to prepare you for the ache between your fingers and the soreness of your shoulders. However, you suck it up and keep going because there’s no greater sight than Clark who delights in showing you the ropes.

You’ve fought off chickens all morning to feed them and take their eggs for breakfast. You’ve milked cows, delicate fingers wrapped around the hefty udders until you fill a whole pail. You’re grooming the horses and trying not to get your hair chewed out.

Again, it’s all worth it when you see Clark beam at you like the morning sun.

His eyes also keep wandering to your finger where he has already pointed out — “You’re wearing the ring.”

You blame the fever on your neck on the sun that’s barely risen. “I thought it would be best to wear it so your parents don’t get suspicious.”

The two of you do end up talking, agreeing on points in time that align for your supposed romantic development. It isn’t a hard task, not when you actually do remember those moments when you felt your strongest attraction towards Clark. The first time you slept together was redesigned as your first date. The arrangement of your… arrangement was reconfigured into a conversation about official labels.

Clark is close to your side, arms brushing as the two of you make your way back to the house. The basket of eggs hangs from Clark’s hand as his other one shifts to the small of your back — it hovers, present, but doesn’t touch.

He’s telling you a story from his days of youth and you’re throwing your head back in laughter. The emotions come easy here — honest in the early hours of dawn when it’s only you and him.

When you arrive at the house, you two spot Lois already nursing a steaming coffee mug in her hands. Her eyes dart between the two of you carefully, curious — almost calculating. Her lips quirk upwards at the sight and you’re almost shy by her response.

Unfortunately, Clark’s reaction has you stiffening. He clears his throat and takes a step out to the side. Away from you. Distance. You try not to let your hurt show but it feels as if there’s a giant stone sitting in the pit of your stomach that’s weighing you down, slowing your steps.

“What’s going on?” Clark asks, brows puckered.

It’s your turn to regard the two of them. Clark has always been comfortable with Lois. Kara’s teased him before for having a crush on her; perhaps that feeling still lingers. Worse yet, perhaps those feelings have only strengthened.

Once again, you reckon with the fact that Clark Kent is not yours. You have no right to be jealous, to feel possessive over a man who doesn’t belong to you. You were the one who put your foot down and swore off any actual romantic relationships, and Clark was never an exception.

If Clark wanted Lois — and if, by some luck, Lois wanted Clark back, who were you to stand in the way of true love?

So you force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing. I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait—”

But you’re already turning on your heel and heading back inside the house.

+ sam: tumblr hit me with the block limit for the full fic so i figured this is a good separation point while i edit the second half!! happy ending i promise <33

clark is saving (taglist): @houseofhyde @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @pinksplace @lunexiax @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @avgdestitute @natskisses @parker-barnes-af @kelbrave @steviebbboi @onecojg @clarknsun @kryptidfiles @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @mollymal @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @lynnidc @winnichu173 @zhaixiaowen @macbaetwo @rach2602

As cliche as it may be, John Truman Carter deemed you to be special. You weren’t like the rest of his ex’s or his flings. To him you were a once in a lifetime type of woman. One of which he'd proudly give the title of Mrs. Carter too. (That is of course if you wanted it.) In truth, you were the first person who truly saw him for him. You weren’t blinded by his family’s money, nor by his looks. It was the depth of his character that attracted you to him. Which is why he held you in such high regard. 

He felt a sense of joy in his chest at the thought of you watching him sleep. Whenever he got the chance, Dr. Carter would stare at you during your shared shifts at County. Always admiring you, lovingly. But to know that you had done that same made him feel completely giddy inside. Perhaps, you liked him just as much as he liked you. Possibly even loved him. Nevertheless, this didn’t stop him from feeling a bit mischievous. He couldn’t just not tease you about you watching him sleep. That urge was too great. So, he does what he does best; he teases you. 

“How long have you been watching me sleep? An hour? Five? Or are you like a total stalker and who is just always watching?” He flashes his honey brown eyes at you, only for you to scoff at him. 

“Fuck off, Carter.” You playfully say as you nudge his naked chest lightly. His smile deepens and without a word he’s on top of you. You're breathless for a moment. But you then give him an innocent smile. As if this was your goal all along. 

Leaning into your ear, he whispers. “Make me.” 

As he began to kiss you he’s gentle with his kisses. Only on a very rare occasion was Carter ever rough when kissing you. (Oftentimes after a rough shift at County.) To him your lips were always a blessing he should cherish. Which is why he’d kiss you with such tenderness. This tenderness only amplified in  early mornings like this; he had to take as much time as possible savioring you. And yet, the daylight drew him out of this limital moment. Making him think about his other priority–work. Dr. Carter pulled away from you and searched your eyes. 

“What time is it?” 

Without skipping a beat you answer. 

“It’s a quarter after seven, baby.” 

“Shit!” With that, he’s a mess of limbs scrabbling to get out of bed. Benton is his first thought. A very angry Benton yelling at him in front of the other surgical students. Scolding him for his tardiness. Possibly threatening his residency. 

It seemed that now as a resident, Benton was riding him more than ever before. Always correcting him. Calling him out on every minor mistake. Always annoyed. Benton might as well strangle him for his tardiness. 

“Where are you going?” You ask softly. It made him want to stop everything and go to you. But the looming threat of Benton prevented him from caving in. Instead, he’s putting on the nearest scrubs he can find rather than his usual suit and tie. 

“I’m late, baby!! Like super late! Also, I’m pretty sure you’re late too!” 

“You do realize it’s our day off, right?” 

He stops and turns toward you slowly. With a gaping mouth he scoffs at you. You knew. Of course, you knew. The grin on your face said it all. Shaking his head he then flops back into bed. 

“That was a nasty trick.” 

You giggle and wrap your arms tightly around him, making him chuckle in return. He then sighed deeply with content and traced his lips across your bare shoulders. Though soon these kisses turned rough making you groan with pleasure. 

“You’re pure evil.” 

“I know.” 

“By the way, If you’re thinking about going in today just know I’ll have appendicitis or something. Then you’ll have to be stuck with me that way.” 

“I definitely don’t want to be the one to cut you up so It seems like I’ve gotta stay here.” 

“Well if you gotta, doctor Carter. Besides I think I would rather have you split me open in a less gory way. If you catch my drift.” 

Yeah. It’s safe to say Carter knew he was going to marry you. After all, where else would he get such tenderness in the early sunlight? 

><><><

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Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough you’d find he’s pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldn’t expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.

With his sharp jawline and casually neutral face—grumpy in a way that was unfairly handsome—chin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. He’s an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee black—he survived losing half his leg, and yet—Jack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.

Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by him—almost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.

So no, looking at Jack you’d assume he probably kept to himself—and for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldn’t be long before the truth came out;

Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.

He never started the conversations, he’d wait until someone else did and just…effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when he’d heard something new.

Like now, as you’re walking in next to him for your shift; he’s practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. He’s shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

You try your best to keep your eyes on the board—an ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruff—you finally break.

“Alright Gossip Girl, what is it?”, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.

Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.

“Robby and Noelle are hooking up.”

He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear they’d pop out at any second.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; “SHUT UP—“

Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.

“Jesus kid-“, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.

His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.

“Robby and Noelle!?”

He nods; “Mhm.”

“How?? When?? Robby??”, All your questions tumble out at once.

Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; “Don’t know for sure, long enough that it set McKay’s alarm bells off.”

“…Oh this is too good”, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought that’s now popping into your head.

“It gets better”, Jack says, leaning closer; “Dana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jack’s face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what you’re really hearing.

“That’s way more than I needed to know about Robby”, You say.

Jack grunts something close to a laugh; “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait”, You tilt your head; “Wouldn’t you already know that about him?”

Jack’s smirk deepens; “Well yeah, but”, He leans even closer; “How would she know that?”

The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed that’s too fast for before coffee.

“Oh my god”, You breathe.

Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.

“I don’t think I can even look at him now”, You say, “I’d laugh in his face, it’s too good. I’d-“

Jack’s hand on your shoulder stops you; “Woah, kid. Don’t go spiraling on me now.”

“I’m not…it’s just so?-“

“Strange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?”

“Well, yeah!”, You say, hands flying in the air.

Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.

“Careful kid”, He says, leaning in way too close; “Gotta work on your poker face or I won’t be able to share with my favorite resident.”

Favorite resident.

Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.

His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.

“Cmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triage”, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.

It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.

That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.

You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know who’s standing next to you—the shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if there’d be something you’d learn to be so uniquely and purely him.

You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace you’ll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.

“What Jack?”, You breathe, fighting the smile that’s trying so hard to creep onto your lips.

“How’d you know it was me?”, You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You reek of antiseptic and annoyance.”

A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.

“Oh so you know what I specifically smell like?”, He juts.

You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.

You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered he’s made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegal—

“What do you want, Jack?”, You feign annoyance.

“What makes you think I want something?”, His answer comes from pursed lips.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m standing.”

“You have a look on your face”, You throw back.

“My face always looks like this.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey—“, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“What”, you sigh; “Do you want?”

His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when he’s trying to hide a smile or the fact that he’s amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information you’ve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.

It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasn’t the case, even now; when he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it that’s just uniquely Jack—

You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calm—steady.

Jack, who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his face—takes a step closer to you.

“Did you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?”, Jack says.

You roll your eyes; “Did you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?”

Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; “We do not!”

You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. He’s following you half a stride later.

“W-Where did you even hear that?”, He gawks.

You shrug; “I’ve got my own sources.”

A second later he’s in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; “Woah. Woah—I—ok, you’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“How’s it feel?”, You muse.

You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; “You’re mean, kid.”

“And you’re a gossip”, You shoot back.

Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; “I might be.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes again; “Why would you even care if Shen’s was true? You hate Dunkin.”

“I’m nosey”, He shrugs.

“You’re something.”

But that only makes Jack’s smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few weeks later, you’re strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat stroke—among other injuries you didn’t even want to ask about.

You hoped it would at least be relatively smooth—close enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.

You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Dana’s directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an “immaculate infection.” Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.

As if the shift couldn’t get any crazier—an hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.

Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You can’t help but stare.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?”, Jack calls out.

You’re quick to snap yourself out of it—joining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; “What’s the story?”

“My buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrong”, Jack fills you in.

He doesn’t say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see he’s tense by his shoulders and jaw—worried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.

“Did you intubate?”, Trinity asks, working alongside you.

“Yeah”, Jack says, not looking up; “Under active fire.”

You don’t miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isn’t yet visible—or the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“That’s badass”, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.

You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neck—hairs standing on end as you look at Jack.

It doesn’t take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. You’re pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.

When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isn’t a patient—but rather the man you’ve been looking for the past few hours.

Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.

“Oh! I—sorry!”, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; “I was looking for my patient.”

Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bed—sliding the tray of sterilized tools he’d already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.

“No patient here”, He says; “Room was empty when I got here.”

You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jack—the injured Jack sitting in front of you.

“Shit, Jack”, You say, mind rushing back to the present; “You’re hurt, what happened?”

You’re already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swab—failing to reach far enough.

“Bullet grazed my vest”, He says, waving a hand.

“You got SHOT?”, You blurt.

“Shot at”, He says, brows raised with a shrug; “Anyways, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

But you do worry about him; more than he knows.

You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.

“Thank you”, He sighs, voice going soft.

You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; “Anytime.”

Knowing he’s ok and safe, your mind drifts now—focusing more on the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skin—press kisses to the paleness of him.

You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.

“You ok?”, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.

“Yup, perfect”, You say.

You don’t see his quirked brow, and whatever he’s thinking—he keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.

“Thanks for keeping this off the books”, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.

You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously when you don’t move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; “You sure you’re ok, kid?”

“Yeah!”, You answer to quickly; “I better go see if Dana needs anything, uh…I’ll see you later? For your shift?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “Yeah, see you there crawler.”

With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your hands—elbows resting against the top of the counter.

“What’s got you so flustered?”, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.

You groan; “I don’t even know if I can say.”

Princess perks up on the other side of you; “Ok, now we need to know.”

You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.

Santos follows your line of sight; “Something happen with Dr. Abbot?”

You push your face back into your hands; “God. What didn’t happen.”

Both of them eye you with quirked brows.

“I saw him…shirtless”, You mumble.

Princess’ face lights up; “Oh you lucky girl!”

“And?”, Santos asks.

You can’t help but groan again; “He’s unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.”

The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbot”, Santos says.

“Who doesn’t?”, You quip back, like it’s common knowledge and not about you.

Princess sighs on the other side of you.

“He’s like the McDreamy of the Pitt…or the Clooney”, She sighs.

“He’s better than McDreamy and Clooney, he’s like…McClooney.”

Laughter erupts around you again.

“So you and Abbot, huh?”, Santos asks.

“God, I don’t know. I mean we’re friends yeah, but I don’t think he even knows how I feel. Or that he’d even feel the same”, You sigh.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen him look at you. Seems like something’s there”, Princess says; “You should talk to him.”

Your face heats up way too fast; “I can’t do that! Are you crazy?”

Princess shrugs; “You never know what he’ll say.”

You sigh, nodding. You know she’s right, but you can’t push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.

“He’s gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to work”, You say, reaching for a new iPad.

You turn on your feet with another sigh.

“Go get your McClooney!”, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.

You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It’s a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robby’s still forcing himself to work longer.

The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.

“Oh she’s got it bad”, Santos says; “You should’ve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl can’t hide her crush if she tried.”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.

“Our girl’s got it for Abbot, huh?”, Dana says, smiling to herself; “Can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jack’s heart stops at the mention of his name—then quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.

He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesn’t falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.

He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. It’s nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.

He’s leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t know you were in here”, You say.

Jack scoffs a laugh; “What? You avoiding me now?”

“No”, You say, a little too quickly.

“Good.”

He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside him—a little more space between you than usual.

Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before it’s interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calm—decides now’s the time to get you all riled up.

“So”, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; “I heard something interesting earlier.”

You scoff; “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.

“Jack”, You say; “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No”, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.

You shake your head, doing the same with your can; “Lay it on me, Abbot.”

Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.

“I heard…someone that works here has a crush on me”, He says.

You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Something about ‘unfairly hot, so built it should be illegal’”, He says; “‘Hotter than McDreamy and Clooney?’”

“Jack I-“, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.

Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.

Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.

“Hey”, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.

“I’m sorry, Jack”, You rush out; “It’s highly inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. I’m so sorry—“

“No”, Jack says.

You freeze; “What?”

“I don’t think I can do that”, He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jack…”, You mutter, fearing the worst.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondly—a soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.

“You’re not…?”

“No”, He says; “Not when it’s you.”