Just Another Fangirl

Just reposting my all time favorite fanfic, imagines and one shots. 25yr 💜

[silv3rs3lkie]

a long time coming-peter parker

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

paring peter parker x fem reader

summary you and spider-man have formed an odd friendship, until one night changes everything.

word count 4.8k

warnings explicit smut, MDNI, only +18 readers, masturbation, overstimulation, tension, nipple play, fingering, oral play, choking, pet names, clit play, mask play, dirty talk, praise kink, cockwarming lowkey switch vibes, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it pls), multiple orgasms, multiple positions, strength difference, heightened senses iykyk.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ +18 readers only ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

Stumbling across the rooftop, Peter groans as he presses his hands against his eyes. His vision blurs as his lenses shift with effort, whirring against his heaving face. Peter groans even louder as another sliver of pain filters through him, his head filled to the brim with searing fog. He has been at this all day, trying to hone in on his heightened arachnid senses and gain a semblance of how to control it. It was all to no avail, the headaches still persisted and his control was slipping by the minute. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, his blinding headache ringing in his ears. The sharpened sound of a siren causes him to jolt to a stop and cry out. Peter’s head swam as he struggled to focus on a singular sound, all of them filtering together into an agonizing symphony. His breathing halts in his chest, each ragged breath as painful as the next. Grabbing onto the edge of the rooftop, Peter tries to focus on something, anything to steady him. He could feel the grooves in his fingertips gripping his sweaty suit, the sensation of the gravel rooftop causing him to grit his teeth. The sound of rushing water filtered through a shitty shower head nearly blinds him as he tries to hone in on the direction of the sound. Water rushes down a drain, but not before faltering across hair and skin. Peter inhales and nearly gasps as the scent overwhelms his senses, a combination of sweet soap and something that he couldn’t quite place. Peter’s head tilts to the right slightly before racing across the rooftop and leaping over to the next building. His body moved on autopilot, climbing across railings and swinging between alleyways. He stops suddenly on a rickety fire escape, his swirling eyes trained on the window above him. Peter groans at the sweet scent wafting from the window, causing another ripple of pain to infiltrate his pounding head. It wasn’t until he heard your quiet hums that he knew where he was. 

The trickling water guides him up the fire escape and at the foot of your window. It was not that long ago that he found his way into your apartment by accident, stumbling in thinking it was his own. Luckily enough, he was conscious enough to ensure that his mask stayed on, but not enough to stop you from treating his wounds. He tried to avoid you after that, but somehow stumbled into the laundry room while you were washing your clothes. You had rushed him into your apartment and treated him yet again. Peter jokingly called you his personal nurse and you seemed to preen at that, smiling to yourself. You insisted that he doesn’t let his injuries go untreated and that you wouldn’t ask questions. His late night visits became a routine and more often than not, he would crawl into your window to treat a scrape that he could easily reach. You would talk about random things to fill the time, babbling about your job and irritating family. And Peter would sit and listen, eagerly taking in everything about you. It had been so long since he had someone to talk to, he didn't know what he could share. But you took his awkwardness in stride, allowing him time to indulge you in his favorite movie or his favorite restaurant in the city. You had become more and more concerned about Peter’s headaches, but he’d brush it off and say that he was working on it. Despite seeing you nearly every night, Peter didn’t tell you that he lived in the very same building, just a floor above you in an empty storage room. 

White knuckling the edge of the window, Peter yanks it open and barely makes it inside before falling against the wall. Your dim apartment groaned and creaked, the only light filtering in from underneath the bathroom door. The roaring sound of running water washes over him as he blinks his eyes rapidly, vision beginning to cloud. You were taking a shower.

----

Sighing aloud, your hands massage shampoo into your aching scalp. The soap trails down your neck and you roll your head slightly, allowing the hot water to hit it just so. You groan at the feeling of the water hitting a particular knot in your tense neck. It had been two days since you last saw him. Ever since Spiderman stumbled into your apartment nearly two years ago, you had formed a strange attachment to the masked vigilante. Despite not knowing his name or age, you knew his favorite color and how he liked his clothes folded. You remembered his indian order and guilty pleasure movie, as well as which hand he writes with. Your relationship with him was confusing, but steady enough to consider him a friend. He would've shown up by now, covered in enough blood and bruises to make you cringe. Luckily, you went to nursing school long enough to understand how to patch someone up. You had begun to mention school when he had asked you how you knew how to stitch a wound, but stopped when the question of why you weren’t a nurse was silently raised. He had brushed it off in the moment, taking your silence as an answer. 

“Hey, if it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead,” he had said, sprawled out against your couch. You swatted him with your free hand, brushing against his broad chest. And when you caught yourself staring too long at the rise and fall of his chest or the ripple of his strained abs, you’d jerk your head down towards your first aid kit. Whether or not he noticed your reactions, he never said anything. 

You had told yourself time and time again that you were ridiculous for feeling anything towards him. He was a masked vigilante, you had no clue what his name was or what he looked like. But you couldn’t help but notice his voice, his laugh, the way that he walked around your tiny apartment with such comfortability, the way that the air seemed to seize when you got too close. Your chest heaved at the thought of him laid on your couch, his legs spread wide to account for you standing between them. You’d lean over him bent at the waist, swiping alcohol soaked cloth across his wound stricken body. Sometimes he would tense at the feeling, but you told yourself it was the depth of the wound or bruising that hadn’t bloomed yet. He would absent mindedly brush the outside of your thigh with his hands, acting as anchors for your restless thighs. Sometimes you found yourself wanting to test him, wearing the smallest cotton shorts underneath your biggest t-shirt. You’d imagine his hands trailing up and down, playing slightly with the edge of your sleep shorts. His fingers would delve beyond your shorts, gripping the back of your thighs and kneading up to your ass. 

Your hands pause in your hair as heat pools between your legs, causing your thighs to clench in return. Your breathing grows shallow as you rub your thighs together again, testing the buzzing sensation. Water trails down your neck, over your trembling breasts and onto the slick shower floor. Your hands drag down your neck, circling around your collarbone and dipping down the valley of your breasts. You lurch at the feeling of hands gripping you and you could almost feel the nylon clad fingers circling your throbbing nipples. The water fully pounds down on your tilted head as your hands deftly play with your breasts, enticing soft gasps to escape you. 

His hands would delve into your inner thighs from behind, fingers trailing over your dripping arousal. One hand would drag around your thigh as the other traced your weeping entrance, simultaneously pulling you even closer. 

You drag your hand down your stomach and past your navel, dipping in between your trembling thighs. A soft moan trickles out of you at the feeling of hot arousal leaking out of you, coating your wandering fingers. Testingly, you trace your middle finger around your entrance and dip it into your sopping pussy. You gasp at how eagerly your walls clench down on your finger and it's not long before you add another, your hips rutting against your thrusting hands. 

He would manage to get three fingers inside of you and crook them just so with each thrust. They would reach that far place in you, coaxing mindless moans out of you with each flick of his hand. His other hand would find your swollen clit, thumb grinding down with each thrust. 

Your leg hitches on top of the tub edge as you chase your building orgasm, the sound of your leaking arousal music to your ears. Your thumb flicks against your clit and you can’t help but yelp at the bolt of pleasure sent straight between your legs. You grind against your hand, eager to create any sort of friction against your aching clit. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan, your voice echoing against the damp shower walls. More, you needed more. Without much thought, you grab the shower head with your hand that braced against the shower wall. Frantically rotating the head, the pressure increases and hones into a steady but strong stream. Your chest heaves with anticipation as you mindlessly spread your legs even further, your other hand still thrusting into your dripping pussy. The stream hits your belly and you take no time to settle the head between your legs. 

Your mouth opens in a silent moan as the stream pulverizes your swollen clit, your other hand paused within your wet heat. Your thighs tremble as arousal gushes out of you, your leg folds into your side as you frantically chase your release. Your fingers continue their thrusts after a moment, the hot water trickling down your slit. A heady moan escapes you as the shower head reaches a new angle and you eagerly thrust your hips towards it.

A loud crash jolts through you, cutting through the thick haze. 

Shit. He was here. Probably hurt and bleeding. And here you were, fucking your shower head to the mear thought of him. Fumbling with the shower head, you manage to hook it on the wall before shutting the water off. Grabbing your towel off the wall, you don't even dry yourself before you yank the door open. 

“Spidey, you had me worried for a-” the sentence falls short as you take in the state of him. You expected him to be clutching his side, blood soaking through his nylon suit. Except, he was sprawled across the couch, deftly stroking his hard cock. The lamp that sat on your side table had fallen next to him, the base shattered as the flickering light cast the most obscene shadow against him. He didn’t seem to notice you, his head thrown back against the couch cushion as he thrusts against himself, arousal leaking from his ruddy tip. Your mouth opens in shock as fire trickles down your spine and swirls into your inner thighs. You rub your thighs together as arousal pools out of you, leaking down your damp leg. 

Spiderman’s breathing stops as his head whips toward you, his lenses shifting and whirring to life. His hand reaches the top of his cock and he runs his thumb over the tip, before thrusting into his hand with a hiss. You follow his hand and drag your eyes across his thick thighs and where his suit had parted for his heavy cock.

“Don’t,” he starts, his voice coming out as a growl. 

You raise your eyes begrudgingly to his masked face, confusion filtering across your face. 

“Don’t come near…me,” he manages to get out as his sloppy thrusts continue, arousal leaking down his length and coating his every thrust.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” you say, your voice trembling with need. There he was, in front of you practically fucking his own hand, and he tells you to not come near him. 

His head cocks to the side. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them dragging down your heaving body. Your hand tightens around the towel loosely wrapped around you and a sharp hiss escapes him. 

“It’s you,” he grits out. “I tried to fight it…you.”

“Fight? Fight me?” 

“You…your laugh, your smell, your soft skin,” he growls. “The sounds you make when you touch yourself.”

You gasp aloud, his words stoking the fire within you.

“Everything,” he says, his hips meeting his moving hand with vigor. 

“How long,” you manage to croak out, your mind still reeling from his admission. 

He practically moans as he eagerly strokes his steely cock, the sound of his slippery arousal enough to make your mouth dry.

“Long…enough,” he grits.

“Spidey,” you breathe out, your voice sounding heady and thick. “Is this…happening because of your headaches? Maybe if you-”

Before you could say another word, he shot off the couch, hands still working over his cock as he backed you against the wall. His head tilts to the side and you swear you hear him take a deep inhale.

“I could smell you, you know,” he practically growls, the sound of his stroking hand causing you to moan. “Your shampoo, your salty skin…your wet pussy.”

His other hand props up his heaving body as he shamelessly tilts his head down the valley of your breasts dripping with condensation. 

“You’re wet even now,” he states shamelessly, his thrusting cock inching ever closer to your stomach. “Dripping just for me.”

You swear your pussy slickens even more and your clit throbs, your thighs obscenely spreading and clenching around your arousal. 

“I need to taste you,” he grits, lowering himself to his knees. “Please…let me just have a taste.”

Your jaw slackens at the sight of him knelt between your legs, his hand trailing up your damp leg as his other hand continues its sloppy strokes. Your aching nipples press against the scratchy towel and you moan at the feeling. His fingers grip your trembling thigh as his head dips downward, his hot breath fanning on your legs despite the mask. Your towel parts at the movement, a sliver of your inner thigh peaking out. A groan shudders out of him as his forehead drags up your thigh, his masked face inching the towel further apart. Your pussy clenches and you couldn’t help but moan at the hot arousal oozing out of your center.

“Oh my god,” he hisses, wedging his cheek against your inner thigh and tilting his masked mouth towards your aching pussy. “I can feel you through my mask.”

You spread your legs even further and your towel falls completely open, half of his head covered by the open flap. Your other hand finds his shoulder and his muscle tenses under your grip. Before you could blink, his hand gripping your thigh brushes your swollen pussy, inciting a sharp gasp from your heaving chest. 

“So wet,” he marveled, his masked lips moving against the apex of your thighs. “You’re incredible, baby.”

His finger circles your entrance, teasing you before plunging into your weeping pussy. Yelping aloud, you practically grind down on his finger and unknowingly onto his masked face. He moans aloud, his hot mouth moving against your clit even through his mask. His body rocks against you, the sound of his labored strokes egging you on. Hooking your leg onto his shoulder, your head falls back as a wave of pleasure crashes over. Adding another finger, he thrusts and crooks his fingers just so, coaxing a heady moan out of you. 

“You taste like honey, oh my god,” he moans, practically rutting his face against your pussy. “I can’t-I need to feel you.”

You whine at the feeling of his fingers pulling out of you, your pussy clenching around the newfound emptiness. 

“Why did-” you stutter around your words as his mouth latches onto your clit, his tongue working against your swollen bud. His mouth was on you. Without any barrier. Your thighs seize and your other hand grips the back of his head, your towel falling open completely. All at once, he grabs the underneath of your ass with one arm, guiding your other leg to wrap around his shoulders and lifting you to his mouth. His loud moan vibrates against you as his tongue laps at your center, tracing your swollen folds and delving beyond your entrance. Your hips twitch as you unabashedly grind down on his face, moaning with abandon. Your fingers delve into the base of his neck, creeping past the seam of his mask and into his curls. He doesn’t seem to notice, his body shaking with want as he pulls you down into him. The sound of his slick cock is enough to make you plead under your breath, your pussy seizing with need.

“Please,” you moan, your hips meeting his mouth at a dizzying speed. “I’m almost…I’m almost there.”

Spiderman moans against you and reaches his hand around you, fingers eagerly rubbing your throbbing clit. Pleasure rips through you, your mouth opening in a silent moan. Your body shakes and his mouth continues working against you, milking you through your orgasm. Your vision spots as your legs clamp around his head, arousal gushing out of you. He laps it up with ease, moaning at the dripping release on his tongue.

“Perfect, absolutely perfect,” he says, muffled by your trembling thighs.

Before you could catch your breath, his arm around your middle tightens and holds you as he stands with ease. You squeal as he stalks over to the couch, placing you on the plush cushions all while lazily stroking his leaking cock. You place your hands in between your legs, steadying yourself as your release drips out of you and onto the couch. Your breasts heave as you take him in, your head now level with his straining cock. Lips parting slightly, you glance up at his masked face, pulled up to reveal his lips glistening with your arousal. Your pussy clenches at the sight, thighs spreading and hips rutting eagerly against the couch. His lenses train your movement and he strokes his thumb over the tip of his cock. 

“And you’re still wet,” he marvels, stepping even closer to you. His cock thrusts into his hand and you could feel the heat radiating off of him, his length just a few inches away. One long stroke and his cock could grace your lips. Your pussy thrums at the thought and you lick your lips absentmindedly. 

“You want my cock,” he almost laughs, his strokes beginning to slip away from his hand. “Of course you do. God, I think you’re made for me.”

You preen at his words, your pussy dampening at the thought of his cock between your lips. You wanted him. You wanted him in your mouth, in between your legs, everywhere. A whine escapes you and you grab his lower thighs, dragging him towards you as you testingly lick up his hardened length. He tenses as your touch, his hand pausing at the base of his cock. You glance up at him, his mouth slightly agape in pleasurable shock. Teasingly, you circle your tongue around his throbbing head before popping it in your mouth and sucking hard. His hips buck against you, his length slipping past your lips and hitting the back of your throat in his haste.

“Shit, oh my god,” he curses, hips trembling as he starts to pull out of you. “I’m sorry, I just-“

You cut him off by slapping his hand away from the base of his cock and licking down his length, tongue catching on a vein pulsing with need. A heady moan tears out of him, catching painfully on his chest as his hands dig into your scalp. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands guiding you up and down his throbbing cock. “Baby, you take me so perfect. I can’t stop.” 

You moan as you hollow your cheeks, your cries vibrating against his leaking cock. Your hand comes up to the base of his shaft, deftly stroking and running your thumb along a raised vein. He tenses against you and his thrusts grow sloppy, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, your eyes watering as he moans at the feeling of your throat constricting around him. Your other hand trails down your heaving stomach, dipping into your sensitive pussy. Arousal gushes out of you as he practically fucks your mouth, groaning with each thrust.

“Oh my fuck,” he curses, his head thrown back as he grips your hair even tighter. His hips buck against your mouth unabashedly and your hips grind down on your hand in return, desperately chasing release.

An obscene moan escapes you as you flick your throbbing clit, your arousal coating your hand. It’s your moan that tips him over the edge, his release pouring down your eager throat trembling with desire. You struggle to breathe as his hot release fills your mouth, leaking beyond your lips as his thrusts become lazy. Your hips continue grinding on your hand as his cock pops from your mouth, humming as you swallow his salty release. His mouth opens in awe as you lick your lips, your pussy clenching onto your pumping fingers. 

“Look at you,” he preens, his hand finding your jaw. His other hand pulls his mask down, hiding his mouth once more. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, dragging it slowly downward to expose your lower teeth. “You can’t help but touch yourself.”

You open your mouth to respond but words die in your throat as he turns you around suddenly, pushing you onto all fours and pressing your face down into the couch. You moan at the sudden rush of air against your wet pussy, your arousal dripping out of you and onto the plush cushion below. He hisses aloud, running his hand down your spine and pushing your chest down even further. Your ass curves toward him, your thighs spread in anticipation. 

“Please,” you beg, the couch muffling your moans. 

His other hand grips your ass and spreads you even further, the lewd sound sending heat slithering down your spine. The heat of his heaving body presses against you as his fingers reach between your legs and spreads your weeping folds. You gasp at the feeling of him playing with your arousal, fingers scissoring around your lips and flicking against your throbbing clit. You push yourself against him, offering your pussy for the taking. 

“Oh my fuck,” he groans and you could practically hear him swallow. “This can’t be real, this pussy is unreal.”

You feel his heat before his cock reaches you, his hard length slipping over your slit. His tip thrusts against your clit and you moan into the couch, gripping the cushion in return. Both of his hands reach up to grip your hips, pulling you toward him to meet each thrust. Your arousal leaks onto his moving cock and coats his shaft with slickened heat. The sound is lewd enough for you to grind your ass into him and you moan when his tip slips past your entrance by accident. Taking this moment, you push yourself onto him, your sopping pussy practically swallowing him whole. He groans so loud that his timber shakes through you, sending bolts of pleasure straight to your clit. You push yourself even further, moaning as arousal oozes out of you. It wasn’t until you were fully seated on his cock that you took a deep breath, your mouth open in a ragged pant. He is unnaturally still, his cock twitching from within you the only traceable movement. 

“Spidey?” you question, starting to turn your head towards him.

“Turn…around,” he grinds out, his voice an octave deeper than before. “Now.”

He rocks his cock testingly when you don’t turn around immediately. Your pussy clamps down on him, your walls eagerly clenching onto his hard length. He pulls himself fully out of you before slamming back into you without abandon. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as your head buries itself into the couch, your legs shaking as he pounds into you. 

“I can’t breathe, fuck,” he curses, his hands gripping your ass and tilting you towards his moving cock. “Don’t turn around.”

Before you could protest, one of his hands leaves your ass and something falls to the side of your head. His groans slightly muffled by his mask are suddenly amplified, his breathing ragged and whiny. Your head slightly turns, eyes focusing on his forgotten mask strewn on the couch. You gasp aloud, your chest caving in as you stare at his mask. You wanted so badly to turn around and meet his gaze as he stroked the deepest parts of you. 

“Head down,” he grits and you moan at the sound of his naked voice laced with need. You greedily push your hips back, yelping at the depth of his thrusts. Your hands clutch the couch as he somehow pounds into you even harder, his hot breath fanning across your arched back. His hand traced down your spine and circle around the back of your neck, pushing your face even further into the couch. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, your voice muffled by the cushions pressing into your face. Tears stream from your strained eyes and soak the couch below you. Your legs shake as he moves within you relentlessly, his moans bringing you to the edge of your orgasm. 

“Fuck, this pussy,” he moans, fisting his hand in your damp hair. His hips twitch and flick at the perfect angle, hitting a spot within you so deep that you sob. “Can’t believe it’s mine.”

His words torture you as more heat pools out of you and your walls twitch in response, causing him to hiss in return. 

“Gripping me so good,” he growls. “I need you closer, fuck.”

Before you could process, he grabbed the back of your neck and wrapped his other hand around your torso, yanking you up against his chest. The hand around your neck wraps around your front while the other drags you up and down on his hard cock. You can’t even manage to moan aloud, your mouth open in disbelief as he pounds into you, the new angle stretching you beyond belief. Your body twitches at the feeling of your body against his, your damp body moving against his nylon clad torso. His broad thighs open your legs even more as he practically impales you on his cock, moaning with every thrust. His hand bracing your neck drags down your chest and latches onto your heaving breast. You practically shove your breast into his hand, moaning as his fingers circle and twist your aching nipple.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, his face dipping to your neck and placing an open mouth kiss on your pulse. You sob and tilt your neck towards him, his curls brush against your neck as he licks up the column of your throat. “You’re made for me.”

He practically lifts you off his cock fully before slamming you down, your pussy twitching with need. Your mixed arousal leaks out of you, the lewd sound enough to make your legs shake. His hand circling your breast snakes down to the apex of your thighs, finding your clit with ease. The first touch of his fingers is enough to tip you over the edge as your orgasm roars through you. Your vision blurs as your mouth opens in a silent moan, your body convulsing with pleasure. You feel him moving within you, his thrusts growing labored and sloppy. 

“Fuck…I’m-” he moans into your neck as his cock twitches and spills into you. Your head lolls to the side as he pushes his leaking cock into you, arousal spills out from your conjoined bodies. His chest heaves from behind you and both of you pant in unison, your body melting into his. Your eyes focus on the ceiling above and your head begins to move without thought. 

“Spidey-”

“Peter.”

You blink, confused at the sudden admission. You want to turn your head fully and look at the man whose cock was still buried within you. Your body trembled with the need to look into his eyes, to see what color they were or if they crinkled around the edges. 

His hand meets your chin, pulling your face fully towards him. Your eyes trail up his torso, across his clenched chin and flushed cheeks, his broad nose, his eyebrows framing his brown eyes laced with black. You gape at the sight, your hand reaching up to his cheekbone. His eyes close as his face nuzzles into your hand.

“Are you sure about this…Peter?”

His eyes shoot open, now fully brown and trained on you. A small smile filters across his face.

“I’ve never been so sure before.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

[pearlessance]

r/AmITheAsshole?

u/dr-abbot.j: AITAH for provoking my girlfriend because i think it's hot when she acts crazy?

+18 mdni, age difference, fem reader, bratting/brat taming, jealousy (from both jack and reader!), lowkey ragebaiter jack, size difference, 'i'll pay for it' jack abbot, oral sex (f! and m!receiving) semi public, cum swallowing, finger sucking, overstim, dirty talk, praise, possessive behaviour, one use of the word daddy said unseriously, alcohol consumption, club culture, unprotected piv, clit stim, begging, creampie, written in one day and bareeely edited!

┊MASTERLIST┊AO3┊

everyone always tells jack abbot that what he needs is a real nice girl to settle down with. someone who will bake him sweet treats and warm dinners, who will make cozy nights in alluring enough to get him to stay home every once in a while.

but the thing is, jack likes the chaos of his life. he likes working twelve hour shifts and then clocking in to dodge bullets immediately after. his therapist says it's a coping mechanism—can't relive old ghosts if you're fast enough to outrun them.

and that might be true for some things, but not with this. not with you.

sure, jack can't deny that he loves the little rush he gets when you somehow manage to look down your nose at him even though he towers over you. he loves that crazy look you get in your eye. he loves when you raise your voice and point a perfectly manicured finger in his face (a manicure that he paid for, mind you).

but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.

he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.

sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.

jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.

he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"

lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."

you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"

he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"

"me, or your other girlfriend?"

it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"

you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.

he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.

"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"

and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.

there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.

jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.

when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"

you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.

by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).

jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.

the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.

the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.

but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.

your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.

you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.

"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"

"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"

you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.

jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.

you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.

jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.

"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."

he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.

"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"

he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.

"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."

you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.

he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.

jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."

he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.

that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.

but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.

you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.

jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.

and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.

later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.

the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."

and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.

you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"

jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.

you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."

at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.

jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.

you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"

jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.

the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.

beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."

it makes jack laugh.

because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.

and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.

you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.

"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"

"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.

"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."

"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"

"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"

"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"

he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."

the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.

when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."

he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.

you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.

with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"

and he knows the answer before you narrow your eyes at him and say, "your favorite girl, jack? how many girls do you have?"

[weird-is-life]

Chasing

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: You and Jack were friends with benefits until you caught feelings. You were afraid that he wouldn't want more so you broke up with him. Now months later, you end up in his ED. (1.3k)

Warnings: medical inaccuracies, implied age gap, use of pet names, swear words, alcohol/drinking, twisted ankle, like one kiss, past fwb relationship

----------------------------------------------------

"Where are you taking me?" Your words slightly slur as you get hauled out of the ambulance.

Girls night out didn't go exactly as you planned. You definitely didn't see the two broken heels and painfully twisted ankle with scraped palms in it.

You didn't even want to have the ambulance called but the bar manager insisted after your embarrasing fall. So here you, wherever that is.

"PTMC." The paramedic says, wheeling you in.

His answer sobers you up a little bit. You wish they'd taken you anywhere else but there.

"Can't you take me elsewhere?" You ask with an annoyed groan.

"Don't worry, they are great with insurance handling even if you don't have one." The paramedic immediately jumps to conclusion and reassures you. But you don't correct him, your real reason is far more embarrassing.

They wheel you into one of the empty rooms as you try to subtly hide your face. You've had a few drink but you are sober enough to know that this is Jack's ED. And Jack's night shift.

Jack Abbot the man you'd been hooking up with (like friends with benefits kinda thing), until you caught feelings and disappeared from his life without explanation.

-

You anxiously wait for a doctor to take your case while you pray for it not to be Jack. You let out a sigh of relief as kind eyed doctor with a coffee in hand enters.

You don't even need to explain yourself to him, he takes one look at you and sends you upstairs for an x-ray with an amused smile.

You are almost at the elevator when you hear your name. Sneaking around the ED without Jack noticing clearly isn't possible.

He quickly walks up to you, assessing you with wide eyes. You take one look at him and you start to forget why on earth you ended things with him. He looks so good, better than good and your tipsy brain has a problem processing it.

"Hi." Is all you squeak out, checking him out very not subtly.

"What are you doing here, sweetheart?" The pet name escapes him before he can even think about it. Old habits die hard, you know.

He moves a little closer to you, his gaze settling on the strappy dress that has ridden high up your thighs. He reaches out and discreetly tugs it down. Your breath hitches and you strain to remember how to speak.

"Getting an x-ray." You mumble out, only half sure that Jack is actually standing in front of you and that your mind isn't just making him up.

"Shit, okay, yeah. Who's the assigned doctor?" Jack asks the nurse pushing the gurney, clearly he's not asking you when he can see your hazy expression.

"Shen." She tells him and Jack nods.

"Okay, I'll come find you when you get the picture done, okay?" This time he is asking you, his whole focus on you.

"Yeah, okay." You say sheepishly. You'd expect he wouldn't want anything to do with you. So why is he still being such a gentleman? It makes no sense.

-

The ankle is not broken, thankfully. But it was pretty badly dislocated so there's some bruising, it's what Dr. Shen tells you. He's gonna get some intern to get you a boot for it so it heals more quickly.

You're practically sober at this point, seeing Jack sobered you up. The twisting feeling that's been gnawing at you for months suddenly intensified when you saw him. But you have no right to feel this longing for him, not when you were the one to end things with him. Still, it leaves an open wound in your heart.

The door opens again, and you expect either Dr. Shen or one of the interns to come fix your ankle, but it's Jack who enters.

"Hey." He says, voice deep as he carries the ankle boot under his bulging bicep. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything.

"I thought...Dr. Shen said that an intern would do it." You stumble over your words as he puts the gloves on and sits on the stool by your very much swollen ankle.

"Well, I can do it instead." He tells you, and it's not really an explanation. "May I?" He asks before he starts touching your ankle with gentle hands.

"Why?" You question softly because you know he has no reason to take care of you like this.

"Because even if we aren't together anymore, I still care about you." His words are honest, and it strikes you right into your already gaping heart.

"Oh." You say quietly because his words honestly take you by surprise. No man has ever ended things on a good terms with you or you with him. But you shouldn't be that surprised, not when it comes to Jack. He's always been more than perfect and respectful, one of the reasons why you had to end things before you got too deep into your feelings for him.

But did he say together? His words slowly load in your mind, and confuse you. "Wait, what...what do you mean together?"

Jack frowns at you, looking at you like you might have hit your head, too. "What do I mean? You broke up with me, but there's no hard feelings, sweetheart. I'm a man, you made a decision and if I couldn't be okay with it then I should probably seek some help." Jack chuckles but you can hear it's not a genuine laugh.

"Broke up with you?" Your face goes white. "But we weren't even together, I thought we were just, you know, letting some steam off together."

It's Jack's turn to frown even as his hands don't stop working on your ankle. "Sweetheart, I took you out on all those dates. Bought you flowers, presents. Practically sang praises to you....And you thought we were just, what, fucking?"

Your cheeks start impossibly burning. Because yeah, that's exactly what you thought. "But we both agreed we weren't looking for anything serious Jack. What was I supposed to think? You never said or asked me to be more."

"I thought it was obvious." He says softly, and you just shakes your head at it. Because no, it wasn't obvious, you wouldn't have ended things with him if it was.

"Wait, did you end it because you thought that I wouldn't want more?" Jack asks, and I guess your baffling realisation of it must have shown on your face.

"Yes." You state plainly, no beating around the bush. Your eyes dip to the wedding band still on his finger.

A devastating expression fills Jack's face. He stays quiet for a few minutes as he finishes with the boot.

"There's no limit to love, sweetheart. I will forever love her. But I wanted you in my live so much, still do." He confesses.

"Me too. I just didn't want you to do something you weren't ready for, Jackie."

He scoots closer to and tentatively takes your hand in both of his. "My god, angel. I think we've both been a bit stupid and blind."

That finally earns him a smile from you because yeah, you wasted so much time alone when you could have just been together the whole time. "Do you really want me as-as your girlfriend? Even after everything?"

"Pathetically so, sweetheart."

That is an answer enough for you. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer to you. He immediately follows your train of thoughts and plants his mouth over yours.

The kiss is not rushed, it represents the long months of longing and waiting and it leaves you lightheaded and breathless. But you don't want it to stop, matching every move of his lips for yours.

Jack is the one to finally pull away as you chase his lips for more. "Easy, easy, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere. We'll go have breakfast together and then I'll take you home, yeah? What do you say?"

"Yes please, Jack." You whisper with a happy grin.

"Perfect. I'm going to get your discharge papers and then we'll go and we'll talk some more."

He leaves with a light smile and a promise of an honest conversation, squeezing your thigh as he goes.

----------------------------------------------------

[deadpoolps]

hi ok plz write g!p reader who cums fast but almost never gets soft so Daniela takes advantage of it and makes reader cum inside her multiple times until her stomach has that little bulge ok bye

↬ Fill it.

-> pair ; dom!daniela avanzini x g!p!reader

-> synopsis ; you always came faster than her, so she took advantage of that.

-> tags ; multiple orgasms. overstimulation. penetration.

—

Daniela had known about your body for months.

She knew you came fast—sometimes embarrassingly fast—the second you slid inside her.

But she also knew the part that made her eyes sparkle with mischief; once you started, you almost never went soft.

Even after you finished, your cock stayed hard, thick, and ready for more. It was like your body had a switch that only turned off when she decided it was time.

And tonight, Daniela was in the mood to take full advantage.

You had both just gotten back from a long dinner with her members. The moment the front door clicked shut, she kicked off her heels and turned to you with that look—the one that said she had been thinking about this the entire night.

She walked over slowly, hips swaying, and pushed you gently backward until you sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You were quiet during dinner,” she said, voice low. “I could see you watching me the whole time.”

You swallowed, already feeling the familiar heat building in your stomach. “You looked good tonight.”

She smiled, slow and knowing. “I wore this dress for you.”

The dress hugged her body perfectly—short enough to show off her legs, tight enough to remind you exactly what was underneath. She climbed onto your lap, straddling you, and kissed you deep and slow. Her hands slid under your shirt, nails lightly scratching your stomach.

“I’ve been wet since we left the restaurant,” she whispered against your lips. “Thinking about how fast you cum… and how you stay hard for me afterward.”

You groaned softly, hands gripping her thighs. “Dani…”

She kissed you again, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I want you to cum inside me tonight,” she said quietly. “As many times as I want. Until my stomach starts to show it.”

Your cock twitched hard in your pants.

She felt it and smiled.

“Already?” she teased. “We haven’t even started.”

She reached down and unzipped your pants, pulling your cock out. It was already hard, thick, and leaking at the tip. She wrapped her hand around you and stroked slowly, watching your face the whole time.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “So eager.”

She didn’t take her dress off. She just hiked it up to her waist, pushed her panties to the side, and lined you up with her entrance. She was already soaked.

She sank down slowly, taking you in one smooth motion until you were buried to the hilt.

The moment you bottomed out, you groaned and came.

Your cock pulsed inside her, spilling thick ropes of cum deep into her pussy. Your hips jerked up involuntarily as the orgasm hit you fast and intense.

Daniela moaned softly, rolling her hips in slow circles as she felt you filling her.

“Already cumming for me?” she whispered, voice warm and amused.

You were still panting, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Shit—sorry… I couldn’t hold it.”

“That’s okay, baby. I love when you do that.”

She didn’t stop moving.

Even as you were still pulsing inside her, she started riding you—slow, deep rolls of her hips, grinding down so you stayed buried deep. Your cum made everything slick and messy, and she used it to her advantage, sliding up and down your still-hard cock with ease.

You were panting, oversensitive, hands gripping her thighs.

“Dani—fuck… it’s too much already…”

She leaned down and kissed you softly.

“I know,” she said against your lips. “But you’re still so hard for me. I’m not stopping.”

She kept riding you—steady and deep—her pussy clenching around your cock with every downward motion. The wet sounds of her taking you filled the room. Your cum was already leaking out around you, coating your balls and the sheets.

You came again—faster than the first time—groaning into her mouth as another load pumped deep inside her. Daniela moaned, grinding down harder to take every drop.

“That’s two,” she whispered, smiling. “Keep going, baby.”

She didn’t slow down. She rode you through the sensitivity, her hips moving in a smooth, relentless rhythm. Her dress was still on, bunched around her waist, and every time she came down, you could see the slight bulge in her lower belly from how full she was getting.

You were a mess underneath her.

“Daniela… I can’t… it’s too sensitive…”

“You can,” she said softly, but firmly. “You always can for me.”

She leaned forward, pressing her chest against yours, and rode you harder. The angle made your cock hit deeper inside her. She was so full of your cum that every thrust made a wet, squelching sound.

You came a third time—harder than the last—your whole body shaking as you spilled even more inside her. Daniela moaned loudly, grinding down to take it all.

Her stomach was starting to show it now. A small, noticeable swell just below her navel from all the loads you’d given her.

She looked down at it, then back at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

“Look what you’re doing to me,” she whispered. “You’re filling me up so much.”

She kept riding—savoring the way your cock stayed rock hard inside her overflowing pussy.

You were whimpering, oversensitive, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Dani… please… I’m so sensitive…”

“I know, baby,” she said gently, but she didn’t stop. “Just one more. Give me one more.”

She rode you through the overstimulation until you came again—the fourth time—a weak, trembling orgasm that left you gasping and shaking underneath her. More cum pumped into her already swollen belly.

Daniela finally slowed down, breathing hard, her stomach visibly rounder from everything you’d given her. She placed a hand on the small bulge and rubbed it gently.

“So full…” she whispered, almost to herself.

She leaned down and kissed you softly, still keeping you inside her.

“You did so good,” she murmured against your lips. “My perfect girl.”

You were completely spent.

Trembling, oversensitive, but still hard inside her. Daniela smiled and gave one last slow roll of her hips.

“We’re not done yet,” she whispered. “I want to feel you cum inside me at least one more time tonight mkay?”

“U-uh huh,”

You’re fucked.

—

a/n ; this is the one where i keep it in my draft for months.

[goldiwrites]

crushcrushcrush

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x female!reader

summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!

word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)

authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)

you are responsible for your own media consumption. don’t like? don’t read

song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast

divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics

masterlist

Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone Just the one, two, I was just counting on That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again Let's be more than, more than this

You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked. 

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 😌

[neoplatinum]

after hours: series

synopsis: daniela's the girl, like the girl. and when you come around, all loser looking and gullible, daniela's mouth dries but somewhere else a feeling stirs. she's determined to explore that, especially what hides under the aloof side of you...and maybe what hides under your clothes as well...

pairing: mean sorority!daniela x loser g!p reader

tags: fluff, humor, smut, partying, frat boys, slight violence, sorority!megan, jealous dani, oblivious reader, g!p reader, virgin reader, minecraft hohoho, cockblock!megan, probably more idk...

status: in progress

part 1: after hours

daniela had everything in her hands, everything and everyone. and when she saw you, she knew she wanted that too. in fact she needed that. even if you were megan's nerdy sister.

part 2: between your thighs

daniela's been patient, ever so patient with how you haven't gone down on her yet, but tonight? she's got a bet and she will win it, or so god help her.

part 3: BED

daniela's not fond of people taking interest in what's hers and given that she can't express that publicly without it blowing up in her face. she'll settle it privately...

part 4: te deseo, cariño

maybe....just maybe...hiding the fact that you're sleeping with your sister's sorority sister is not such a great idea.

--

extra:

jealous!dani & down bad!dani headcanons

angry!dani & protective!dani headcanons

[batzymen]

inexperience pillow princess megan x g!p r, she’s riding rs pillow and r walks in on her and they kinda fuck for the first time slow then leads to rough ig 😭

Your favorite pillow!

- summary : you caught your inexperience girlfriend humping on your pillow.

- warnings : megan skiendiel x g!p!reader, sub!megan, dom!reader, slapping, choking, ass slap, p in v, p in a, slow to rough, begging, overstimulation, dirty talking, degradation, multiple orgasms, n idk.

the house is dead quiet when you get home from the studio at midnight.

gym ran long, your muscles are screaming, and all you want is a shower, your bed, and maybe megan’s arms around you if she’s still awake.

the lights are off in the living room, only the soft blue glow from the hallway nightlight spilling under the bedroom door.

you kick your sneakers off, drop your bag by the couch, and pad down the hall barefoot, trying not to make noise in case she’s asleep.

you’re reaching for the doorknob when you hear it.

a soft, shaky whimper.

then the unmistakable creak of mattress springs. slow, rhythmic, needy.

your stomach flips.

you push the door open just enough to see inside.

megan is on your bed.

she’s completely naked, knees spread wide, back arched, face buried in your pillow.

your pillow.

the big gray one she always steals when you’re not home. it’s wedged firmly between her thighs, and she’s riding it like she’s been doing it for hours.

her hips roll in desperate little circles, grinding her clit down hard against the fabric, then lifting just enough to drag herself back down.

her ass flexes with every movement, thighs trembling, small wet sounds filling the room every time she presses harder.

she’s dripping—slick coating the pillowcase in a dark, shiny patch, running down her inner thighs. her breasts sway with each roll, nipples hard and flushed.

her mouth is open against the pillow, muffled moans and gasps escaping every few seconds.

she hasn’t noticed you yet.

you stand frozen in the doorway, cock already thickening in your sweats.

you’ve been dating for four months.

kisses, heavy makeouts, grinding through clothes, hands under shirts but you’ve never gone all the way.

she’s told you she’s nervous, inexperienced and wants it to be perfect.

you’ve never pushed. you’ve been patient.

but right now she’s humping your pillow like she’s starving for it.

you step inside, close the door behind you with a soft click.

her eyes snap open.

she freezes, mid grind, face going scarlet. “oh my god—”

she scrambles to pull the blanket up, but you’re already moving, crossing the room in three long strides, climbing onto the bed, caging her in with your arms on either side of her head.

“don’t stop,” you say, voice low and rough.

she stares up at you, eyes wide, cheeks burning. “i—i didn’t mean—i was just—”

“i know.” you lean down, kiss her slow, deep, tasting the embarrassment and need on her tongue.

she moans into your mouth, hands coming up to grip your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you pull back just enough to look at her.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this. riding my pillow because you couldn’t wait for me?”

she whines, nodding, too shy to speak.

you slide a hand down her body, palm flat against her stomach, then lower—fingers brushing through the soaked mess between her legs. she jerks, gasping.

“so wet already,” you murmur. “how long have you been doing this?”

“since… since you left for gym,” she admits, voice tiny. “i missed you.”

your cock throbs hard against your sweats.

you kiss her again, slower this time, then pull back and sit up, straddling her thighs.

“take it off,” you say, nodding at your tank top she’s wearing.

she sits up, shaky hands pulling it over her head, leaving her completely bare.

you tug your own shirt off, then shove your sweats and boxers down just enough to free your cock.

it springs up already leaking at the tip. her eyes go wide, pupils blown, mouth parting.

“oh,” she breathes, almost reverent.

you guide her hand to it. she wraps her fingers around you—tentative at first, then firmer when you groan. she strokes slow, thumb swiping over the head, spreading pre-cum.

“you want this?” you ask, voice rough.

she nods fast. “yes. please.”

you push her gently back down, settle between her legs.

she’s soaked, puffy, glistening, clit swollen.

you rub the head of your cock through her folds, coating yourself in her slick.

“gonna go slow,” you promise. “tell me if it’s too much.”

she nods, hands coming up to grip your shoulders.

you push in, slow and steady.

her eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open in a soft gasp.

she’s tight. so tight, walls fluttering around you as you stretch her open.

you pause halfway, letting her adjust, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

“you okay?” you whisper.

“yeah,” she breathes. “mn—more.”

you sink in deeper, until you’re fully seated, hips flush against hers.

she whimpers, nails digging into your back.

“so full…” she whispers. “you feel so good.”

you start moving—shallow rolls at first, letting her get used to it.

she moans softly with every thrust, hips lifting to meet you. her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.

“faster,” she pleads after a minute. “please.”

you pick up the pace.

the bed creaks, wet sounds filling the room every time you bottom out.

she’s moaning your name, gasping, telling you how good it feels, how big you are.

“fuck! fuck! just right there—” she cries when you hit that spot inside her.

you angle your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing it.

her nails rake down your back, leaving red lines.

her legs tighten, heels digging into your ass. she’s close—you can feel it in the way she clenches around you, the way her moans turn into broken sobs.

“gon’ cum,” she gasps.

“please, please, don’t stop—”

you fuck her through it.

relentless, until she shatters, pussy spasming around your cock, gushing wet and hot.

you keep thrusting, drawing it out until she’s shaking, oversensitive, whimpering.

you’re close too, thighs burning, balls tight. “i’m gonna come inside okay?” you rasp.

“yes—!” she begs immediately. “just— just fill me up.”

you slam in deep one last time, groaning low as you came.

she moans at the feeling, walls fluttering, milking you dry.

you stay buried inside her, both panting, foreheads pressed together.

megan’s legs are locked tight around your waist, heels digging into your lower back, her arms wrapped around your neck so hard it almost hurts.

she’s breathing ragged against your shoulder, but her hips keep rocking in tiny, needy little circles like she’s already chasing more even though she just came.

you feel the shift in yourself first.

the gentle, careful rhythm you started with is gone.

something hotter, hungrier takes over. you pull back just enough to look at her face, flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy and half lidded and the sight snaps something inside you.

you grab a fistful of her hair at the nape of her neck and yank her head back hard.

her gasp is sharp, eyes widening in surprise, but the way her pussy clenches around you tells you everything.

“you think we’re done?” you growl. “you think i let you get away with it just like that? even you rode my pillow like a bitch?”

she whimpers, trying to shake her head but your grip is too tight. “n-no—i just—i needed—”

you cut her off by pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in—hard, deep, no warning.

the bedframe rattles against the wall.

she cries out, back arching off the mattress, nails raking down your shoulders.

“needed what?” you snap, thrusting again, rougher this time, hips snapping forward with bruising force. “needed to hump my pillow like a virgin whore because you couldn’t wait for me?”

“m’ sorry!—fuck!—” she sobs, voice breaking on every thrust. her legs tighten around you, trying to pull you deeper even as her body shakes from the intensity.

you keep one hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back so her throat is exposed.

you lean down, bite the side of her neck hard enough to leave teeth marks then lick over the spot.

she moans loud, body jerking.

“you’re mine,” you rasp against her skin. “this pussy, this body, is mine. you don’t get to cum without me anymore. understand?”

“y-yes—i won’t!, i’m sorry—! i’m all yours!”

you slap her cheek, not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough to sting.

her head snaps to the side, a shocked little gasp escaping her lips.

her eyes flutter, pupils blown wide, and her pussy clamps down so tight you almost lose it right there.

“say it again,” you order, thrusting harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

“i’m yours,” she cries, voice wrecked.

“only yours—ugh!—harder—”

your hips pistoning, cock slamming into her over and over, hitting deep enough to make her scream.

her tits bounce with every thrust, nipples still swollen from earlier.

you grab one roughly, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to make her sob.

“look at you,” you growl. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love it, don’t you? love being fucked rough.”

“yes! yes!—love it—love you fucking me—” she’s babbling now, tears slipping down her cheeks, mascara running in black streaks.

she looks beautifully ruined and it only makes you go harder.

you pull her hair again, forcing her to look at you.

“you gonna cum again? gonna soak my cock like the needy princess you are?”

“yes please—i’m so so close—”

you slap her other cheek, lighter this time, just enough to make her gasp and she comes instantly, pussy spasming around you, gushing wet and hot.

her whole body convulses, legs shaking.

but you continue to fuck her relentless until she’s crying from overstimulation, begging you to slow down even as her hips keep trying to meet yours.

“too much!—t-too much!—”

you don’t stop.

you flip her over suddenly, pulling out just long enough to manhandle her onto her stomach.

she whimpers, face pressed into the mattress, ass up in the air. you grab her hips, yank them back, and slam back inside, deeper than before.

she screams into the pillow, fists clenching the sheets.

you fuck her from behind like that, hard, fast, one hand fisted in her hair pulling her head back, the other slapping her ass in sharp, stinging smacks.

red handprints bloom across her skin, and every time you hit her she clenches tighter around you.

“take it,” you grunt. “take every fucking inch. this is what you wanted, right? to be used like a side chick?”

“oh my God, yes!—j-just use me, please!—”

you reach around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard and fast.

she’s shaking so bad the bed is rattling.

you feel her building again, third time tonight and you don’t let up.

“cum again,” you order. “cum on my cock while i fill you up.”

she came immediately—pussy milking you in tight, rhythmic pulses. you thrust through it, chasing your own release, then bury deep and come hard flooding her, spilling out around your cock when there’s no more room.

you collapse on top of her, both panting, bodies slick with sweat and cum and tears.

you stay inside her for a long minute, softening slowly, kissing the back of her neck, her shoulder, whispering soft praises against her skin.

“so good for me,” you murmur. “so fucking perfect.”

she turns her head, eyes glassy, cheeks wet. “love you,” she whispers, voice wrecked.

you kiss her slow, gentle now. “love you too.”

you pull out carefully, watching the thick mess drip out of her.

she whimpers at the emptiness, but you’re already moving, grabbing a warm cloth, cleaning her gently between her legs, wiping away the evidence of how roughly you took her.

you kiss every mark you left.

red handprints, bite marks, the faint bruises forming on her hips.

when she’s clean, you pull her into your arms, blanket tucked around both of you.

she curls against your chest, leg thrown over yours, face nuzzled into your neck.

“you okay?” you ask softly, stroking her hair.

she nods against you. “more than okay. i… i needed that.”

you kiss her forehead. “it feels good, no?.”

she smiles sleepily, already drifting. “yeah. real good.”

you hold her close, both of you tangled and sated, the room quiet except for your breathing and the soft hum of the city outside.

[goldiwrites]

crushcrushcrush

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x female!reader

summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!

word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)

authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)

you are responsible for your own media consumption. don’t like? don’t read

song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast

divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics

masterlist

Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone Just the one, two, I was just counting on That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again Let's be more than, more than this

You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked. 

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 😌

[mabel-777]

Speaking to The Dead

pairing: jack abbot x morgue attendant!f!reader

summary: as the “weird morgue girl”, you weren’t the most popular in the hospital. when you made a misunderstood joke, jack finally had enough. when he tried to know you, you only thought he wanted to make up for what happened but that was far from his true feelings.

content: hurt/comfort, age gap, she falls first but he falls harder, age gap, slow burn, praise, no use of y/n, miscommunication, angst, work romance, workplace betting, probably medical inaccuracies, night shift crew and a little of day shift crew

word count: 7.5k

playlist (spotify): Speaking to The Dead

author’s note: from this request. hope i did it well and thank you for your patience! i didn’t have time to finish it on time and i went on horrible vacations after that.

look at my masterlist and join my taglist here!

Working night shifts in a morgue was a pretty strange job, but you loved it. You never thought it was weird to give dead people a nice goodbye. In fact, you thought it was the respectful thing to do. Being gentle with them when the illness was rough seemed like the greatest way to prepare them for the afterlife.

As you stored Mr Hutson’s body, you made conversation with the pretty quiet guy.

“Not a big talker, huh?”

You took a deeper voice as you answered for him.

“Yeah, got pretty silent after my heart stopped beating.”

“I get it. Sorry, it’s a little cold down there.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” you replied to yourself.

“You’re welcome, Mr Hutson! Let me just place this name tag-“

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lena apologized as she entered the morgue.

“You’re not! Or are you?” You joked, making her form a small smile before she rolled a body in the room.

“I got another body. The heatwaves are the worst killers right now.”

“Then arrest them!” You laughed. Alone.

“…Okay.”

“Not a good joke, I presume.”

“Not your best, honey,” she reacted.

You nodded and stayed silent. She was probably waiting for you to continue talking because she didn’t utter a word. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as you ran your fingers through the deceased person’s hair.

“Female, sixty-two. Pronounced dead at 3:41.”

“What’s her name?” You asked as you placed her hair to look a little more kept.

“Caroline Hughes. Hard death…”

“Well… At least she’s not paying taxes anymore!”

The ER nurse looked at you without adding anything else. This stare was enough to make you realize that it wasn’t the right time to say that, apparently.

“It sounded funnier in my head… Sorry…”

“I’ll go back.”

“Okay, see you!”

As the door closed and you were the only living person in the room, you turned to Mrs Hughes.

“Was that this terrible of a joke?”

This time, you used a higher pitch to mimic her voice.

“Yes.”

“I’m just trying to make her like me a little,” you explained as you started the usual routine you had with the bodies.

“She will!”

“I hope so…“

You eventually gathered a pile of documents that needed to be signed by an ER attending physician after receiving a death in the morgue. It made you smile to think about seeing him. Jack Abbot has been your work crush since forever. That pile of work meant having an interaction with him. It was something you never missed. He was kind and gentle with patients. Plus, he wasn’t awkward, which is pretty good when you’re dealing with alive ones.

You walked to his department while humming a song. You smiled at your coworkers without much success and spotted him in trauma 1.

You knew that it was way more important than your boring papers, so you waited while looking at him. He was able to control the room like a professional.

You waited for a moment. The case was long and complicated, so you just stared at him.

“What are you doing here?” Mateo asked as he went from one room to the other.

“I need Dr Abbot’s signature.”

“He’ll get to you,” he simply answered as he left.

“No rush, my patients aren’t the impatient kinds!”

He faked a polite laugh and left.

You waited for a long time without a complaint. Suddenly, he left the room with a sigh. It was a long one, but the patient was alive.

“Hey, Dr Abbot, just needed you to sign this!” You started, with a little too much energy to your tone.

He nodded and signed it without much thought.

As you held the clipboard with the documents, you couldn’t help but make conversation. It’s been a while since you talked to him.

“So… Busy?”

He silently looked at you. He’d normally have a cocky answer to stuff like that, but his mind wasn’t really present after the trauma bay.

“Actually, don’t answer that! It was the dumbest question I could’ve asked.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a night. And it’s not ended yet.”

“I’ve gathered… Because you know… The people here.”

He nodded and looked at the TV. It should’ve been your cue to leave, but you had some sort of invisible force that kept you there.

“I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. It sounded a little sarcastic.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“Oh?”

What did it mean? Did he lie to make you feel better? Maybe that you truly didn’t sound sarcastic.

The silence made you go crazy, so you continued.

“Thanks for the signature.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he awkwardly smiled as you left.

Once you were out of sight, Henderson came with a tablet to present a case.

“What do you got?”

“17-year-old male, found unresponsive in a closed bedroom, no ventilation or AC. Prolonged heat exposure suspected.”

“Where is he?”

“South 2, resus bay.”

They quickly walked toward the room and began the process of resuscitation for forty five minutes. Jack hated to see young patients go. It was unfair that they had to die at such a young age.

He had his whole life ahead of him…

As he left the room with sweat covering all of his body, he took the red phone to call the family. It was important to do it himself. He owed them that.

“I know this is really hard… We’ll take care of everything on our end,” he reassured in a gentle tone.

After the call, he just needed to take a break. One little break to ground himself.

He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.

He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.

He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.

As he sat down with this mantra in his head, you came back. This time, however, it wasn’t to talk to him but to the charge nurse.

“Hi, it’s me again! I was just wondering if we kept Mrs Hughes’s wedding ring on. You forgot to mention it, and I forgot to ask.”

“Oh, right. You keep it on.”

“Are you okay? You look exhausted!”

“Tonight was rough.”

“Oh… At least I know I have job security,” you kidded to relieve some tension from her shoulders.

Lena let out a small chuckle that made you feel proud.

Jack heard you say that. Job security? People were dying, and you joked about it?

He approached you, and Lena wasted no time going back to charting as he started talking.

“You think that’s funny?” He inquired with his arms behind his back in fake confidence.

“What?” You asked, not understanding that he referenced your encounter with the nurse. “Oh, with Lena?”

“Do you ever stop the jokes?”

“It wasn’t-“

“I lost a kid tonight. Stop with your fucking jokes every time someone dies.” He dryly ordered.

“I wasn’t making fun of-” you tried to defend, but he didn’t care and cut you off.

“Then act like it.”

“…Okay.”

It’s not like he was the first one to say things like that. You knew you were a little weird and that your jokes didn’t always land. You weren’t oblivious at that point. However, having Jack say it was hurtful. Very hurtful.

Surely he wasn’t the person you had the strongest connection to, but you didn’t expect him to say it like that.

Lena stood nearby. She didn’t say a word. Perhaps she secretly agreed with him. He said what everyone wanted to say. You would have friends if people didn’t think of you like that.

You left to go back to the morgue. The only people who spent time with you didn’t even have the choice to be there. How much of a loser could you be?

Jack sat on a desk chair to begin his endless charting. Lena quietly sat down next to him.

“That was harsh.”

“She crossed a line,” he argued.

“Did she?”

“People are grieving, and she’s acting like it’s a comedy show,” he defended.

“She just tries to cheer up the mood of everyone. You should see her with patients. She's caring, empathetic… And sometimes she can make a joke land.”

Jack stayed silent, just like the morgue was when you first started working here. You didn’t say anything to Mrs Hughes as you carefully placed the diamond of her ring on the top of her finger.

──୨୧──

“Pretty silent in here,” Lena said as she rolled in a new body some days later.

“Yeah,” you responded with a small smile.

“Ran out of jokes?”

You didn’t answer. Not knowing how to.

“Because of Jack?”

“Maybe.”

“You know he was out of line.”

“Was he?” You asked, making her frown.

“He was.”

“He wasn’t the first one to tell me I’m weird.”

“Then why does it bother you so much?”

“I don’t know… I… I guess I’d like for people to try to understand who I am before jumping to the conclusion that I’m weird and that’s it.”

“Well, I’m no Jack Abbot, but I don’t think you’re only weird if that can help.”

“Thanks… It means a lot, Lena.”

You continued to work until the end of your shift. You had to stay overtime because of a car crash that only caused fatalities.

Jack had to bring the paperwork he’d normally have a med student bring at the end of their shift. With the recent events, you doubted he would bring them himself anyway.

That’s why you were taken by surprise when he actually showed up. He looked exhausted and a little less confident than usual.

“Hey, kid,” he started as he placed the pile of paper on your desk while you were arranging a body.

“Hi.”

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Huh, yeah,“ you nervously replied, biting your bottom lip.

“I was wrong for speaking to you like that. I thought I understood what I was seeing,” he explained before taking accountability for his actions. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

“Okay,” you added as you fidgeted with the blanket of the body.

“Okay?”

“I forgive you… It just stung a bit…”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… Time heals, right?”

“Right,” he answered as he turned his wedding ring on his finger, making you realize the mess you made.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bring back old memories.”

“Don’t worry about it; I like having them back.”

You smiled as you stored the body of the woman you were taking care of.

“I get what you mean,” you mentioned, having dealt with a lot of grieving families.

“Guess we’re both carrying more than we let on,” he added with a lighter tone.

“Yeah… Shoulders getting heavy,” you joked as you took off your gloves.

He giggled at your dumb joke and went to the door with you.

“Mind if we walk to your car?”

“I don’t.“

As you walked through the hospital, you noticed how friendly everyone was with him. People never acted like that with you. Not that you were bullied, but you barely got any smiles, even fewer greetings.

Your gaze turned to the man beside you. He had a good reputation. Why would he ruin it by hanging out with someone like you? He must feel very bad to do that to himself.

“So… What happens after I sign?” He asked to make conversation and learn more about what you do.

“We put it in the archives of the hospital.”

“I know that part,” he laughed, making you feel dumb. “I wasn’t clear. I meant: what happens to the body after I sign.”

“Oh, sorry. Well, we identify the body really well. Identification mistakes are absolutely terrible!”

“Must be,” he acknowledged as he continued to walk while looking at you.

“Unless the coroner needs to do an exam, we clean the body really well. That’s my favourite part. We make them look presentable for the loved ones.”

“You like that?”

“Yeah, the whole ‘caring of the body’ aspect is really important. It honors the life of the deceased.”

“And you do it well.”

You turned your head toward him with furrowed brows. He was never there during this step, so how could he know?

As if reading your mind, he explained himself.

“Someone told me.”

“Oh, Lena… She also told you to apologize, I presume.”

“She helped me see what I missed. Your jokes looked disrespectful to me. I understood it’s not.”

“Good. It’s not.”

You arrived at your car and waved him goodbye.

“Seeing you tomorrow?” You asked because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut to save your life.

“Yes, sleep well.”

On the road to your home, you thought about everything he said. It was sweet to see how bad he felt. You’ve been treated worse with little to no remorse.

During your next few shifts at the morgue, you noticed that Jack was coming to your department a little more.

“I brought his belongings,” Jack said as he showed a plastic bag filled with bloody objects.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Where do I put it?”

“Huh… On my desk?” You started before thinking of something funny. “It's not like it has legs to run away from there!”

Jack chuckled and gently placed the bag in an empty spot on your desk.

“So, how’s tonight treating you?”

“It’s fine… Got a kid from peds though… It stung…”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Don’t let it pull you down. They’re all in a better place.”

“Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Good, keep doing that. Do you need a break from work?”

“No, no, I should be done at 7 am. I’ll be fine; it’s pretty soon.”

“Cool, we finish at the same time if you want me to walk you to your car again…?”

“Oh, yeah… Ummm, I mean you already apologized for the whole ‘disrespectful jokes’ thing so you really don’t need to continue feeling bad.”

“I want to walk you to your car. There’s no ‘feeling bad’ there.”

Even if he said that, you had difficulty believing him. It broke too much of his calm and controlled persona for him to be done after a simple apology.

“Are you completely sure?”

“Certain.”

“Okay, fine. Then yes, I’m down.”

When your shift ended, you went to the ER with your bag. Dana was already here.

“Hi sweetie! Long time no see, how’ve you been?”

“Good, still a very… Interactive job,” you joked, even if you searched the attending with your eyes. “Abbot wanted to walk me to my car. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s changing in the bathroom.“

“Oh… Okay. I’ll wait for him.”

She went right back to work, and you sat down while waiting for him. You tried to ignore the strange looks the staff gave you.

“What is the weird morgue girl doing here?” A nurse asked her friend.

They probably thought you couldn’t hear them, so you pretended like it was the case for their sake. It would put them in too much embarrassment if they realized otherwise.

You looked at the weather on your phone to appear as if you had a big social life. You needed to focus on something other than their gossip.

Your intense examination of the weather got cut off by the familiar voice of the attending.

“Hey, are you coming?”

“Yeah, I was busy, sorry,” you lied as you shut your phone.

Why did you say that? Luckily, he didn’t push it and continued the conversation.

“Don’t sweat it. The emergencies weren’t too busy tonight. Finished my charting on time.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s a rare sight in here.”

You walked with a little worry in your head. This evening, when you parked here, your car was acting weird. You’ve already humiliated yourself enough to have issues with it on top of everything.

“Thanks for making me harder to kidnap,” you said before noticing the small chuckle he gave you.

“Happy to help, kid. Get home safe… Without getting kidnapped,” he added as he started to walk away.

You crossed your fingers and repeated a whispered “please” before starting the car.

Just when you wanted it the least, the headlights flickered before eventually dying.

“Fuck!” You complained while hitting the steering wheel.

You always had to fucking embarrass yourself. For what? Could it be at a worse time than this one?

You got out of the vehicle and called out Abbot’s name.

He turned around with furrowed brows. He clearly wanted nothing more to do with you.

You awkwardly walked to him with your backpack on one shoulder.

“I can’t start my car. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ll try to make it work tomorrow. I can call a garage-“

“Slow down. Do you need a ride home?”

“I do. Sorry to ask.”

“I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t want to.”

On the drive to your apartment, he asked questions about your issue.

“Did the engine crank?”

“Maybe? I don’t really focus on it that much.”

“Did you see warning lights on the dashboard then?”

“Yeah, but there’s always a new light, so I just ignore them now. I shouldn’t have…”

“Your car’s battery’s probably dead. I’ll check on it later today.”

“What?” You asked, surprised by the kind initiative but also confused.

“Could check what it is and call a mechanic to get it fixed. If you want the help, of course.”

“Yes, I want it,” you answered, a little too quickly, perhaps because he beamed at your enthusiastic response.

“Let’s say 5 pm? I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll get it fixed.”

“Okay!”

You were pleased about the help he was giving you, but it faded when you thought about the fact that he did it to make it up for the incident or whatever you should call it. He didn’t actually want to help you. He just wanted to restore your opinion about him. It was the end of it.

You thanked him for the ride and left for your place.

──୨୧──

Jack knocked at your door at exactly 5 pm. The military punctuality didn’t escape him after all those years. He had two Dunkin’ coffees in his hands and gave you one.

“Shen gave me a Dunkin’ gift card,” he explained before he began to head toward his car as you followed.

“Oh, that’s nice of him,” you awkwardly retorted as you took a sip.

In the car park, he tried to get your auto going without much success.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a dead battery.”

“Okay, well, I can call a guy and get it fixed. I should be fine with the rest then.”

“You know, I got nothing else to do with my day,” he initiated. “And the daughter of a friend got charged extra because they noticed she didn’t know much about cars. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you. They can make you pay for whatever, even if you don’t need it.”

“I bothered you enough. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“I told you I had nothing better to do. It’s your decision, but don’t think about my needs. Think about yours.”

“I want you to stay then… If you don’t mind-”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he repeated as he typed the number of a repair shop in his phone and called them while you waited.

As he hung up, you realized that a tow truck would need to move your car to its destination and that it would ruin all of the savings you had previously made over the years.

“You okay?” Jack asked as a hand wandered on your back without touching it.

“Mhm,” you lied.

──୨୧──

The battery only needed an hour to fix. Maybe you were a pessimist, but you thought it would be longer. You waited on some chairs in the entry while Jack tried to make conversation.

“How did you end up in the morgue?” He asked as his eyes stared into yours.

“Living patients scare me. I’m a little socially awkward; I don’t know if you noticed. I just preferred dealing with the dead ones. You know, giving them a loving goodbye.”

“That’s really cute of you.”

You couldn’t help but blush at the comment. He was really trying to be kind, and it made you doubt that maybe there was a chance that he liked hanging out with you, but you quickly brushed that thought out of your head and focused on the topic of conversation.

“You? Why are you in the ER?”

He took a deep breath before answering.

“I had to choose a specialty after the military. I needed something that moved like I used to. The emergency is always busy with something to do. You can’t think about much, and you have to focus on the patients, not you.”

“Damn… That was…”

“Sad?” He finished with a small chuckle forming.

“Didn’t come from me,” you replied with your hands up in surrender.

“My therapist said I needed to open up more. I’m trying.”

“That’s good. My therapist and I are working on oversharing. People know too much about my life when I get nervous.”

He sneered as he remembered the moments in which you said a little too much when the conversation could’ve ended there. It was also nice to get to know someone who goes to therapy as he does. With all of his effort, he never convinced Robby to go.

“Do you know why you get nervous? Knowing the cause could diminish the effects.”

“You talk like such a doctor.”

“Sorry,” he said with a laugh.

“I don’t know… I just always felt like everybody had a guide on how to behave in society and I’m the only one who missed it.”

“Do you like to be with people though?”

“I’m not sure. I’m really used to being alone, you know?”

“You should try it out. I’ll bring you to karaoke nights.”

You giggled as he mentioned karaoke so casually.

“Karaoke nights?” You repeated, picturing him singing.

“Yeah, Santos started it. After a terrible shift, the ones who can go to a karaoke bar to relieve some tension. Helps keep the morale up.”

“And do you sing?”

“Tried once with Robby, but Javadi and Joy laughed at us so hard that we drank a beer and called it a night, now.”

“Okay, I’m down,” you agreed, slowly nodding. “As long as the team is okay with it too.”

“Of course they will. They just don’t know you, but you’re sweet.”

“They think I’m weird.”

“So what? Everybody’s weird.”

You smiled at his comment. He was so reassuring that it actually gave you confidence to go in a group full of people you barely knew to get them to know you. It was crazy, but what was the worst that could happen? They already thought you were weird, so it wouldn’t change much if you totally embarrassed yourself.

A mechanic came to announce that they replaced the car’s battery and the price it would be. It was really expensive. Nothing you actually couldn’t pay, but still not in your financial planning. It was so much to cover all at once.

As you took your card to insert into the little machine, you felt a hand on you, slowly pushing your arm down.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’ll pay me back later then,” he brushed off, hoping you’d forget and never actually do it.

He maybe talked like a doctor, but he also had the paycheck to go with it.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he typed his credit card’s code with a smile.

You could go back to your place with your own car as he left for the hospital. He was working, and he still took time to help you out with your stupid issue.

──୨୧──

Your next shift after your short vacation was running smoothly. Unfortunately, there were still dead people in your morgue, but it kept you busy.

As you brushed Mrs Rodriguez’s hair, Jack came in with empty hands, no paperwork, no coffees, nothing.

“Hi… Not that you’re high, but hi as in the greeting. Hello.”

He laughed at your failed attempt at a normal greeting and crossed his arms before placing his hands in his pockets. It was the first time you saw him being nervous.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you sat on your desk chair.

“Yeah, I just came in to grab the paperwork.”

“Jack, you already signed everything you had to sign,” you reminded him before realizing what it was. “Wait, are you trying to find excuses to come to the morgue?”

“No, I just forgot…”

“Dementia getting to you? You and Mrs Rodriguez have more in common than I thought.”

“Were you thinking about the similarities between a dead woman and me?”

“Don’t switch the subject, Dr Abbot,” you playfully demanded.

“I wanted to talk about your car. Do you want to do that after your shift?”

“Oh, okay… Well, yeah.”

Did he want to get reimbursed? Did he discover a huge issue that would make your car implode but didn’t tell you? Did he…

“There’s a good place downtown with a discount for healthcare workers,” he added, cutting off your train of thought.

Somewhere along the way, you missed the part of med school that talked about the importance of paperwork. Sometimes, you felt like a writer with all of the stuff you needed to document for work.

In situations like this one today, you forgot to document a body release exception form for a patient who came in earlier. It was important to note if a body was released under unusual circumstances.

The day shift morgue attendant, James, came in and was eating a snack while you rushed your notes. Contrary to you, he wasn’t doing much and stared at you working.

“So… Excited to leave work?” He teased, wanting to know what got you rushed when you normally didn’t care about spending the day here.

You didn’t have time to answer because the reason showed up at your department.

“Hi, you’re still working?” Jack asked as he came in.

James almost choked on his own saliva when he saw him. He knew more than anyone else the crush you had on him for years.

“Yeah, I forgot to fill in a form. It won’t take long, sorry about it…”

“It’s all good, kid.”

You finished it and signed your name as quickly as you could before giving it to your coworker, who hasn't worked since he came down here.

“Got something to keep you busy,” you said as you happily got rid of the job to clock out.

“Get your man, girl,” he muttered before taking the paper.

You left, and Jack followed you to the elevator in the direction of the parking lot.

“So? Busy?” He asked, assuming a positive answer but trying to make conversation nonetheless.

“Yeah, my to-do list and I are in a toxic relationship. You?”

“Yeah, busy.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as you went in his car to go to the restaurant. He put some music on, and you focused on it in order not to fall asleep.

“If you’re too tired, I can drive to your place too. Doesn’t bother me.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“Listen to your body.”

“I’m fine… Gravity just feels stronger today. Especially on my eyelids, actually.”

Contrary to usual, he didn’t laugh and drove to your address.

“I wanted to spend more time with you,” you confessed as you closed your eyes for the rest of the drive.

“It’s okay, we can go to karaoke night tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that would be nice…”

He woke you up when he was parked in front of your place. You thanked him for the ride, and he smiled at you like he always does.

──୨୧──

“Going to the morgue again?” Lena pondered with a sly expression.

“Yeah, do you need me on something?”

“No, go see your girl.”

“It’s not like that. I wouldn’t betray my wife.”

“Baby, your wife would’ve wanted you to move on. I know it’s difficult, but think about your own happiness. She really looks like she makes you happy. I never got her jokes, but it looks like you do more than me.”

He looked down at the floor when she mentioned his wife.

“How would I know if that’s what she wanted?”

“That’s what we wish on people we love,” she concluded as she went back to charting.

He swallowed with more difficulty than before and headed to the morgue.

He was torn between his loyalty to his wife, whom he could never replace, and his need to busy himself with anything that could occupy his mind. He already tried to jump on more SWAT cases, took overtime at the hospital, practiced yoga, and helped anyone he could, but it didn’t cut it. His therapist recommended finding a hobby, and that’s what he did, so why wouldn’t it work? He did everything to get better, and it was never enough.

Maybe a girlfriend could make his life worth living, but why would he make someone else see what he was really like behind the falsely confident facade he put on?

Jack took a deep breath to compose himself in front of you and entered the morgue. You were talking with a body you treated.

“I’m pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes,” he joked as he heard you talk about how disappointed you were about a couple in a reality show you were watching.

“Stop, we were bonding,” you said between laughs.

“Bonding or complaining? What’s that TV show about?”

“Don’t even talk to me about it. It gets me mad.”

“Wow, didn’t want to infuriate you.”

You actually looked at him and saw how down he looked today.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah… Just thinking about some stuff,” he brushed off as you decided not to push deeper.

“Oh… Okay…”

“Do you think I should date again?” He blurted out.

This time, you were the one who was surprised by the question. You were known to be out of the blue from time to time, but seeing how random that was made you feel less alone.

“W- What?”

“Sorry, I just talked to Lena, and I don’t know if I should date again. Am I too old for that?”

“No, you’re not too old. It’s more of a ready or not thing, I guess.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he confessed.

“It probably means that you’re not.”

“Good to know, thank you. I should go back up, but are you still down for the karaoke session today?”

“Always,” you confirmed with two thumbs up.

It was a little painful to advise someone you had a crush on for so long that it was better not to date anyone, but it wasn’t like he liked you romantically in the first place, so it helped you tame your feelings. Repeating again and again that it was useless to want a relationship because it was one of those things that wouldn’t happen to you was weirdly a very soothing message. It kept you true to yourself. You weren’t trying to change to impress anyone. You just lived.

Your shift ended, and you went to see Abbot. He was still working on something, so you sat on an empty chair. Mateo came to see you with curiosity plastered on his face.

“Waiting for Jack?” He asked as he sat on the edge of the desk in front of you.

“Did the ghost tell you?” You bantered as he forced a smile to act polite.

“He’s always going to the morgue now.”

Victoria came in to gossip with the nurse.

“Oh my god, are you waiting for Abbot?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?”

“Because we’re betting-” she started before getting cut off by Mateo.

“We were just wondering,” he explained.

“Wait, what are you betting on?”

Javadi looked at her man with an apologetic look before explaining herself to you.

“People here are often betting about stuff. Nothing crazy though! It’s just like… Who is gonna date who and things like that. We were just thinking, with all of the time Abbot spends down in your department, that there was maybe something worth betting on. Like you and him…”

“Oh… I don’t think he likes me like that,” you trailed off.

“But do you?” Mateo wondered, getting as nosy as his girlfriend.

“Yeah- I mean, I don’t know!” You tried to correct yourself, but it was too late.

The two of them were already getting their wallets and leaving you alone.

At the same time, Jack came to see you. He was fidgeting with his wedding ring.

“Hey, are you ready to go sing?”

“Mhm, you?”

“I wasn’t going to sing… Unless you want me to?”

“I want you to! I’m not going to sing alone!”

He laughed and nodded as he said his goodbyes to everyone who stayed. You went in his car as you talked about your day to him. He was a great listener, so you just ranted while he drove and occasionally nodded in agreement to what you said.

“We’re there,” he announced as he parked the car.

You noticed some nurses and doctors talking outside the building.

“I’m a little scared,” you admitted while fidgeting with your fingers.

“Why?” He asked as he opened your car door.

“I don’t know these people.”

“You know me. If it doesn’t work out with them, you can just stay with me.”

“Okay… Yeah, I’ll do that.”

You entered the almost empty bar with him and saw more people from the hospital. Mel was singing with Parker, which surprised you considering that she’s normally on day shift.

Jack placed a hand on your back to guide you toward the bar.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Something sweet,” you said, unsure of what to take.

“I heard that their Ameratto Sour was good.”

“Okay, yeah, why not?”

As the drinks continued to come, you felt pretty dizzy, but you wanted to sing a song. That’s when you searched for something good on your phone.

“Do you know Love On The Brain by Rihanna?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Is that what you want to sing with me?”

“Yes,” you replied as you went to the worker who controlled the playlist.

You walked onto the scene with him and sang. Both of you were awful singers, but it was funny, and you were too drunk to feel embarrassment. You saw Ellis film you while she was laughing.

Once you finished singing the song, you left as Abbot held your waist to make sure you weren’t falling.

“Wow, I’m winning that bet,” Parker said to Mel, who got confused. “I’ll explain later.”

—

You don’t remember much of the rest of the day, but when you got back to work the next night, your head was hurting really bad.

You saw Abbot come in without a scrub. His hands were holding a paper cup.

“What’s that?” You asked with a raspy voice from singing.

“That’s tea for your hangover.”

“You’re the best,” you praised, drinking from the hot liquid.

It was sweet, just like you loved. He remembered your sweet tooth from your cocktail choice at the bar.

“Why don’t you wear a scrub?” You pointed out as he stayed there while you signed documents.

“I have a day off.”

“Are you held against your will? Should I call the cops? You never take days off.”

“Gloria’s the guilty one,” he blamed. “Insurance policy. Can’t work every day or we risk a lawsuit.”

“And you come to work on your day off?”

“Got a therapy appointment. And I figured you’d need some help with the headache.”

“I did, thanks.”

Your conversation got cut off early by Lena, who came in to give you a body.

“Hi, sweetheart. Got a seventy-year-old man who died from sepsis shock.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hector Granger. We don’t have much information except for his wallet,” she informed you, placing the object on your desk.

As she left, she took Jack’s arm and pulled him with her. You were left alone to take care of Mr Granger.

“What are you doing?” Lena questioned Abbot once you were out of sight.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She likes you, Jack. Leave her alone or actually do something about it. It’s not fair for her.”

He suddenly looked everywhere, but at the person he was talking with.

“I can’t do that to my wife.”

“She’s not there anymore. Think about what you want for once. Do you like her or not?”

“I do, but-”

“Then do something about it. You can’t play with her feelings forever, and you know that as much as me.”

He nodded and looked to the ground in shame.

“Hell, my first husband kept doing that, and I ignored it. Let me tell you that my divorce wasn’t ignored much. You date her, or you don’t, but don’t make people wait for their money.”

“God, I thought Robby was joking about the betting board.”

“Oh no, baby. It’s the most popular bet in a while.”

He smiled and headed to the elevator with her. She left on the ER floor while he went on the psychiatry floor for his therapy session.

“Good evening, doc,” his therapist said as he opened the door to let him in.

During the appointment, he talked about his PTSD and how it gets better when he keeps himself busy.

“Is there something else on your mind, Jack?”

Even if he didn’t want to, he learned over time that being honest with him was the best option, so he nodded.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about dating again, but it’s hard.”

“What are you afraid will happen if you date again?”

“I’ll feel like I’m replacing my wife.”

“Would your wife think that?”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to. He yearned for an actual answer, one from his wife, not the hypotheses people made up in their heads. The problem was that he could never have this answer.

“I think I’ll just stay away from the dating pool. I need more time, clearly,” he trailed off.

──୨୧──

For the next few days, you didn’t see Jack. You knew he was working. You saw him in the hospital but never in your morgue. He didn’t stop by anymore.

You thought you finally made a friend in that fucking hospital just for him to disappear once he got to know you. How is that fair? Why can everybody make friends? Even the mean girls from your high school have bigger social lives than you. It’s not fair; it’s never fair. You’ve never insulted anyone; you've always tried to understand their actions rather than judge. Just for you to get betrayed like that? Fuck it.

Lena came by as you typed on your keyboard like it personally offended you.

“He’s avoiding you?” She asked knowingly.

“I thought I made a friend. I’m not dumb enough to think it was something more like everyone in your department thinks. I didn’t even care that I liked him. I was just happy with a friend, and I can’t even have that!” You ranted with a lot of anger in your voice.

She listened and let you rant, so you continued because you felt more heard than with the bodies you cleaned.

“I kept replaying everything in my head. I was like ‘maybe the karaoke was embarrassing’ or ‘maybe I talked too much’. Whatever, I was just too much. I’m always too much apparently. I don’t even know what is much, so how would I know what’s too much?”

“Honey, I’ve worked with Abbot for years.”

“So? People don’t usually leave without a reason.”

“And people don’t usually feel as much as he does,” she started. “I’ve worked with Jack Abbot for years. I know when he’s running away.”

“From… Me?”

“From himself, honey. But let me tell you this: if he wanted nothing to do with you, he wouldn’t have spent weeks coming down here.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t really know how to anyway. You just continued typing on your keyboard but with less strength this time.

She smiled and left you with a pile of paper that Jack signed. That same pile of paper that would’ve been given by him some days prior.

Your shift ended, and you went to the elevator. When the doors opened, and you saw Jack, you tried to act normal and just did like everything was fine.

You clicked on the first floor and dreamt about your empty car.

Right as the doors closed, you never felt this awkward in your whole life, and you were literally known as the weird girl in the hospital. The elevator’s light flickered for an instant and suddenly stopped working. Contrary to the normal elevator that restarted instantly, the staff elevator took more time.

That’s it. You were officially in hell. Your first straw was being in an elevator with him, but your last was certainly being stuck in an elevator with him.

“It’s fine,” he reassured as he clicked on the emergency button. “It’s the rainstorm after the heatwaves. The generator will work in a couple of seconds.”

Maintenance answered and said they’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes stuck with him. You knew you should've prayed with your grandma when there was still time. Hell was really bad.

“I always knew elevators were plotting against me…”

He snorted at your comment, and it made you angry. How could he express joy when he made you feel so much confusion recently?

“Did I do something?” You finally asked.

“What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. If I did something, I’d rather know. I can fix awkward; I can apologize too. I just… Need to know what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” he brushed off as he avoided eye contact.

“Tell me how to be better, and I will do it. I just need you to tell me, Jack.”

“You didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“Then what happened?”

“I’ve been trying to figure myself out.”

“Oh…”

Lena was right… It wasn’t about you but about him running away from himself. You heard him take a deep breath, and you felt guilty for having brought that shit up.

“Can we start over?” He asked as he looked you in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of this conversation.

“Yes, of course we can.”

As if on cue, the elevator started to work after your words.

──୨୧──

Since this moment in the elevator, you saw Jack a little more. He realized that avoiding you was hurting you, and that’s all he needed to change his behavior.

“Want to go take a bite after?” He asked as he went to your department.

“I would love to, but I’ve been craving ramen for days, and I have some at my place.”

He nodded in acceptance, and you felt guilty for letting him go like that when you wanted to see him more.

“Do you want to come? I could make some ramen for you too,” you suggested as you stored a body in its place.

“I’d like that, yes. Langdon and Mel recommended a good boba place. We could take our drinks there too.”

“Oh my god, your brain,” you praised as you gathered your belongings to leave.

He drove you to your place, and you looked at him while he drove. You were feeling comfortable where you were. You were actual friends. He wasn’t trying to apologize for anything or avoid you. He was just hanging out with you because he wanted to, and that was what was comforting. You had a real friend.

As you ate, you watched Criminal Minds on your couch and corrected the medical errors they said.

When he pointed to the TV, you noticed that he didn’t have his wedding ring on.

“Her wound wouldn’t look like that if-”

“You took off your wedding ring,” you bluntly acknowledged before immediately regretting it.

He took a moment to look at his ring, to remember how empty his finger was.

“Huh… Yeah. I haven't touched it for a whole shift, and I went home and took it off.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“I cried… Then I moved on.”

“I’m proud of you,” you praised as he smiled.

“Thank you, kid. It means a lot.”

After a short silence, he suddenly blurted out what he’d been keeping in his head for so long.

“Do you want to go on a day someday?”

“Like a friendly date?”

“No, like a romantic date.”

“...With me?”

He chuckled at your disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“Why? Is that because we hang out more? I’m fine with just being friends if that’s the issue.”

“Kid, I have a lot of friends, and I never feel that way with them. I can’t just be friends, and I think I’m finally ready for something more.”

“Are you sure? Like it’s not because I feel any type of way towards you, right?”

“It’s not.”

taglist: @kaiii-ii @nekole444 @horseslovers2016 @nyxmoretti @ilocuras24 @rufles2 @tubby23 @zonetwilight @leeemabean @melissa66orion @emmy626 @lexiecampos @pinksabotageveil @nerdyowlbookfreak @agosrechimont @pinkiepie21 @vicky066 @stylesonlyangel4 @noirettestar @xoxoloverb @letstryagaintomorrow @witchitawwalkers @flatlyworthyeclipse @superlegend216

[inpittdespair]

Pairing: Jack Abbot x depressed!reader - established relationship Content Warning: Angst. Depression and all the wonderful things that encompass it. Breaking up. Author's Notes: My first ever smau!!!!!

It’s past midnight, you’re at an all time low, worse than usual. One thought feeding into a million...leading into you staying up all night overthinking and being convinced that the right thing to do is to break up with Jack.

Dividers by me

Author's Notes: omg stop I made myself cry when I kept rereading to edit. Him sending her a good morning text thinking today is gonna be a normal day breaks my heart. Poor Jackie I'm so sorry, it's for your own good, I promise </3

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Thank you for reading ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗ If you liked it, please let me know in the comments! ˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗

[3am-at-a-party]

SO FREAKING GOOD AHHHHH ANGST THAT MAKES MY HEART PHYSICALLY HURT 🫡🫰🏼 love it

[weird-is-life]

Caring

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: You get admitted into ER with appendicitis, and Jack hurries to be there for you, revealing you (his girlfriend) to everyone (1.5k)

Warnings: based on request, kissing, use of pet names, established relationship, angst w comfort, medical inaccuracies, not proof read

----------------------------------------------------

You are bend over, hands on your belly as you get wheeled into the ER. The pain started so suddenly and wasn't going anywhere so your coworkers called you an ambulance.

You protested at first, not wanting to be trouble but now you are more than happy to be inside a hospital.

You don't see any familiar doctors or nurses. No Robby, no Dana. Only that pretty, blonde doctor who's name you can't recall right now.

"Hello, I'm Dr. King. Did you eat something unusual today? Any allergies?" She starts off firing questions while she pokes at your stomach with her hands.

You wince as she does it, pain only growing with the touch. "No, no. No weird food, no allergies."

She asks a few more questions but you can barely remember enough to answer her, the pain becomes just too much.

Thankfully, Dr. King has a diagnosis for you almost right away. "Unfortunately, it seems like you have appendicitis. You'll need to have a surgery or it could burst and cause much bigger problems. Is there anybody who you would like for us to call?"

They are quickly wheeling you out of the room and that hurry sends your worry spiking a little. "Call Jack. My emergency contact."

You see her nod, and she hurries away, probably to make sure that somebody calls him. You just hope he'll be there by the time you wake up.

-

"Hey, Dana. Could you call the emergency contact of my patient please? Thank you." Mel hands your papers to Dana.

"Sure, kid. You got it." Dana reaches for the papers and stops short when she sees your name sprawled on top of it.

She reaches for her own phone, dialing Jack immediately. Jack's pretty, lovely girl is about to have a surgery and he's nowhere to be found? No way, Dana can't have that.

"What's wrong?" Robby clocks in Dana's distressed face almost instantly, too.

She only shake his head at him and pushes the papers towards him. He curses when he reads your name.

"Is she still here?" He asks as Dana starts explaining everything quickly to Jack. It's all quick and precise words, just to get him here as soon as possible.

"She wasn't with Jack?" Robby asks with a frown after Dana hangs up.

"No, she got here from work. Ambulance brought her in. Jack didn't even know and she looked pretty bad, Robby..."

"Jesus." Robby scrubs his beard. "Will she get a bed upstairs after the surgery?"

"Doubt it. But I'll see what I can do." Dana promises, already picking up her phone again. Recovering in the ER is not that ideal with all the noise.

"Thanks, Dana. Send Jack my way if you see him before me, yeah?" Robby gets a nod and gets back to work. A piece of his mind still on you though. You've become his very good friend ever since you met Jack. And he hates seeing the people he loves get hurt.

-

Jack doesn't go to the Pitt, he heads straight to the surgery floor. He almost convinces the nurses there to let him inside but they make him stay in the waiting room.

And by the time you get out, Jack's sick with worry. He immediately runs to your bed as they wheel you out. He only listens to the surgeon say that everything went perfect with one ear.

His sole focus is on assessing you with his own eyes and touch. He brushes some stray hair away from your pale face.

He blows out a breath of relief, finally able to function full, again. Jack hasn't felt this kind of panic in a long, long time. Not since his late wife.

"Is she staying here?" Jack asks the nurses, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

One of the nurses shakes her head. "No, we don't have any open beds. We are taking her downstairs."

Jack nods, it's nothing unusual. He takes ahold of one side of the bed and helps push you. He's gonna stay with you until you wake up and until he can take you home and take care of you there.

Jack stays quiet the whole way down. Clutching your hand in one hand and the bed in the other. When you finally get inside the halls of the Pitt people Jack's colleagues, gawk at him.

Murmurs go around as they look with wide eyes. He didn't even realise that people didn't know that he had a girlfriend. But he finds that he doesn't particularly care about their interested gaze, not when you are there.

"Jack, room 4 is ready for her." Robby comes up to him, clasping him on his shoulder in comfort.

Jack gives him a curt nod. Words a little bit thick with emotions as he says. "Thank you, brother."

"Don't even mention it. Call for me if you need anything, yeah?" Robby squeezes his shoulder one more time before he leaves you two be, needed in trauma again.

Robby is replaced by Dana almost immediately. She helps Jack wheel you in and hook you up to all the monitors.

"What did the surgeon say?" She asks with soft eyes.

"She said that the surgery went well, and that if all tests are good, she can go home tomorrow." Jack doesn't even know how he managed to remember all of that when he was barely listening.

"That's great, Jack." Dana tucks the blanket higher up your chin. "How are you holding up though?" She gives him a look that says that he shouldn't try to lie.

"Better now that I'm with her. I was so worried, Dana." He shakes his head, it's not easy to talk about his emotions. "Thank you for calling me."

"Of course, Jack. She's a strong girl and she got here just in time. Just stay with her and you'll both be fine. And don't worry about work, Robby already talked to Gloria. You can take as much time off as you need."

Jack mouths 'thank you', afraid that his voice might betray him with all of the emotions he's feeling.

Dana leaves him with a warm smile, waving his gratitude off.

Jack waits for the anesthesia to wear off and to finally see your pretty eyes.

-

You find Jack leaning over you with a relieved smile when you wake up. The second thing you notice is the pain being gone, replaced by the floaty, painless state.

"You are here." You whisper with a hoarse voice. Hand reaching up to wipe away the lonely tear sliding down his rugged cheek.

"Of course, I'm here, angel. More of a surprise is that you are here." Jack tries to crack a light joke, just to see your smile.

"Sorry." You say sheepishly, giving him that damned smile he wanted to see. The last bit of worry slips away as the corners of your mouth go up.

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Good thing you came here. The surgery went well, they took it out so there shouldn't be any more pain like that." He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Good, the pain was so sudden. I didn't know it could feel like that. I thought I was gonna pass out from it." You explain. "I didn't even want to come here at first but I'm glad I did."

"Jesus, baby, next time call me if anything like this happens to you, please. And don't even try to say you didn't want to bother me, that's such a nonsense."

You give him a shy smile. "Okay, Jack. I promise to call next time." And then you ask. "Do you know when can I go home?"

"If the tests are good, then I'm taking you home tomorrow. And I'll be fussing around you until you are back to 100 percent." Jack grins at you. "You might even start getting sick of me by then."

"Sick of your handsome face? Never, Jackie."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a pretty face for you to look at?" Jack's heart is practically singing with happiness as he hears you banter back.

"Maybe." You smile teasingly at him, even forgetting that you are in a hospital when Jack is with you.

"Wow, okay, I'm going to call Dr. King, and let her keep you here forever." Your laughter dies down at his words, realisation striking you.

"Wait. Does...Does everyone know about us then?" You ask, a little wide eyed but excited. You've been itching to meet everyone. Especially Dr. J, her videos are so fun.

"Yes. Is that okay?" Jack questions, eyebrows raised up uncertainly.

"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to meeting everybody."

Jack gives you a big smile at that answer, leaning in to softly brush his lips against yours.

"Okay, sweetheart, I'll let them know that they can come introduce themselves later. But you should try resting some more, okay?" He can't resist planting one more kiss onto your cracked lips. He should find you a lip balm, he pockets that thought for later.

"Okay, will you stay?"

"Of course, angel. I told you, I'm not going anywhere." And with his reassurance, you close your eyes and let the exhaustion pull you asleep once again.

[thatfanficstuff]

Please - M. Robinavitch

18+ Only. MNDI.

Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

synopsis: Robby accidentally texts you instead of Jack and you are absolutely thrilled that he did so.

Warnings: This fic is nothing but self-indulgent smut inspired by a post from @spookypeachpitt13. Robby is possessive, greedy and bossy. Just smut, seriously. Both characters have a breeding kink so there is pregnancy talk.

wc: 4k

The original Post by Spookypeachpitt13

And what if Robby accidentally sent you two texts back to back that he meant to send Jack.

And what if those texts were not only sexual, but possessive and fucking borderline

And what if they turned you on?

And what if the texts said:

-There’s just something about those handful tits and those fucking hips that make me wanna keep fucking babies into her, man. Jesus Christ…imagine her breasts all fucking full…her belly all swollen? And I have to watch these small dick EMTs fail to hit on her all day?

- one night, that’s all I need. I’ll fuck into her so deep, she’ll be calling me in 5 weeks telling me she’s late …those fuckboys won’t look at her ever again.

You sat cross-legged on your bed in your old PITT t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. The phone burned in your hand and every time your thumb woke it up, the two texts from Robby filled the screen. They weren’t meant for you, you knew they’d probably been intended for Abbot. And nothing said they were about you. He didn’t mention your name or even that you were a resident but somehow you knew. You’d caught the older man staring at you one too many times for it to be innocent. And then there was the glare he’d given the two idiot EMTs that had flirted with you yesterday.

You read the first message again, biting your lip. The way he said it—fucking babies into her. Breasts full. Belly swollen. Jesus fucking Christ. You’d been the kid who’d googled ‘pregnancy kink’ at thirteen and hated yourself for it. You’d apparently evolved only far enough to know to delete your search history. Heat started low in your belly and climbed up, prickling your skin and making your neck flush with color.

It would be so easy to ignore. Pretend you hadn’t seen it. But the way your nipples pressed against your threadbare bra and the sweat slicking your palms told the truth. You were incredibly turned on.

You hit reply, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Nothing.

You tried again, deleting every attempt. Sorry, wrong number lasted all of three seconds before you erased it. You weren’t sorry. You were fucking thrilled he’d sent them to you, even if you were trembling with nerves because of it. What would the right response be? What would make Robby see you as the perfect little slut? You’d never been that kind of girl, had never even been tempted. Until now.

Robby glanced at the time to find the end of his shift was creeping ever closer. His phone buzzed against his thigh and he thumbed open the lock screen. Three new messages, your name at the top. He licked his lips as his brain immediately turned to the rather vivid fantasies he’d been having of you all day.

The first five words were enough to spike his blood pressure. I want that so bad.

He sucked in a breath and scrolled through the previous messages. Shit. Those hadn’t been meant for you. He’d been blowing off steam to Jack after walking around half-hard all shift thinking of you. Jesus, you could have ended his whole career with one screen shot. But you’d replied. Holy shit, you’d replied.

He scrolled to the bottom, desperate to see all your messages.

I want that so bad.

I want you to do it all. I want to feel you dripping out of me.

Make me yours.

His cock hardened with one involuntary twitch, sending a surge up heat up his spine. His brain short-circuited. You wanted this as much as he did.

God, I’m dripping just thinking about it. Never been this wet before.

He had to move. Now.

He told Dana he was taking ten and hurried down the hall before ducking into the supply closet. He braced both hands on the shelving and sucked in a deep breath. His cock was straining, so fucking hard it hurt. He wanted you under him, over him, straddling his lap, bent over the bed in the on-call room, biting your own hand to keep from screaming as he drove into you. He wanted to ruin you. Make sure you never thought of anyone else ever again. Shit. Fuck.

He reread your last message. Never been this wet before.

His hands shook with need as he composed his response.

You have no idea what I want to do to you right now. How bad I want to fuck you. To put my hand around your throat and my mouth on your tits while my cock is so deep that you can’t think. I won’t stop even if you beg. You’ll be full of me for days.

Your response was simple and did absolutely nothing to calm him down.

Please

He had to keep pushing, to know you wanted this as badly as he did.

I want to see all of you. I want your tits in my hands, your mouth on my cock. Want you begging me to put a baby in you like I need to breathe. I want you to ride me until you can’t take anymore then I’ll hold you down and fuck you until you cum again. You’d look so perfect. Fucked out. Messy. Mine.

A beat passed then two as Robby pressed the heel of his hand into his erection, feeling the throb with every heartbeat. Then your response came, stealing his breath. Nothing more than an address, your address he assumed. Fuck yes.

Oh baby. You’re mine now.

By the time the knock came on the door, you’d cleaned your apartment twice, and given yourself a lengthy peptalk in the mirror. You’d dug out the lacy black underwear and bra you’d bought for a date you never went on then dispensed with the bra completely. You debated on what to wear before just slipping your t-shirt and shorts back on. Robby might as well see the real you, the comfortable you. Besides, you hoped you wouldn’t be wearing them very long.

You licked your lips and took a deep breath before swinging open the door. You had half a second to run your gaze over him before he stepped into your space, crowding you backward until he could kick the door shut and flip the lock. His hair was wet and his scrubs were clean so he must have showered in the on-call room and come straight from work.

In a blink he was on you, your shirt fisted in his hand as he used his grip to slam you into the wall, the air whooshing from your lungs. You made a sound, part gasp, part nervous giggle. His kiss landed hard enough to hurt, all teeth, tongue and bruised lips, like he was daring you to fight back. You moaned into the kiss, letting yourself sag against him. His beard rasped against your chin as his hand left your shirt to curl around your hip, thumb digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise.

He tasted like coffee and that nicotine gum he seemed to always be chewing. He pushed in closer, pressing his body to yours, every inch of him against your curves. You felt the heat of him, the way his chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts. He caught your wrists and pinned them overhead with one large hand, flattening you to the drywall. His other hand slid under the hem of your t-shirt and traced your side, palm greedy, warm, catching the underside of your bare breast.

You whimpered, twisting in his grip, wanting more, needing more. He smiled slow and dangerous at the sound. “Is my poor baby feeling needy?”

You nodded frantic.

He kissed you again, rougher. His hips pressed forward, pinning your pelvis, the length of his hard cock sending heat straight through your core. You writhed, helpless, needy, and his hand shifted to cup your breast, cradling the weight of it. His thumb circled your nipple until it peaked so hard it ached.

“Fuck,” you gasped, arching your back.

He grinned, nipped your lower lip hard enough to sting then growled in your ear. “Say it again. Louder.”

You barely managed it. “Fuck.”

“That’s more like it.” He shoved your legs apart with his knee, making room for himself. “I want to hear every filthy thing you utter.”

His mouth worked down your throat, biting and sucking a path from your jaw to your collarbone. He was marking you up and just the thought of him being that possessive over you lit up every nerve in your body. You wanted to mark him back, to claw at his back until red furrows colored his skin, but he had you trapped, your wrists pinned.

“Let go,” you protested but didn’t mean it.

“No.” He nipped at your neck again before spinning you away from the wall. His grip on your wrists never faltered as he walked you backward down the hallway, his body pushing you. Your bedroom was easy to find and he paused just inside the doorway to take everything in. You’d left the bed unmade, hadn’t seen the point after the texts.

He pulled you close, hips grinding into yours. His lips found your ear, voice gruff and low. “Did you touch yourself after you got my texts, pretty girl? Did you think about me while you did it?”

Your face burned. You tried to shake your head but he caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. “Liar.” His mouth crashed against yours again. His free hand squeezed your ass, the grip tight, bruising. He bit at your ear. He let go of your wrists, just for a second, and your hands immediately found his waist, pulling him closer. His cock, hard as steel, pressed into your belly and your body went molten at the thought of it finally inside of you, filling you. It took everything in you not to whimper.

He pushed your shirt up and over your head. His gaze feasting at the exposed the flesh. “Fuck. Look at you. Fucking beautiful.”

You wanted to cover yourself, suddenly shy, but he caught your wrists again, pinning them behind your back this time. He pressed them against your back, making you arch into him. He dropped his head, sucking one erect nipple into his mouth, his beard irritating the skin around it. His tongue lapped the tip, once, twice. Then he bit down, gently at first then harder until you gasped at the flood of pleasure that went through you with the pain.

He released you only long enough to strip your shorts and panties in one swift movement. The heat in his eyes burnt away every ounce of your self-consciousness. He leaned in, hand sliding up your inner thigh and dragged two long fingers along your slit. “You are fucking dripping.” He gave you a smirk full of evil intentions. “You are such a mess.”

You trembled. “Only for you, Michael.” You’d never called him by his first name before but it felt wrong to call him Robby when you stood nude before him.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a groan. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black with want. He slipped his fingers into his mouth, tasting you, then smiled wide.

“Pretty girl,” he said, “you have no idea what I’m about to do to you. He pulled off his scrub top, revealing a chest lightly dusted with hair. He peeled off the pants and boxer briefs, cock springing free, long and thick. Saliva pooled in your mouth at the sight. You’d always assumed, imagined he was packing, but damn.

He steered you to the bed, following you down and caging your body in with his. He hovered over you, breath fanning your face. “This what you wanted?”

You nodded.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes. God, yes,” you stuttered out.

He kissed you again, gentler this time, then trailed his lips down your throat, over your breasts and down to your belly. He paused at the curve of your hip and gave you a wicked grin before hooking your knees over his shoulders. His lips grazed the thick, swollen heat of you. His tongue was rough, practiced, relentless and you cried out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Not that you gave a shit.

He worked you with his mouth and fingers until you were begging, clawing the sheets and rocking your hips into his face. “Please. Please. Please,” you repeated over and over, unsure what you were even asking for. Release. Mercy. More. You’d take it all.

His beard glistened when he looked up at you and smiled. “Louder.”

You obeyed.

He continued with his exquisite torture until you broke apart with a shuddering, gasping breath. He watched, eyes bright, grin feral as if this was everything he’d ever wanted. He moved up your body, lining himself up with your entrance. “Ready for me?”

“So ready,” you breathed.

He smiled, cruel and sweet at once. “Good girl.”

He filled you slow, savoring the slide, the way your body struggled to stretch around him. He was thick. God, he was so thick. A stinging ache filled your core as your body accommodated him. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, biting deep. Robby braced himself above you, face so close you could see flecks of gold in his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, the words barely more than a breath. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You swore you could feel him in your belly by the time he bottomed out. His hips were flush to yours, pelvis grinding into your clit. You moaned at the feeling of him so deep inside. You expected him to fuck you hard. To take what he wanted. Instead, he held you down, pinning you to the mattress with the full weight of his body.

He pulled out, then drove back in slowly, making your feel every millimeter. You squirmed and he just smiled before setting a punishing rhythm. He leaned down, bracing on one elbow and captured your nipple between his teeth, biting just shy of too hard, then soothed it with his tongue. His other hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging in, spreading you wider for him.

He fucked you like that for what felt like forever, always slowing his pace when you neared the brink of release. Denying you the one thing you craved. You whined, writhing under him as he did it again. He grinned and shook his head as he pulled out. “Not yet, pretty girl.”

He flipped you easily, rolling you onto your stomach and dragging your hips up so you were braced on all fours. He knelt behind you and you swore you could feel his eyes raking over you. He ran his hands over your curves, squeezing and spreading, thumbs digging into the dimples at the base of your spine.

“Fuck, look at this ass.” He sounded almost reverent. “It’s even better than I imagined.”

He bent over you, beard scratching as he bit the soft flesh of your ass hard enough to leave a mark. You yelped, the sting blooming into heat. He laughed, low and delighted, then slid his fingers between your thighs, spreading you wide.

“Fuck.” His voice was ragged. He traced circles around your clit, teasing, never giving you enough to let go, keeping you right at the edge. He shifted, his large hands wrapping around your hips, and drove into you with enough force you swore you could feel his cock in your throat. You released a strangled cry. He pounded into you, obscene sounds filling the air. “You ready to cum, baby?”

“Yes,” you panted. “Please.”

He chuckled, then reached around to rub your clit fast and rough. The sensation toppled you over the edge. You screamed, body convulsing, muscles clamping down so hard you felt him shudder and curse behind you. He fucked you through it, relentless. One hand traced your spine and slid around to your throat. Not choking, just holding, reminding you who was in charge. “Want me to cum in you?” he demanded, voice gravel. “Want me to fuck a baby into you, like I promised?”

You moaned, a desperate plea.

“Say it.” The fingers at your throat tightened just a little.

You gasped. “Want you to—fuck—fill me up. Want you to—ruin me—please, Michael, please.”

He groaned, the sound half animal. “You’re going to take all of it. Every fucking drop. You hear me?”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “Yes. Yes, please. I want it.”

He kept fucking you, harder, faster. He let go of your neck just long enough to reach around and rub your clit again and you shattered. You screamed his name, raw and helpless. He came a second later, hips jerking, cock throbbing inside of you. Hot liquid filled you and Robby stayed buried deep inside. His forehead pressed against your back as he panted, both of you shaking.

When you collapsed, he followed, not letting go. He kissed your shoulder, gentle now. “You’re mine.” It wasn’t a question.

You turned your head to look at him. “All yours.”

His smile was radiant. “Good girl.” He pulled out slow and careful and wetness dripped down your thigh. You shivered, already aching for me. Wanting him to fill you until you barely remembered your own name.

He rolled you onto your back, then leaned down and kissed every mark he’d left on your skin. He kissed your lips last, soft and sweet then rested his forehead against yours as the two of you waited for your heartbeat to return to normal.

You looked at this man, who had ruined you in the absolute best way and grinned.

It had been six weeks since Dr. Michael Robinavitch ruined you for all other men and you hadn’t spent a night alone since. He was doing his best to be a man of his word, filling you up at every opportunity. You’d done your best to remain professional at work, not wanting to deal with Gloria and her HR bullshit, but he didn’t make it easy.

Stepping up behind you while you were charting, lips centimeters from your ear as he murmured a correction or asked a question.

Placing a hand on your back as he passed behind you, or reached for something. Never necessary but he did, palm heavy and hot enough to be felt through two layers of clothing. The heat lingering long after he’d moved on.

Dark eyes, following you as you moved through the department. Winking when he caught you watching him.

Hands on yours, body curled around you as he guided you through a procedure.

He did not play fucking fair.

You stood at the hub entering information on a patient waiting for a bed upstairs when two EMTs approached you. You’d seen them before. Both of them quick with an easy smile that said they were sure they were god’s gift to woman. Both of them wrong.

The first one, buzz cut and blond, leaned on the counter beside you with one elbow. There was that stupid grin. “Some of the crew is getting together at Duke’s for drinks tonight. You should come. Unless you have plans with someone less interesting.”

You didn’t look up, just signed off on the chart before flipping to a new patient. “Not really my scene.”

His partner leaned in from beside him. “Come on. You’ll have a good time. Promise.” His eyes made a slow crawl from your head to your toes, pausing on your tits and licking his lips. “I wasn’t aware you could get scrubs that fit like that.”

You forced a smile to keep from kneeing him in the groin. “Maybe you should get back to work instead of spending your time gawking at me.”

He put a hand to his heart, mock offended. “I’m a professional. I never gawk, I admire.”

Buzzcut butted in. “Seriously though, you should come tonight. Bring a friend if you’re worried.”

The air changed before you heard the footsteps, the entire hub going suddenly quiet. You didn’t have to look to know who was there.

Robby didn’t say a word at first, just braced one hand on the counter as he loomed behind you. The medics shrank back half an inch. Not far enough.

He spoke in a low rumble. “You fellas need something or are you just bored?”

Buzzcut coughed into his hand. “Just being friendly, doc.”

Robby’s gaze never left his face. “Uh huh. Well, we have patients to see and I don’t see any point to you loitering here.”

The partner tried to protest. “We were just chatting, man. Didn’t mean to clog your workflow.”

The smile that covered Robby’s face said that something very, very bad was about to happen. “Glad to hear it.”

He turned to you and his eyes softened. “You good?”

You nodded, but before you could say anything, the buzzcut idiot put a hand on your arm to get your attention. “Don’t forget, sweetheart, we’ll be at Duke’s anytime after six.”

Robby moved faster than you thought possible. In one motion, he had shoved the idiot’s hand off of you and stepped between you and the man in question. “Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours.” His voice was glacial. “She’s not your sweetheart, she’s mine. Find someone else to hit on.”

Their hands were up in a flash as they backed away. “No offense. We didn’t know.”

Robby leaned in. “Now you do.”

He didn’t even look at you, just staring them down until they retreated, not relaxing until they were gone. He turned to you then, running his gaze over you as if making certain you were okay. “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry in the least.”

You wanted to be mad at him for destroying any semblance of privacy you’d had left. Instead, you only felt elated that he had so publicly claimed you. You glanced at Dana to find her watching the two of you with an amused smile playing on her lips. “We’ll be right back.”

“By all means take your time,” she said as she waved you off. “It’s not like we have beds to clear or anything.” You cringed but there was no heat in her words.

You grabbed the front of Robby’s hoodie and dragged him behind you to the supply closet. You pushed him inside and followed behind. As soon as the door clicked shut, his hands were on your hips—gripping, kneading.

“What the hell was that, Robby?”

He blinked, obviously not expecting a lecture. “He touched you.”

You huffed a laugh. “You just made a scene in the middle of the Pitt. HR is going to have an aneurysm.”

He stepped forward, crowding you. “I’m tired of pretending you’re just another resident.” He ran his nose along your neck, nipping your ear. “You’re not.”

You braced a hand on his chest, half to steady yourself, half to keep him from coming closer. “I’m just saying I would prefer not to be fired, thanks.”

He scoffed. “They wouldn’t dare. I’d go with you and they can’t lose me.”

You let him stew for a second then sighed. “You’re so fucking impatient,” you said with a roll of the eyes. “If you’d just waited a few more days, you could have announced our relationship with a lot more style.”

He pulled back, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to tell him here. Fuck it. “I’m late.”

He stared. “For what?”

You laughed. “Not for an appointment, genius. Late-late. As in you finally fulfilled your promise to fuck a baby into me.”

His eyes went wide and his hand found your stomach. “You’re pregnant?”

You shrugged. “Bought a test. It’s in my locker.”

He exhaled, shaky, His hands slid around your waist, firmer this time. “Holy shit.”

You reached up and traced your thumb along the crease in his brow. “Don’t act so surprised. This was your whole goal, wasn’t it?”

He chuckled. “Are you sure?”

“Test first, but pretty sure.”

He nodded, breathing hard. “Okay.” A wide smile covered his face and he kissed you again, softer this time before leaning his forehead against yours. His hand covered your stomach again. “Mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, daddy.”

Robby Masterlist

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint

notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂‍↕️

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍

masterlist

“Ew.”

The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.

You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.

“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.

McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.

“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.

You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.

After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.

“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.

“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.

“They’re raspberry flavoured.”

“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[keytomylockhart]

you shaved your bush

Jack Abbot x Reader

summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.

tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.

wc: 9.5k

a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3

credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!

It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny. 

You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster. 

Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem. 

Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment. 

And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now. 

That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you. 

So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was. 

It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule. 

But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven. 

You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably. 

You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed. 

The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it. 

It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message. 

Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.

You settled on: 

you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;) 

You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out. 

What a mistake. 

Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen. 

Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them. 

Why? 

Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you. 

Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing. 

You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either. 

And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him. 

It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency. 

“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably). 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway. 

Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be. 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.

You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress. 

It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun. 

What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot. 

Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo. 

Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually. 

Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened. 

There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up. 

Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare. 

Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo. 

Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with. 

You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off. 

You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you. 

You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it. 

You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that. 

You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios. 

In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation. 

But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…  

Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you? 

A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification. 

Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍 

It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance. 

You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days. 

You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.

You woke up two days later and ran through your options. 

Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)

Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble) 

Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?) 

Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible. 

That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay. 

You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started. 

“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask, 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing. 

Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis. 

Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done. 

“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.  

“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. 

He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own. 

And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze. 

When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work. 

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.

Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either. 

His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more. 

But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore. 

And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former. 

As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling. 

Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.

The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse. 

To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom. 

Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night. 

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through. 

“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient. 

The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15. 

“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.  

You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room. 

“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now. 

You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life. 

“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his. 

“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”

Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.” 

“BP is down to 60!” 

“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.

Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty. 

“Must be the belly,” Santos said.

“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?” 

You shook your head. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.

Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. 

“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.  

Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked. 

“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway. 

Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked. 

“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.

Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student. 

Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there. 

“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.

You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot. 

“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact. 

You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder. 

“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them. 

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to. 

He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat. 

“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin. 

“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face. 

Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.

Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips. 

“Dr. Abbot–”

“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought. 

“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.” 

“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. 

He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. 

“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked. 

A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.  

“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there. 

You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence. 

“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin. 

You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.” 

He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending. 

You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.  

He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.

You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top. 

His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly. 

You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face. 

You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top. 

He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you. 

You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.

The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency. 

It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you? 

He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy. 

“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.

His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.  

You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art. 

But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself. 

You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine. 

The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation. 

“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it. 

You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”  

You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale. 

“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face. 

“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile. 

He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs. 

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you. 

The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours. 

He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.

“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact. 

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?” 

You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said. 

“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop. 

“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?” 

You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight. 

He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign. 

“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it. 

“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone. 

A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits. 

Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him. 

“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now. 

He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.

His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face. 

He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway. 

Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing. 

“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?” 

No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there. 

He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden. 

He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.  

“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”

“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.  

And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much. 

He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve. 

“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument. 

“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb. 

“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger.  Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes. 

Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably. 

And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.

Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.  

You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve. 

“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.” 

You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit. 

You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out. 

“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning  your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout. 

“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore. 

He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him. 

Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.  

A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time. 

Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you. 

“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy. 

The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.

You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy. 

“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.  

Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm. 

It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him. 

Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could. 

Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought. 

Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath. 

Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up. 

He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated. 

“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.  

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together. 

“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you. 

“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice. 

“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.” 

You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s. 

“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!

[shadeofpeach]

A fall, a cut and an angry Abbot

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader (ft Michael Robinavitch) Warnings: bloody angst, hurt, domestic accident, falling down stairs, blood, facial injuries, medical procedures, angry Abbot. Summary: A routine task like doing laundry turns into a nightmare when a sudden slip makes you trip on the stairs. With a deep cut on your face and an injured knee, you try to downplay your clumsiness, but for your husband, Jack, the accident is anything but funny.

🎀 based on this request 🎀 Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.

You were trying to balance a mountain of folded laundry in your arms, hurrying to get back downstairs before the timers on the kitchen stove went off.

Jack’s voice always echoed in your mind in these moments—“Stop running on the stairs, please.”

But you rushed anyway.

Your foot caught the edge of the third step. The laundry flew from your grip, sending sheets and towels flying as your weight shifted violently forward.

You launched. Your knee slammed hard against one step, and before you could even register the ache there, the sharp edge another one scraped violently across your cheekbone.

For a second, the world just went completely quiet. You were crumpled on the steps, the breath knocked clear out of your lungs, staring down. The pain in your knee was loud and throbbing, and your face felt… numb.

"Doll, what happened? Are you okay?"

Jack’s voice broke the silence. You looked at him, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Because of his leg, he couldn't just drop to his knees or rush up the stairs to scoop you up; he had to take each step deliberately. The frustration of his own physical limitations was already written in the tight line of his jaw.

"I'm fine!" you managed, your voice sounding small. "Just... dropped the towels. And added another bruise to the collection." You tried to laugh, pulling yourself up to sit straight.

Jack reached the step just below you. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are."

His tone was rigid. Stripped of all warmth.

"Jack, seriously, it’s just a scrape—"

"I said, don't move," he snapped, his fingers gently but firmly clamping onto your chin to tilt your face upward into the dim stairwell light.

That was when you felt it. A strange trickling sensation creeping down your cheek. Something dripped past your jawline. You reached up to touch it, but Jack caught your wrist mid air, holding it tightly away from your face.

But your fingers were already stained red.

"Oh," you whispered, the adrenaline suddenly spiking. "That's... blood." You tried to deflect with a nervous laugh. "Does the cut matches the bruise on my knee? A matching set for the collection. I'm keeping you in business, Doc."

Jack didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.

"Shut up," he said. "Don't make a joke out of this."

"Jack, I'm just trying to—"

"I don't care what you're trying to do." He snapped, letting go of your chin. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against your cheek. "Apply pressure. Hold it there."

You took over, pressing the cloth to your face, the sting finally waking up beneath the numbness. "Don't talk to me like that. I just tripped."

"Because you were running! How many times do I have to ask you to slow down?" Jack’s hands were trembling slightly. "You treat your own safety like it’s a punchline. 'Another bruise to the collection.' Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to hear a crash and know I can't run down there to catch you? Do you know what went through my head when I saw you lying here?"

His voice cut through your defense mechanism. You looked at him, he was angry and terrified. And, you knew, he was trapped by a body that wouldn't let him be the protector he desperately wanted to be.

"I wasn't trying to minimize it," you said softly. "I joke because I'm embarrassed, Jack. I'm clumsy, and I hate that I make you worry."

"I don't care about being worried," Jack replied. "I care about you being safe. I spend all day at the hospital patching up people who didn't see the accident coming. And you... you're rushing through our own home like you're invincible. And I can't... if something happens to you, I can't get to you fast enough. You know that."

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Jack gently reached out, taking your hand away from the handkerchief to check the bleeding. The edge of the cut was clean, but it was deep enough that it would probably need a few butterflies, if not a stitch or two.

"It needs to be cleaned properly," he murmured. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah," you whispered, wincing as you shifted your weight onto your bruised knee. "I can stand."

"Good." Jack took a deep breath. Once he was stable on his good leg, he offered you his hand. "Let's go fix you up. No more jokes."

"Okay. No more jokes," you agreed, letting him pull you up into the kitchen.

Jack guided you to a stool by the kitchen island. Without a word, he moved around, pulling a first-aid kit from the cabinet and grabbing a damp washcloth from the sink.

"Keep pressure on it," he ordered softly, setting the kit down.

When he turned back to you, he pulled up another stool, carefully positioning his stiff leg out to the side so he could sit close enough to work.

"Okay, take the cloth away. Let me look."

You pulled the blood soaked handkerchief from your cheek. Almost instantly, a fresh crimson stream welled up from the split in your skin, tracing a rapid path down your jaw and dripping onto your collarbone.

Jack’s brow furrowed. He took the damp washcloth and gently tapped around the wound, trying to clear the area to see the actual depth of the laceration. "Hold still. I know it hurts."

The cold water hit the raw nerves, and you gasped, leaning back instinctively. "It stings—god, Jack."

"I know, I know. Don't pull away from me." His hand was firm on the back of your neck, holding you in place. But as he wiped a fresh layer of blood away, the wound immediately filled again, spilling over. The edge of the step had sliced deep, right over the prominent curve of your cheekbone where the skin was tight.

He waited a beat, pressing a clean piece of sterile gauze against it, counting silently under his breath. One minute. Two minutes. When he pulled it back to check, the blood welled up just as fast. It wasn't clotting. The edge of the cut was jagged, grinning open in a way that made his stomach do a sick flip.

Jack let out a frustrated breath. He didn't say anything, but the professional shift in his posture told you everything.

His ER doctor self had completely taken over.

"I-Is it bad?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"It’s deep," Jack said, his voice felt cold. "It tore right through the dermal layer. It’s too wide for butterflies, and because of the location on your face, it’s going to keep opening every time you talk or blink. I can't close this here. It needs a layered suture, and it won't stop bleeding until it gets one."

He packed a thick stack of sterile gauze against your cheek, taking your hand and forcing your fingers to hold it there with heavy pressure.

"We're going to the hospital," he said, already standing up. The sudden movement made his brace click sharply.

"Jack, can't you just do it? You have a kit, you're a doctor—"

"I don't have a local anesthetic or the proper fine gauge monofilament sutures in the kitchen cabinet," he snapped, his voice cracking with sudden panic. He grabbed his car keys and his and your jacket from the hook by the door. "If I try to patch this up with what I have here, you’re going to end up with a massive scar on your face. We’re going to the hospital. Now."

The drive was quiet. He kept his hand firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road, while you sat in the passenger seat, pressing the now heavy gauze to your face.

You looked over at his profile, his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle was jumping in his cheek.

"Jack," you whispered, the movement pulling painfully at the cut. "I'm sorry."

He didn't look at you, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Just keep pressure on the wound, please. We're almost there."

-

The doors of The Pitt hissed open, swallowing you both into the familiar air of the emergency department.

Tonight, you were the intake.

"Jack? What the hell happened?"

Robby said from behind the central desk, his eyes darting instantly from Jack’s tense face down to you. He saw the blood soaked gauze you were holding tightly against your cheek and the dark stain on your collar.

"She took a fall on the stairs," Jack said, sounding entirely professional, though the tight grip he kept on your elbow betrayed him. "Laceration to the zygomatic arch. It’s deep. It’s been bleeding consistently for minutes. I couldn’t get it to clot at home."

"Alright, let's get her into Room 4, it's empty," Robby said, immediately stepping into gear, stepping beside you. "Can you walk okay? Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?"

"My knee is a little banged up, but my head is fine," you muttered around the cloth, feeling a flush of embarrassment as a couple of nurses glanced your way. "Just... really clumsy."

Robby guided you onto the examination bed. "Let’s take a look."

You layed down and slowly pulled the gauzes away. Without the constant pressure, a fresh bead of dark blood immediately welled up. Robby leaned in, using a piece of sterile gauze to gently dab the edges of the wound. He winced slightly, assessing the deep split over the bone.

"Yeah, you really did a number on this," Robby murmured. "It’s a clean tear but it’s deep. It’s definitely going to need a few sutures. I'll get the lidocaine and—"

"I'll do it," Jack interrupted.

Robby paused, looking up at Jack, who was standing at the foot of the bed.

"Brother, you know the protocol," Robby said softly. "You don't treat family. Let me handle it. I'll make the lines clean, I promise."

"It’s my wife, Robby." Jack said, he stepped closer to the bedside, his eyes locked on the wound. "I’m doing the stitches. I need to do them."

The two doctors locked eyes for a long moment. Robby knew Jack, he knew his friend's frustrations, he knew how much Jack hated feeling helpless.

Letting Jack treat you wasn't standard, but Robby knew that forcing Jack to stand by and watch someone else patch you up would be worse.

Robby sighed, stepping back. "Fine. But I'm staying in the room to assist. And if your hands shake even a millimeter, I'm taking the needle."

"They won't shake," Jack said.

He moved to the side of the bed, carefully adjusting the stool so his rigid leg could extend comfortably.

Jack snap on a pair of sterile gloves, and when he pulled the tray of instruments closer, where a nurse put all the necessary.

"Look at me," Jack murmured softly. He picked up the syringe of lidocaine. "This is going to burn. A lot. Hold my knee if you need to. My good one."

You reached out, gripping his good knee tightly. He didn't flinch as your fingernails dug into his skin. "Okay, you're going to feel a little pinch."

The needle pierced the edge of the cut, and a sharp burning sensation flared across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping as the medicine flooded the tissue. Jack’s was completely steady as he repositioned the needle to numb the entire perimeter of the wound.

Within a minute, the burning subsided into a heavy weight.

Jack worked in absolute silence. He used a small suction tip to clear the pooling blood, exposing the deep layer of tissue beneath. With a needle driver, he began the meticulous process of closing the deep dermal layer first.

You only could feel the gentle tugging of the thread as he pulled the edges of your skin back together. You watched his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes entirely locked on the millimeters of flesh he was mending. The anger from the stairwell was gone, completely replaced by an aching tenderness.

Every movement of his hands was incredibly precise, deliberate, and gentle.

Robby stood by, cutting the sutures as Jack tied off each knot. "Nice tension," Robby commented quietly, validating his friend's work. "That's going to heal beautifully."

Jack didn't reply. He just kept sewing, treating your face like the most fragile and precious thing in the world.

By the time he tied off the final knot, the wound was closed, reduced to a thin black line across your cheekbone.

Before Jack could even reach for the dressing supplies, Robby quietly stepped into his line of sight, a non adherent telfa pad and a strip of medical tape already in his gloved hands. "I've got the dressing, Jack. Step back for a second."

Jack blinked, the sharp medical tunnel vision breaking as he looked up at his friend.

He didn't argue.

His hands were just starting to develop a microscopic tremor from the adrenaline crash, and he knew it.

Robby offered you a warm smile as he leaned over the bed. He placed the small protective gauze pad directly over the neat row of black stitches, securing it firmly to your cheek with the clear tape. "There you go. That’ll keep it clean and protected. Excellent handiwork, by the way. You won't even be able to see the scar in a few months."

Jack dropped the instruments onto the tray. He pulled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin, and took a deep breath.

"All done, baby," he said softly. "You're okay."

"Thank you," you murmured, with an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

The ride back home was calm. The dashboard clock glowed a late hour as Jack pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

"Let's get you inside," Jack said softly. He had the night off.

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and offered you his hand. As you stood up, your leg wobbled, and Jack immediately caught you. He held you close, bearing your weight as he carefully guided you into the house.

He led you straight to the living room, easing you down onto the couch. He disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was carrying a plush blanket, a fresh ice pack, and a glass of water.

He carefully lowered his weight onto the couch beside you and draped the blanket over your lap, then gently held the ice pack against your bruised knee.

Looking at him, seeing the dark circles of exhaustion, the faint smear of dried blood on his forearm that he hadn't fully washed off, and his unconditional care, the dam broke.

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

"Hey," Jack murmured, his brow furrowing as he set the ice pack down and instantly reached for your face. "Hey, what’s wrong? Is the local anesthetic wearing off? Is it hurting?"

"No," you choked out, your voice thick and trembling. You shook your head, immediately regretting it as the movement pulled at the tight stitches. "No, it doesn't hurt. Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to-"

"I do," you interrupted, a sob catching in your throat. You reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so, so sorry. I know I make a joke out of being clumsy, but I hate that I frightened you. I hate that I made you feel... helpless. I know how much you want to protect me, and I was careless. I didn't think about how it would affect you to hear me fall and not be able to just run down there. I'm so sorry for being reckless with myself."

Jack stared at you, his eyes softening.

He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears on your cheek, careful not to touch your wound. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.

"Thank you for being honest with me" Jack whispered into your hair, his hand gently stroking your back. "But you don't have to carry that guilt. I was angry because I was terrified. When I'm at work, I can control things. I have a team. But when it’s you... here... Seeing you hurt, and knowing my own body slows me down from getting to you... it scares me, baby."

He pulled back to look into your eyes.

"I know accidents happen," he said softly. "But I just need you to take care of yourself, because you are the most precious thing in my life. Okay?"

"Okay," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the edge of the blanket. "No more running on the stairs. I promise. I'll take them like a snail."

A smirk broke across Jack’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was the first time he had smiled all night. "A snail might be a bit too slow, but I'll take it."

He leaned in, carefully placing a kiss on the uninjured side of your face, then another on the tip of your nose. "I love you, doll."

"I love you, my Jackie."

"Lay back, you need rest," he commanded gently, helping you settle on the couch. He placed the ice pack back on your knee and tucked the blanket securely around you. He picked up the TV remote and settled back against the cushions next to you.

As the soft sounds of a night time program filled the air, Jack's fingers gently stroked your head, lulling you to relax and close your eyes.

After a few seconds, you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely safe and secure in the tranquility of home.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[madamechrissy]

please, please, please

You love being Satoru Gojo's girlfriend, he dotes on you, takes you on dates, spoils you - just one little problem, you are perpetually ovulating around him! Is wanting your nerdy boyfriend's cock in your mouth really such a bad thing? Satoru wants to wait for the perfect moment for your first time, though! He'll totally wait even when you're wearing that slutty lil dress and grinding on him, right?

pairings - nerd! gojo x girlfriend! reader

warnings - cute and silly, oral over panties/boxers, Satoru edging tf outta us -- reader is horny, Shoko/Hime, Sukuna being a fratboy dick, jealous Toru, rough blow jobs, p in v sex, first time, squirting, teasing, fingering, creampie, consent, breed kink, making your nerdy boyfriend feral and spit in your mouth <3

art creds here!!

this was a comm for my angel @cantarcantar!! ty for understanding that my life was like INSANE - ilysm for being patient <3 wc - 10.1k

It took you almost two years of crushing on Satoru Gojo to actually become his girlfriend, and you’re loving every minute of it. From being too damn shy to admit you like him, to very awkwardly trying to confess and every chance just utterly failing – to then instead becoming the very best of friends.

You two were finally ‘officially together’ as a couple.

Oh, and it was everything, being in his arms, swallowed up by those huge biceps he had hidden underneath his starch white dress shirts. Hearing that little laugh from his lips, all of those sweet little kisses he bestowed upon you – truly, all the feelings blossoming between the two of you in the most beautiful way, especially over the months of truly being his girlfriend.

He’d take you out for all day movie marathons, going to play bumper cars, mini golf, you name it – Satoru was down for it. Every date was a meticulously planned out one too, with little to no down time aside from the drive to and from. Perhaps that’s where you would sneak just the littlest pecks on his neck, hear his sighs as he gripped the gear shift of that fancy sports car.

Satoru adored you – and you adored him.

You were all his. There was no one else in the entire world than the boy who could never quite tie that tie on correctly, always just a little crooked for you to straighten out.

Yet with that came you being unreasonably horny all the fucking time, who wouldn’t be with Satoru though? Those long fingers pressing into your waist, the way that bulge pressed between your thighs, plump lips slipping up your throat. Every time it even got just a little close, maybe you were grinding so good that you were about to cum from that – he paused it.

Wearing a cute, bashful little smile on his face, fogged up, thick rimmed glasses – murmuring sweetheart in a voice that’s designed to make your pussy drip, and you feel like a complete pervert for wanting to beg for more. God, imagining his cock in your throat alone had you desperate and needy, let alone having him filling you, pumping you full, taking you first.

Maybe you are a pervert, truly.

You’ve tried so hard to be patient, you want him to want it as badly as you do, but every time you’re making out with your boyfriend – the top of the dean’s list and ultimate dungeon master for DnD – Satoru Gojo?

Every time his big ass hands grip your waist and he drags you down against his length, before he puts a pause on it?

You can’t even think about it.

You’re pumping your fingers in your needy cunt just thinking about it after every damn date with this boy. Whining out in your bed with your hips bucking up, gasps escaping your lips desperately in your empty room. Pumping faster and faster until you’ve got that sticky release all over your hand.

It’s almost as if you have this sort of ritual now, before you see your boyfriend and right after/.

Your rose toy is probably fucking tired of you.

As if you don’t you ache so damn bad around him it’s painful, hard not to shamelessly hump his thigh till you cum. No, the toy? This takes the edge off just a bit, but even the way you moan his name in your sleep is endlessly hilarious to your poor roommates that have to hear you between the walls of your off campus apartment.

“Still a virgin?” Utahime asked with a laugh when you had woken up this morning, getting ready to see Satoru.

“Not by choice,” you grumble, shaking your head and grabbing a coffee pod from the little rack, popping your favorite inside and pressing the on button. The aroma hits immediately, waking your tired brain.

You’d had the filthiest damn dream of him fucking your tits, cock sliding up and down in messy strokes that had you needing a damn shower right now.

You’re just perpetually ovulating.

Satoru is the perfect boyfriend, truly he is. He’s sweet, he’s a gentleman despite his blue eyes and where they glance too long. Mostly, he cares. You’ve fallen so in love with him so quickly over these past few months, but every time you think that things might progress, Satoru stops it. Gently lifting you up off his lap and sighing, kissing his way up your jaw, his snowy lashes tickling your cheek.

‘Sweetheart, let’s pause this,’ he would murmur those words all sweet and sultry against your skin after almost sucking on those nipples that just stay hard around this man, instead hovering a breath away so it ghosts your tits. Those huge hands brushing just underneath them.

It’s torture, really.

‘Oh, okay Toru,’ you’d whisper back, he’d moan and kiss up your neck, breaths tickling your skin. ‘Mnh…’

‘You’re so beautiful, god look at you.’

It was just wrong to talk to you like that!

“You poor baby. At least you have your toy collection,” Shoko teases, sneaking in and brushing your hair back. “Extensive, too.”

You flip her off, peeking at the phone then and seeing Satoru's name pop up.

Study session?

“Dick session?” She asks, you gasp, as if affronted at such a suggestion.

“I would never assume such a thing!”

You hope so.

*****

It’s not.

No, it’s not a dick session at all.

It really is an actual goddamn study session – both of you were sitting there in Satoru’s living room, his place was far fancier than anywhere, but that came from him being the Dean’s very son. It intimidated you a little at first, but now you’ve grown comfortable, as he made you feel so special.

Today though?

Well, you can’t focus on anything but how badly you’d love to kneel and suck your nerdy boyfriend, his thighs spread wide all slutty.

God his legs are long.

You bet his cock is-

“And this equation?” Satoru teasingly asks you, distracting you from your slutty freaking brain.

You're not even sure what stumbles out of your mouth for an answer, without saying how thick you think the circumference of his cock must be.

That is something you’ve done with your past experiences, and you know you’re good at it. You could easily deep throat a man and you wanted to see his cock so damn bad – could he be a challenge, though?

Your eyes drift down his chest, he peeks at you curiously.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks casually, spinning his pen between his fingers and studying you. “Hard question?”

“Um… yeah, a very hard time…”

Stop that! Stop looking at his dick print!

“The question is hard?”

“Uh… the question… yes.” You feel like a damn pervert every time you’re around him, can’t you chill and let things happen when they happen?

He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms up over his head, his abdomen revealed when his dress shirt rides up, showing those little v cuts that make your ovulating brain just a million times worse. It’s like you’re in heat. It's so pathetic right now – maybe you should avoid him till it stops.

“Let’s take a break then.”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles at how eager you are at the thought and comes up to you, leaning down with a hand on each arm of your chair, tilting his head so some of that soft white hair falls over his forehead. You brush a bit of it back and he kisses your palm, lips warm and sweet.

“You’ve been such a good girl, how can I not treat you a bit?” Your heart hammers in your chest, until those next words spill from his lips. “Boba?”

“What? Huh?” You blink as he eases back, pulling up his phone and leaning against the desk. “Boba??”

“Yeah, Boba, I’ll buy you some, I know you love it,” he smiles curiously as you bury your face in your hands. “No Boba? Matcha then?”

“I’m um…” About to cum if he touches you once even. “No, I guess Boba is fine. Thanks Toru.” you manage to say, thighs pressing together, Satoru frowns, kneeling now and gently taking your hands off your face, seeing your blush.

“Are you sick!? You’re all flushed!”

“I’m not-”

“You’re burning,” he touches your cheek in concern, and you almost fucking feel bad – you’re not sick, you’re ovulating. “Baby girl, let’s get you to a doctor right now!"

“No, no I feel fine, I’m not warm because of that,” you shift in your seat and whine out at just that friction. “Promise.”

He frowns and watches you carefully. “You’re hurting, it could be the start of something!”

“Well yeah I hurt,” you sigh as he spreads your thighs and kneels between them, shoving at him. “You’ll make it even worse down there.”

“I’ll make what worse, exactly? Your…” He trails off then, seeing your panties and blushing himself, pink dancing across his high cheekbones and dusting them in that rose. “Y-your… your panties are so… uh… s-soaked and…”

You should freak out at this proximity, at just how much he can finally see of you, but all you can do is whine again, as his eyes shoot back up to yours. “I’m okay, promise.”

“Am I neglecting my pretty girlfriend?” He asks softly, just a little nervous. Satoru has never touched anyone but you, but he’s extensively studied the female anatomy, and how to make you cum.

He just wanted your first time to be perfect.

That’s why he was waiting – the last thing he needed was for you to not enjoy your first time, though he knows you’re a little more experienced than he is – Satoru’s hardly kissed anyone before you. Not because he couldn’t – he just had no interest in that sort of thing until he met you – and even then, he really couldn’t find the damn courage to ask you out forever.

“No I’m being a damn pervert,” you cover your face and he chuckles at that.

“You’re being a what, now?”

You sink into the seat, mumbling. “You heard me.”

He’d been your best friend for so long, thinking there was no chance in the world – always jerking his cock with any article of clothing you’d leave in his room, like a filthy depraved pervert – and you think you were one perverted here?

Does him wanting the timing to be just right making you think that?

Satoru exhales softly, just a hint of what he wants to say slipping from his plump lips.

“What, do you touch your little pussy thinking of me?”

His voice has you lowering your hands, he spreads those thighs and slides up your skirt, making you moan out, head falling back, your hands gripping the arms of the chair even tighter.

“Wha-?” You can’t even finish your damn word.

“Asked you a question, baby.”

“God,” he’s diabolical without knowing – or maybe he does know. You’re trembling as you lean back, letting his thumb brush on your clit and gasping at the touch, already getting slick from a brush on your skin. “What question?”

“Not paying attention, tsk,” he clicks his tongue and his teeth nip your inner thigh, sinking in and making you whine out. “Do you touch her?”

“Y-yes,” he hums a bit, tugging your panties up until your lips are visible, that dark spot growing as slick starts pouring. “Please…”

“Be patient, baby,” he leans back now, smirking at you. “Show me?”

“Are you sure you…”

“Please? I wanna see so bad,” you blush now, you masturbate sure – but not in front of people! “I’ll show you?”

“Show me you um… jerking off?”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah?” You sigh a bit.

“Toru…”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t I um… suck you?” He is bright red now, he’s almost busting just thinking of your mouth – that won’t do. His first blow job and he busts in one go!? No, Satoru has to jerk it three times before he gets the privilege of fucking your pretty little mouth, of feeling your pink tongue on him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? But you’re so hard,” you giggle and tease him with your foot nudging his thigh, he glares and catches it, shoving it wide. “Not yet, then. So you just wanna see me touch myself?”

“God yes, dreamed of that since…” He trails off then, he doesn’t want to admit just how long he’s jerked off to you, because it was before you even knew who Satoru Gojo was. “Lemme see.”

“Okay…” you lean back, running your fingertips over your panties, slipping underneath and leaning your head back, eyes fluttering shut, hearing Satoru’s soft little whine. “Toru…”

“Fuck,” he thought he could handle this, but he’s utterly failing, he can’t even see your pretty pussy and he’s already throbbing, leaking so much pre it hurts, sticking to his brand new digimon boxers. “You’re s’pretty, sweetheart.”

You blush as you look at him with dazed eyes, running little circles right around your puffy clit, coated in hot slick as it dribbles out of your panties. He swipes some of it on his fingers, studying it carefully, his tongue going to lap at it, moaning as the sweetness coats his tongue.

“Oh you’re t-tasting me,” it makes you needier, until you have to plunge two fingers inside your messy, quivering hole, that loud squelch echoing in your ears. He’s gripping your thigh with one hand bruising until you cry out.

“Fuck, so s-sorry… baby I hurt… y-you…”

“No, no, like it,” he moans and puts his hand back on your thigh, squeezing again so hard it aches. He's jerking his cock faster, whining out when he sees your slick fingers pull out of your panties. You press your cum soaked fingers to his lips and he eagerly wraps them around, sucking them off. “Toru…”

“So sweet, my pretty girlfriend,” his glasses fog up when he leans down, licking your inner thigh that is trembling, sliding higher until his tongue is on you – but it's not on your skin, it's on the soaked cotton of your panties.

“Fuck…” he moans as he gets those juices that are spilling through the fabric, his and squeezing his own cock as your thighs sit over his shoulders. 

“More, please,” you're tugging at his hair so hard it hurts, bucking up your hips for more. “I need you, please.”

“Such a needy girlfriend,” he murmurs, thumb circling his drooling tip, looking up at you with desperation in his pretty blue eyes. “You want me to lick it more for you?”

Your answer is a little nod, even having him lick you over your panties is more than you've ever had done, and fuck it feels good. Sinful as he trails a long, slow stripe over the fabric, the tip stopping right over your twitchy clit, his moan is muffled against the damp cotton.

“Toru!” He's lost in your scent, in that taste, the little hints of lace decorating your panties rough against his tongue, the sound is fucking filthy.

Satoru tugs those panties up more firmly, strings of gossamer saliva dripping and dissolving, peering up at you with flushed cheeks. “Like that, baby? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?”

Your only answer is to nod quickly, a jerky little motion as he sees those puffy lips just swallowing the damp material. He swipes his tongue over and over, the heat and wetness of his mouth making your entire body tremble. You feel it heating up, hearing the messy sounds of his own cock fucking his fist, wishing it were your throat instead.

"Oh god, Toru," you whimper out it so pathetically, your hands tangling in his soft white hair, fluffy and silky underneath your touch, trying to pull him closer, to shove his face where you need it. “Not enough, mnh!”

He chuckles against your puffy cunt, the vibration and the quick lave of his tongue have you on edge. Pulse racing as he had the audacity to tease you, landing a wet smack on your cunt that had you pathetic.

"Ah - ah," he clicks his tongue, catching your wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and pinning them against your waist, smirking at you in a way that's utterly not dirty at all. "No touching yet, sweetheart. I'm taking my time with you."

“Meanie,” he chuckles again, but you love it – feeling that strength as he grips you so tight. “My panties are ruined, Toru.”

“Mmm. Yes they are,” he tugs them again, looking at how wet the material is, just a pathetic little scrap of fabric with your juices pouring.

Instead of showing you mercy and moving them, he just presses them further against you again, tongue shoving that fabric until it's flush with your needy clit, you swear you can feel his tastebuds as that tongue drags through the fabric, pausing everywhere that has you jerking and honing in.

Like this nerdy boy is studying you.

Oh. He is.

He's methodical, almost clinical with his research of your needy, clothed cunt just separated by this pathetic little piece of fabric, his tongue pressing more firmly against your soppy lil hole. She is pulsing around nothing, torturous strokes, pressing his fingers up and down, you're hot and sticky underneath his touch.

“Toru!” Your wrists are still pinned, his cock forgotten even though it's dripping down onto the soft, plush rug below his knees. Satoru finds your clit again and looks up under snowy lashes, you watch the drips of slick connect with that wickedly long tongue.

“Mmm. I bet I could see myself inside you,” he whispers, you suck in a breath at that, as if he is measuring the distance of your entrance to your belly button, easing your wrists to tug up your top, nipping your puffy lips over the fabric. “Scientifically.”

“Then experiment, scientifically.” He chuckles like the little shit he is, finding your clit once more, a hand pressing where he imagines his cock would bulge out.

“You are so needy f'me, s'pretty like this,” his words slur as he wraps his plump lips around your twitchy clit, barely concealed and swollen underneath the cotton material that is dripping wet. He pulls it in his mouth and sucks it hard through your panties, humming against you.

You're aching, cunt filling his hungry mouth as your hands land back on his hair, his movements making you cry out and buck your hips against his mouth for more.

“So sweet right now, god, look at that…”

Satoru is so close to cumming when he grabs his cock at the base again, squeezing so goddamn hard – he could almost bet that if he felt your cunt without the fabric, he'd spurt his white ropes everywhere.

Make a mess of you.

“Mnh. You close, sweetheart?”

Your answer is a jerky little nod, as he keeps torturing you with this fucking barrier, his teeth grazing that tiny clit ever so lightly through the fabric, making you scream out, your head falling back. Your panties are absolutely ruined now, utterly transparent with your slick and his spit coating them, your sweet little cries rushing through his ears.

Satoru? Well, he laps at the mess he's making happily, his tongue coating the entire area in circles that deliberately avoid that spot until you're twitching, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Such a messy girl," he moans out those words, eyes black when they peek up at you, his voice husky as your slick clings to his lips. "Soaking these pretty little panties f’me.”

“Please, Toru… move ‘em please,” he smirks and decides to have mercy on you, tugging them to the side of one of your lips and exhaling, watching the slick drool and spill down. You gasp as the air hits your cunt, already aching and needy, the dampness making it a cool shock.

“Fuck, you're so pretty,” he murmurs, his cock just about to bust without his touch, he glides his tongue from your ass all the way to your clit, looking right up at you. “Is this what you were thinking of, hmm? My tongue inside you?”

“Your cock, too,” he chuckles against you, but just a couple more flicks has you close, as he spreads your cunt wide, studying your every expression.

“Look at that. My slutty little girlfriend.”

Satoru is trying his best to hold it together, but when his tongue glides into your gummy walls and they grip him, he's too far gone, slurping up every bit of the cum that just pours out. You shatter so damn pretty, squirting all over his face, dripping down his chin until it's glossy, his cock starts pulsing right with your hole, imagining her milking him.

“F-fuckk….”

“Toru, mnh! S'good I… please…” You’re overheated, body sensitive, it’s just not enough, even with his tongue lavishing every bit of your pussy.

Not enough.

“Please what, baby? Mnh,” he grips his veiny cock as he cums with his tongue on your clit, more of your mess drenching his throat, his face, his shirt. His white ropes coat his hand, lashes fluttering shut as he savors your jumping clit in his mouth, whining against you.

“Want your cock in my mouth, Toru please…” he exhales, breath making you jolt, looking up at you with a blush.

“I um…” he leans back on his knees and you see the mess, blushing at it. 

“I didn't touch you though…”

“Didn't need to,” he's clearly a little embarrassed, you take his cum soaked hand then – dripping white – and wrap your mouth around one of his thick fingers. “Oh fuck…”

You suck him right off, tasting that salty white substance and moaning as it hits your taste buds. Satoru pulls back and laps it off his own fingers, before kissing you right with it, the mess spilling between your mouths and dripping down.

Satoru Gojo – your nerdy boyfriend with an insane Digimon collection was a fucking freak, greedily drinking his own cum off your mouth.

You’re trembling when the door knocks, and you faintly remember that he has ordered you boba. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend after that, considerate, caring, cleaning the little rivulets of your own release from your inner thighs – you’re stuck back on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling him and watching a movie.

Satoru even has the audacity to snore after, heavy body wrapping as you ache to get filled by him – at least the movie was so damn boring you drift off right next to him.

****

“I’m gonna die a virgin,” you mumble to Shoko and Utahime the next weekend, aside from more heated kisses and grinding on Satoru’s thigh after your well planned out dates – nothing.

You’re aching.

How much use could your rose toy really see!? And now you even have two more toys going along with it, though you doubt any of them are getting close to Satoru and how good he must feel. No ‘clit sucker’ could come close to what that nerdy little mouth could do.

“You look like you’re dying, girl, damn…” Utahime earns your glare. “Is it that bad?”

“He finally got me off and…” You blush now, unable to finish your sentence, remembering his tongue drinking up your juices.

“Does he know what a clit is?”

“Very much so, it was so good.”

They look surprised.

“You all have no clue, he really was,” Shoko laughs at that, leaning back and hitting the vape, handing it over to you. “No, no.”

“You need a smoke, sweets,” you grimace, brushing your hair back, pacing back and forth as the two girls watch you, snuggling with each other. “You’re pacing holes in the carpet.”

“I can’t handle this, I just… god I wanna suck his dick, is it so terrible? He hasn’t even let me touch it. I sound like a horny ass man, I hate it. I wanna respect him, I really do.”

“You wanna respect him with his cock in your throat?” Shoko finishes.

“Yes. I mean!? I will respect him without the cock in my mouth! You two are menaces.”

They’re laughing like the brats they are, blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, you damn near moan in frustration. Satoru’s gotten you off that one time, then since then he has gone right back to worshipping you in the sweet way he always did, as if you’ll what – forget about his tongue?

His stupidly long fingers…

The cum on your tongue that you lapped right off!?

The taste.

“Ugh -” you lean back and sink further into the couch. “I really am gonna die.”

“Can’t die, we’ve got that party tonight,” Utahime teases, kissing Shoko’s lips and giggling just a bit, you pout at the two of them.

In public Satoru would kiss your hand at best.

Where on earth even had that freak come from that spit his cum in your mouth last week!? He’s all gone again – the pocket protector wearing Nerd Gojo in his place, like some twin fucking took over for a minute.

“I can’t go to a party and get drunk, I’ll make a fool of myself around him, one drink and my pussy has a mind of its own…” You finally sit down, plopping back into the seat. “I feel like a pervert.”

“You are! Let’s just call you fucking pervy Sage.”

“Hey!” You glare at Utahime, Shoko is inhaling another puff of smoke, you cough just a bit. 

“Hah – Sanji from One-”

“Don’t even!? I’m not that bad,” you huff at her, frowning now. “I swear I'm not trying to be pervy. God, what is in this weed?”

“Hmm,” Shoko tugs Utahime on her lap. “I wonder if he's scared you'll like … bite his dick.”

“You're so fucking mean,” you cough a little more, eyes watering as you scowl at the two of them.

“Look slutty, like really slutty,” Shoko walks up now, tilting your chin up and crooking her lips up at the corner. “Something that screams – fuck me.”

“He licked my panties and didn’t even…”

“Really slutty,” Utahime agrees, tapping her chin. “Ooh! I know, I have the perfect outfit in mind, that little black dress of yours.”

“But it’s too small for me now! It’s from like high school, and thanks to you two cooking all the time, my hips-”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? Oh…”

You trail off now, realizing what everyone knew – that Satoru loves your hips, he grabbed on to them every chance he got, even when he was just a little bit shy.

“Okay…”

They kiss again in front of you, laughing a bit, making you lovesick for your man – your nerdy man who you wish would kiss you in that way, tongues all dripping. It’s not even fair.

“All lovey dovey, fuck you both.”

They’re so hot and rude laughing at you – you decide to just disappear, you don’t need your hot ass best friends making out in front of you when you’re already in pain from the constant edging from Satoru. You are rushing to your room and trying on outfit after outfit, before finally deciding on the exact fucking one they brought up.

You would look as sexy as you could and hopefully get your boyfriend to not be able to resist you.

But also you’ll respect his decision, dammit! You can wait as long as he wants to, even if you were absolutely gonna put your tits and ass out there for him. Looking in the mirror and touching up your lipstick, swiping a finger across your lower lip to smudge it just a tad.

“Oh damn you look hot, Sanji,” Utahime says when you come out.

“I am not Sanji.”

“You are.”

“Fuck you both!”

*****

Satoru can’t keep his damn eyes off you.

Fuck you’re pretty tonight.

That damn little black dress clinging to your skin is fucking ruining Satoru’s mind, brain short circuiting as the two of you navigate the insanely packed frat house, one of his hands on the small of your back protectively. People are all bumping into everyone, stumbling around, absolutely no chance he lets someone hurt you by accident.

Moreso, Satoru Gojo can’t get his fucking hands off you, no, he can feel your warmth right through the thin layer of cotton material, fingers splaying across it. He reminds himself in his head over and over just what a horrible thing it would be to fucking take your first time at a frat party, even as he has to adjust his cock, turning from you to face the wall for a moment.

“Everything okay, Toru?” You ask softly, hand on his back, he laughs, a fake and terrible attempt at being normal, turning right back around to you.

“Me!? Yes, yes. Do you need a drink, babydoll?” He asks.

The music kicks on as he speaks, and all you can see are his plump lips forming words, ringing from how damn loud they’re blaring the worst dance music known to man. “What!!”

“A drink!!”

“Huh?”

“A DRINK-”

The music pauses for just a minute, switching to something else but leaving multiple people to stare at Nerdy Gojo shouting.

You blink a bit at his shouting, he swears he’ll kill Suguru and Nanami for having the audacity to fucking laugh at him and his pain. Them smoking weed earlier and trying to give him every tip known to man on how to bury said tip right against that surely cute little cervix.

As if Satoru hadn’t studied extensively.

“Yes, please,” you smile all pretty, letting him guide you through, he just about loses it from the sheer amount of eyes locked onto you, gripping you just a little too tight, feeling the curve of those breedable hips underneath his fingertips.

Imagine having them bent over, his hands fit so perfect-

No, he can make it another night, a dumb frat party was not the time or place for something so precious as your first time. Even if you smell that good, and you’re dancing all over him, giggling, your ass brushing right against where his cock has tented his dark jeans.

Your drink in one hand, the other in his as he pulls you against him, for a nerdy boy, Gojo can absolutely move his body. You feel so goddamn good against him, with your waist in his grip now, his lips pressed against your ear – he can inhale that sweet scent you just naturally fucking have.

That’s when he realizes he’s about to cum if your ass rubs up on his cock one more damn time with those heels making you tall enough, he could bend you over and slide it right in. God he bets you’re so wet too.

Satoru has to pull back, making you blink just a bit in confusion, he downs the rest of his drink, smiling apologetically.

“Bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Oh, um… okay, want me to-”

Satoru runs the fuck off.

Maybe you’re doing too much, shit… you were absolutely grinding all up on Satoru because you were craving him so bad. You needed to give him more time! If the roles were reversed, you know he would, even if he may want to as badly as you do. Going to pour yourself a shot, you throw it back and let your eyes shut, sighing just a bit as it burns your throat.

You need to ease up and let Satoru take his time, even if you have to press your thighs together to resist the needy urge of rubbing your cunt on anything right now.

Maybe you are fucking Sanji.

*****

Satoru’s leaned back on the door, unzipping his pants and seeing his reddened cockhead, and just how fucking swollen it is. He’s jerking his cock desperately, whimpering out as the door gets knocked on, banged on in fact by fucking Sukuna of all people.

“Gotta take a piss man, stop jerking it.”

“I’m not!? I’m pissing right now – w-wait,” Satoru is jerking it of course, but how dare Sukuna call him out on it. Dickhead fratboy that he is, he’s chuckling outside of the door, but none of it is getting rid of Satoru’s throbbing erection.

He’s just way too needy, too sensitive, he can see his reflection in the mirror – those flushed pink cheeks. Sukuna thankfully fucks off, but Satoru can't even cum with just his hand, not when he knows your little fist would feel so much better, when your mouth and pussy would grip him.

No, Satoru is left tortured.

*****

You are alone for some time, concerned if he was somehow drunk or sick when the leader of the frat – the slutty ass, pink haired jock named Sukuna comes up to you, sipping his cup and flickering his red eyes up and down your face.

“Hmm, Gojo left you all alone?”

“And?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him now, he smirks just a bit, leaning close. “He’s busy. Okay?”

“Mmm… yeah,” he peeks over his shoulder now, then looks right back down at you. “So.”

“So, what?”

He grins all big. “Wanna play beer pong?”

“Beer pong?”

“Mhm,” he tugs at a little lock of your hair. “Bet I stomp your ass at it. Look like such a good girl.”

“Hah you think I've never been to a party!?”

“Never seen you before aside from with your nerdy lover boy,” he pours you a drink now and inclines his head.

“I've partied, just… usually me and Toru are busy.”

He snorts at that.

So busy your boyfriend is jerking his cock in the bathroom.

“I see, so busy, huh?”

“Yes but…” you curse now, shaking your head. Satoru has been gone fifteen minutes and won't answer a text, a game of beer pong wouldn't hurt. “Fine then.”

It doesn’t take long until there is an entire gathering of people to watch you absolutely annihilate Ryomen Sukuna in beer pong, to the point he is fucking furious. You're landing the pong ball in every cup, decimating the entire frat at a certain point, giggling as you study them, down to the last shot, against Sukuna again.

“Beginners luck or some shit,” he’s fucking furious – you swear you see his vein ticking underneath his jaw.

Satoru is still not here.

You’re worried but you’re also enjoying the cheers, especially when you land that last one, giggling as the frat brothers who were talking all that shit about the nerdy girlfriend of Satoru moments before are now staring in disbelief. With one final, perfect arc, the ball splashes into the last cup. 

It really is beginner's luck.

But.

Also, fuck Sukuna.

"Damn, girl!" someone yells, and you take a little bow, rubbing it right in Sukuna’s face now, who is slamming down the rest of his beer.

Surely he drank enough to get annihilated – but somehow still standing just normal, big ass man has some insane tolerance because those eyes look completely aware.

"Guess I'm not such a good girl after all, huh?" you tease Sukuna, who's standing there looking down at you, setting the cup down and crushing it.

“Hmmm,” his red eyes dilate just a bit as he steps closer to you, suddenly making you feel just a bit nervous.

Satoru hates Sukuna.

It’s well known, since high school the two of them have been overcompetitive and absolutely insane against each other. He’d be fucking furious if he saw you anywhere near him at all. You peek and see him across the crowd then, getting a text from Shoko blinging on your phone.

He’s really mad.

He is.

You get another text now from Utahime, biting down on your lower lip.

Make him jealous and maybe you’ll get dicked down, Sanji.

“I’m not Sanji,” Sukuna raises a brow, lips twitching. “I’m not.”

“Sanji? Who the fuck is that?”

“One piece?”

“Nerd – hey, wait,” you’re turning and he grabs your wrist for just a moment. “Shit, I mean… you’re right, you’re not a good girl, huh?”

“I sure beat your ass,” you say, pausing when he reaches out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray piece of hair back from your face, rough knuckles brushing against your cheek for a second too long.

"You did, you're full of surprises, brat.”

“Brat? Whatever…”

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you – you’d pull back, but part of you wonders if making him jealous would bring that freak out that spit cum in your mouth – maybe you are a brat. You sip your drink, remaining normal.

“I’m dating Satoru, you’re too close.”

“Would nerdy ass Satoru know what to do, how to handle your ass?” He taunts, your eyes narrow, his laugh echoing despite the music as your boyfriend starts shoving his way through. “Show you that digimon collection?”

“I’m very pleased, thank you.”

“You look like you need to get your attitude fucked right out of you,” your fingers itch to slap him now. “If he fucks up, you know where to find me.”

“No thank you, I- Toru!”

Satoru is between you and Sukuna, shoving him off and glaring right at him – perhaps the two tallest men at the party right face to face, Sukuna’s smirk making Satoru want to punch him.

“Why are you so close to my future wife?”

“Wife?” You blush and he glares at you.

“Yes, and baby momma – but you’re being a brat,” he whispers, Sukuna snorts at that.

“She is a brat.”

“You can’t call her that,” he shoves the big ass man and takes your hand now. “She has better shit to do than talk to you.”

“Aw, but we were having fun,” Satoru is dragging you away, you blink just a bit, almost scowling at Sukuna who blows you a kiss.

What a dick.

BUT.

Satoru is fuming, and he’s hot.

You’re so toxic!

“What’s wrong, Toru? I was just playing some beer pong,” you say all innocently, as he drags you past everyone, you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Um… what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!? Hah,” he’s laughing, psychotic and feral like you turned on a switch in his brain, when he finally starts getting some privacy. “Everything.”

“I don’t get it…”

“He was hitting on you,” Satoru yanks you away in the center of the party, you barely bite back your giggle at how excited you are to see him this way, looking ever so serious when he glares down at you.

Maybe you are evil, loving how mad he is, how jealous he is when he presses you against the hallway wall on the other side of the party, you can feel the music humming through the walls, but not as fast as your heart is racing looking up at your blue eyed boyfriend. Blue eyed angry boyfriend.

This isn't sweet Satoru at all, no – he's completely fucking unhinged, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths, cupping your face and jerking your chin to look up at him.

“You think he was?” You ask softly, making him raise a brow. “I thought he was just… being nice?”

You make him laugh without humor now, thumb brushing across your lip. “Are you being bratty, sweetheart? Teasing me, making me jealous?”

“What? No,” you straight up fucking lie to his face, batting your lashes all innocent and cute, but you can tell my that little smirk he doesn’t buy any of it for shit right now.

“No?”

“No, I was just talking, Toru. Isn't that fine?” You trail your hands up his chest, wrapping your fingers around to hook behind his neck, tugging him down to face you. “It’s fine for me to make friends, isn’t it?”

“Not when he's looking at these pretty tits,” he cups one, making you suck in a breath – your needy boyfriend is never this bold. “They're not his to look at.”

“Oh?” You lean forward now, tip toeing as he leans low, thumb brushing over a nipple, making it perk up for his touch. “Are they yours? Yours to look at?”

He’s losing it, his pulse hammering behind his ears, in his wrists, everywhere was hammering, his mouth practically salivating as he cups that tit right where anyone can see, big hand squishing it. You gasp out at the sensation, your lashes fluttering closed, little whines mingling against his lips.

“Yes, mine, every inch of you is mine,” Satoru shakes his head now with a soft laugh. “He thought he could dance with you. Kiss your lips? Lips that are mine.”

“All yours,” you open your eyes and giggle again, earning his scowl. “Sorry you're just so cute like this.”

Satoru blinks.

“Oh, I’m cute?”

You go to press a kiss when he snatches you up in one swoop, you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck now. Thighs trembling as he carries you to some room he finds, stumbling you in and shoving you right against the door.

“You think I'm cute,” he presses his cock against your slick heat, slutty little panties practically ruined for him, grinding his cock until you're gasping out. “Well I think that you're a brat.”

You gasp. “Me?”

Two people calling you that.

Well… maybe you are.

“You are bratty, with those pretty fucking lips,” he's kissing you filthy, tongues dancing, saliva dripping between you both, easing you down so that you slide against his body achingly slow. “Maybe I should shut your bratty mouth up.”

Oh fuck.

“Yes please?” He glares at your big fucking grin. 

“On your knees then, sweetheart,” you so eagerly obey, he laughs softly, his heart hammering in his chest, a mix of being utterly furious, nervous about his first time, and dumbstruck by the sight of your heart eyes. “Look at you, bein’ such a good girl – but are you really that desperate to suck me?”

“Please yes,” you have no shame – all you want is Satoru’s cock deep and buried in the back of your throat. “If you want though! C-consent.”

“As if I haven’t wanted this for years,” he shakes his head and tilts your chin up, sighing. “I wanted to do it all perfect, to lick and kiss every inch, worship your body until you were writhing, so fucking needy for it.”

Satoru unclicks his belt, the metallic click hitting your ears. “Mnh… years?”

"Years," he repeats softly, unbuttoning his jeans entirely too slow for you, you go to move your hands and he halts them with a little smack, you bite down on your lip, aching. “Hands on your thighs, you’ll listen to me for once, since you’ve been driving me so fucking crazy.”

“Me, making you crazy, really,” you do as he says though – eagerly – palms on your thighs, he laughs a bit, the sound of his zipper lowering echoing in the room even with the reverberating walls.

“You know every time you drag that messy cunt on me it ruins me, right?” He draws out that word, sighing now. "Every time you wore those little skirts and bent over, every time you'd bite your lip while concentrating…”

Satoru drags a thumb down your lip now, achingly slow against the plumpness that moves underneath it, your teeth nip on his thumb teasingly, and then you let him push your mouth open.

“Open real wide, sweetheart,” you do just that, and he can’t help but whimper as he presses down on your tongue, as if he’s studying the recesses of your open, eager mouth. “Wider, can’t you? For me?”

You listen eagerly, opening wide and fucking obscene, your tongue out for any bit of him he wants to give you, core just aching.

“Fuck, I've imagined this exact moment."

Satoru won’t tell you just how long he has, either, he swallows – just a bit nervous now.

“Suck,” you suck his digits, slurping them and moaning around them, imagining his cock instead, loving how dominant he’s being. “Stop.”

You obey, making him raise a brow.

“You like me tellin’ you what to do? Is that why you got me so fucking mad, so jealous, to have you listen?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, as he shoves his jeans down, and the hard, thick length of his bugle strains against the thin fabric of his boxers. “Pokemon? You traitor!”

“I can’t wait to shut your mouth up tonight,” you giggle at that, Satoru sighs and frowns at them, brushing your hair back a bit. “They were a gift, okay?”

“I’ll buy you digimon ones.”

“God, you’re so perfect,” you’re still giggling, when he gently smacks your face – the lightest little touch that has you almost moaning. “Open up again, yeah? Be a good girl, baby.”

“Mmm, yes,” you nod your head, doing just as he says – the side of freaky Satoru you only saw hints of last week when he’d lavished your panties with his long tongue.

“You got me jealous on purpose, yeah? Wore that slutty outfit to fucking ruin me, wanted cock in your throat that bad? Got me fucking leaking so much… fuck…”

Your answer is to keep that mouth open, leaning forward as you lap your tongue along the damp spot where his pre cum has already soaked through, right over a traitorous yellow pikachu. You’ll make more fun of that later, right now he’s jerking his hips, hissing at the drag of your cute lil tongue on him.

“Fuck…” You’re teasing him just like he did you – licking and sucking his tip over the damp cotton of his boxers. “Act so sweet and you’re evil, shouldn’t feel that good through that… mmm…”

Satoru’s letting you suck around his fat cockhead, slurping every bit of his white cum from it, tongue lolling right along that slit over and over.

“Torturing me back?”

“Yep,” you lick your lips, making him sigh, shaking his head now.

“Go on then, take what’s all yours…" his voice is low, hoarse damn near as he for the very first time pulls his cock out, letting it spring free, slapping against his lower abdomen with a loud, wet smack. “Can you fit all of it?”

You knew he’d be big.

You didn’t know he’d be that big, with his jeans undone all slutty, his pokemon boxers shoved down – his cock is perfect, just the right amount of thick and entirely too fucking long, with a prominent pale blue vein running along the underside. You’re literally drooling as he strokes it right in front of you, the head flushed a deep, pretty pink as it leaks white.

You’re soaked, fucking ruined.

“I can.”

You cannot.

Maybe?

You will try!

“Go on then, sweetheart, lemme see how good you can take all of me,” he chuckles as you lean forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Teasin’ me more?”

You lap your tongue up, keeping your hands right where he asked you too, sliding underneath so you hit that frenum. His sharp inhale is met with his huge hand tugging in your hair so hard it hurts, pulling at the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck… greedy lil mouth,” he’s damn near slurring his words when you swirl your little tongue around the head, lapping up the salty taste of his cock underneath, brushing along that vein. He whimpers out when you wrap your lips around it and suck. “Oh my… f-fuck…”

Satoru loses it the first time you really suck his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you down further as his other hand rests on the doorway, beginning to move so that he’s choking you. You’re whining out, aching to touch your cunt so bad you slide your fingers down.

“So desperate,” he tuts his tongue, fucking your throat now, his cock slamming the back of it as tears spill. “B-baby, is this s’okay?”

You pull back as he does, with a wet, filthy pop, grinning. “I want it, all the way deep in my throat, Toru, I can take it.”

“You can take all of it in that tiny lil’ throat? When she’s this tight?” He whispers, your nod makes him glare now. “Have you done this?”

You blink a bit. “Yes?”

“Then I’ll fuck your throat so hard you’ll forget anything but me,” he takes you over now, slamming deep inside, you’re whimpering as one of his feet spread your thighs, and you’re soaking his black boot. “That’s it, rutting on my boot and taking cock like a little slut, hmm?”

“Mnhgh…” you’re done for, this is exactly what you needed, him railing your throat until you can’t think, until you’re gagging and tears are spilling.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, you do just that as he presses deep, sniffling as you try to take all of him, he hisses as he feels his tip stretching that tight throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You know I fucking love you? And respect you?”

You giggle around him and he glares.

“You have to know if I’m gonna say all this,” you pull back again, fingers all coated in your slick, gliding it along his sticky tip.

“I know you love me, Toru. I love you…” He sighs, touching your cheek. “I love you talking to me this way, you could be meaner.”

“Oh? Fuck my frustration on your throat?”

“Please?”

“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, slamming right back inside, now that he knows you’re okay, he can lose control, see how much you can take, as you grind on that shoe, nails now pressing in the muscles of his thighs, jeans slipping down. “Want our first time to really be right against this door? Shove your slutty skirt up and ruin your cunt for fuckin’ anyone?”

God, Satoru’s sexy like this, fogged glasses and all.

Your answer is to take him all the way, your nose brushing against the white hair, the tufts of it tickling your nose, he’s stuttering now, unable to stop himself from fucking faster, harder, the wet sounds mixing with his whines. He doesn’t hold them back, either, every time he does he feels a fresh gush of wetness even over that leather, he can see it shimmering as he pulls back and slaps his cock on your mouth.

“Slutty girl, this all f’me, huh? Not that fucking loser downstairs?”

“All you.”

“Hold that tongue out,” you do just that, and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue over and over, as you keep grinding on him. “Can’t believe you’re this much of a pretty little whore, god I thought you were a good girl?”

“Toru… please…”

“Please what?” You just keep rubbing. “Desperate, fuck… stand up.”

You can hardly do that when he helps you by tugging you up, spitting directly in your mouth, you swallow it greedily, earning his pathetic moan as he turns you, shoving you against that door. “Mnh!”

“Stop me before I fill all your fucking holes with cum,” he’s kissing down your neck, his glasses cool against your neck, whines escaping his lips as he shoves that slutty lil dress up the gentle curve of your hip. “All of them, I’ll have your cunt drippin’, your throat full, fuck that ass while I’m at it.”

“Mngh, please, please,” it’s all you can do but to arch.

“That needy?” He’s tugging your panties to the side, dragging his tip up and down over and over, moans escaping his lips when he bends down, turning your face to him. “First time in a frat house against a door? You’re so wet do I even need to finger you right now?”

“Already did,” you answered, he laughs, shaking his head and kissing you, rubbing even more, teasing your slit with the fat head of his cock until you’re weak, your thighs shaking. “Please, please….”

“Please what, fuck your cunt for the first time? That’s what you’ve been wanting, me to lose it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, teasing even more, mouth messy and mean as he bumps your clit, until you squirt right down his length, dripping all down the carpet.

Sukuna’s carpet – it’s his room you faintly notice, as you see the little pictures on the walls.

You wonder if Satoru meant that.

“Squirting already, haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulls back and bends down, slamming his cock so deep you scream out, head falling back as he tugs your hair, making your ass arch out as he fills you. “Oh my g-god… baby…”

“Toru,” he lets you adjust to his thickness, the very first time your cunt has ever been filled – and this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.

He wanted to stretch you out – one finger, two, then three – but you’re so soaked you suck him right in. Such a tight, perfect fit he can hardly take it, bending down to press sweet kisses on your bare shoulders, easing back and shoving in again, taking your hand and placing it on your tummy, pressing so you feel it all.

“Feel me here?” He asks softly, desperately – worried for a moment with how tight you are that he’s hurt you, but your answer is to look back at him with those slutty, parted lips and dilated eyes, nodding. “Who’s inside you?”

“You, Toru.” you answer, cunt spasming as she’s already close, his body overtaking you, wrapping and tugging, shoving even deeper.

“Who’s first?”

“You.”

“Who’s gonna make this cunt stretch out?”

“Y-you and… ah!”

“Mine, mine… fuck you’re all mine,” Satoru gave you that minute to adjust, a last mercy before your nerdy boyfriend fucking loses his mind. “Mine, this pretty body, this perfect pussy… you… mine…”

“Yours,” you whisper it over and over as Satoru fucks your messy cunt, even though it’s hard to take, you’re so full it feels perfect, letting his hand wrap your throat, fingers pressing on either side of your windpipe. “Ah!”

“Hah – such a perfect fit, made f’me,” he’s fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, cock gliding in and out of your sticky, gummy walls, fucking you so goddamn messy it's dripping down between your thighs. “B-babyyy…”

You arch for more when he pulls out of your cunt with a filthy squelch and you whine from the loss. “Back in, please…”

He lifts and carries you to the bed, thighs shoved wide, feral now as he shoves back inside and sees himself moving inside you. Every slick glide smoothing your puffy cervix, until she is bruised and aching, that dress shoved higher, panties tugged firmly to the side. He uses both to move in you, laughing as you gasp out, as your thighs tremble.

“Aw, is it too much, sweetheart? Too deep?”

Feral Satoru is here, mixed with sweet Toru, but his cock is anything but sweet – the way it stretches you out, fucking ruins you, pummels your cunt so deep you’re about to cum all over his length, already sensitive.

“Mhm!”

“Full of me?”

“Nghhhh…”

You don't know how the fuck else to answer, it all is entirely too much, the way he can see his cock print, his insane laugh, those blue eyes glittering with the frames fallen off. So blue it hurts to look at, eyes almost threatening to close.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me, that's it,” Satoru keeps pumping into your cunt, leaning up to shove your thighs against your tits, smushing them as he fucks you dumb.

He knows it too.

“Can't think?”

“mmm, nnnhhh,” your answer is pathetic and just a babble really, as your nerdy, once virgin boyfriend pummels your messy, needy cunt until she's stuffed so full it hurts. Your nails pressing into biceps, digging in as he stretches your puffy lips on it.

“Can’t even fucking talk – already?” Your eyes roll back in your skull as his cock ruins your pussy, so deep you do feel him all over.

“Gonna pump you so full, hah will you finish college without me breeding your cunt?” Satoru Gojo is batshit insane, as he leans over you, bending you so that you're folded in half under his heavy weight. “What would you do then, hmm? If I breed your slutty cunt? Make you mine.”

“Want it, mmm,” you’re utterly fucking shameless about it, feeling his bruising grip, his cock getting creamy at the base as his heavy balls slap.

“Jerked it in the bathroom, had me so hard,” you bite down on your lip, gasps escaping your throat, eyes locked. “You love that, huh? Driving me insane, slutty dress, pretty body… god…”

He presses your thighs down enough to tug your tits out, gripping them and exhaling, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaks.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking my cock so well, pretty girl. You’re just such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

You can only moan in response, your body trembling as he hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, your answer is to grip his hips with your thighs, letting him cup your face, pumping you so full that you can feel it all over. Warm and hot when he whines out so pathetically in your ringing ears, slutty little moans falling from your lips.

“Takin’ all of it, god…” He kisses you even as you shatter, your cunt spasming all around his veiny length, milking him for every drop. “So fucking greedy. So needy.”

He leans down and captures your lips, spurts of cum still pouring, you can feel him twitching, nails pressing into the strong muscles of his back. “Toru… l-love… toru y-you…”

“Cock drunk, sweetheart?” He teases, like the menace he really is – but he also lovingly caresses your cheek. “You took me like you were made for me.”

“I did?” You’re so damn drunk off him you’re slurring your words, pussy achingly empty, feeling his cum slipping out.

“You did a very good job. Such a good girl.”

“Yay!”

Satoru snorts at you, shaking his head and peppering kisses, leaned up on an arm, his shirt half open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. “You’re s’cute… I wanted to take it easy your first time.”

“I loved it,” you admit, yawning now, peeking around the room. “Mmm, can we go home though?”

“Of course we will,” he kisses down your body though, breath ghosting your thighs, spreading them to watch the filthy mess of his cum pour out, groaning. “You’re wasting it all, baby.”

“Hmm? Ah!” Satoru scoops some of that mess up against his fingertips, shoving it right back inside your quivering hole. You’re gripping him tight, thighs clamping down on his hand, as he smirks. “Toru you’re… crazy…”

“Mmm, you really have no idea what I have wanted to do,” he clicks his tongue, pushing that cum deep again, watching your every expression. “Gonna keep you so full of cum it’ll drip everywhere.”

Satoru does not just fuck you once, no – he makes sure to bend you over in the backseat of his car, fucking cum back inside. Once you're at his house he is pumping ropes of cum on your tits, laughing at how messy you get coated in white, before spreading it all over your body.

Satoru fingers and fucks all that cum inside until you're a trembling mess in his arms, passing out and snoring.

“So funny you started all this but then couldn't keep up, hmm?” He teases softly, cleaning you up, cock sore from how you gripped him, how much he came. But even the sight of milky drops escaping your hole had him damn near twitching back to life, groaning against your skin.

*****

“Good morning,” your nerdy boyfriend is littered in pretty kiss marks, indentions of your teeth all down his neck, a loopy smile on his face as he stands there shirtless, glasses firmly back on.

“Oh! Good morning…” you thought you'd be the one to ruin Satoru Gojo, ride his cock till he whimpered and cried from overstimulation.

You had no clue he'd fuck you so good you couldn't sit up right without his help, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your lips, tilting your chin up and smirking. You're a mess.

A pretty mess.

Hair fucked up, covered in fingerprints and hickies, taking the coffee he brings and sipping it, sighing as it hits your tongue. “Mmm… good morning.”

“Don't you look pretty in my bed?” He muses, smirking on his features. “I wonder what Sukuna thought of his bed covered in your squirt.”

A blush heats up your cheeks. “I didn't squirt that much!?!?!”

“You really did,” you shove him playfully, giggling then. “My cum too though.”

“You did it on purpose, his room!”

“Me? Never.”

Satoru absolutely did.

That's what Sukuna gets for hitting on his girlfriend, dried up cum all on his blankets – as if he could handle you ❤️

heheh i hope ya'll liked horny reader for a change!!!

Patreon -- comms

[fangirl-dot-com]

The Menu

tags: chef!jack abbot x fem!reader, based on The Menu, suicide (not reader), off page murder, canon movie violence, misogynist (not jack), power imbalance, small age gap, pet names, morally gray reader, dark!jack abbot, smut, oral (fem!receiving), piv (unprotected), afab reader, 18+ NSFW MDNI

notes: big thank you to @oxalaia-quilombensis for co-writing this with me!! please go follow her, she has amazing jack abbot fics that I just eat up! I hope you all liked reading this as much as I liked planning and writing this and, like always, if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!

word count: 8.2k

Each wet smack of food in between teeth and tongue slathered with too much saliva grated against your bones and made your skin itch. 

Your knuckles stretched white against the table’s edge, and your fingernails molded crescents into the table cloth. Your eye twitched continuously in a manner that made it impossible to ignore. With each minute that ticked by, you found yourself wishing you hadn’t accepted the food smacker’s invitation to dine at the exclusive North & Vine, the restaurant ran by word famous chef, Jack Abbot. 

The man wasn’t foreign to you; his face was pretty much on every cooking magazine you could get your hands on. With his salt-and-peppered curls and no-fucks-given attitude paired with a highly seasoned and awarded background for serving the country on the battle front, Jack Abbot was a spectacle for Instagram foodies and middle-aged home cooks alike. His smile being easy on the eyes also didn’t help the flutter of your stomach when he flashed you a quick one on the way in from the tour of the island.

However, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled as the courses went on, especially when murmurs picked up when the third course was handed out. While people shifted in their seats, you stared at your “date” while he wolfed down his course without a second thought. Your hands did not move; your stomach did not hunger. No matter how fancy or how insane the courses were, you couldn’t find it within yourself to pick up the fork. Each deconstructed course that was gently settled before you twisted your stomach into knots. Your hindrance to dine also didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Are you going to eat that?” food smacker—Tyler’s—voice sounded louder than necessary, but it was enough to tear your eyes away from the heavy door that not one person went in or out of the whole evening. 

You glanced down at the plate and glared at its circulatory shape filled with a sauce and two scallops. “No.” 

His fork grated through the last wipe of his food as he wiped his face. “Can I have it then?” 

“Be my guest.” Your glare turned as sour as the first lemon course smelled when he rolled his eyes. “Is something wrong?” 

 “You’re acting like a child,” he hissed, small specs of food flying from his lips. “Do you know how much I paid to have us here?” 

You scoffed. “I wasn’t even your first choice, Tyler.” 

“Shouldn’t have been my second either.” His hand reached over the ornate center piece and snatched your plate, carelessly letting it fall in front of him. “Everything I do for you, you hate it.” 

“That’s because you never ask me what I think before you use your card,” you shot back in a whisper. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” 

“You’re so fucking ungrateful. You finally have someone cooking for you, and you’re being wasteful. Maybe next time I’ll leave you in the kitchen so you can complain about your own cooking.” He stuck your scallop into his jaws and clamped down with an overexaggerated moan. “Oh, that’s good.” 

Even if you wanted to hide your disgust, your face said it all. Here he was, moaning and ass-kissing a chef who didn’t even know his name, belittling you for something he couldn’t even do himself. Before you had given him the benefit of the doubt, he was living off of microwaveable meals while stealing stock photos for his own blog. 

The red flags were there, but the loneliness that bubbled in your chest had you chained to this . . .  beast of a man. There was nothing sophisticated about him, contrary to how he portrayed himself online. Every like he got on his sad posts was somehow so ego boosting, he claimed he was better than the chef standing a few yards away. The thought had you scoffing. And unfortunately, he thought the sound was meant for him. 

He thrusted a fork in your direction. “Oh, shut up. You haven’t eaten a bite, so keep your mouth shut.” 

Your teeth caught your tongue. He wasn’t worthy of your building anger. 

“Is there a problem here?” a new voice asked before being followed by a full choke. 

You looked over your shoulder and followed the tan apron up to a crows-feeted grin. If you leaned in close enough, you’d accidentally brush against the head chef. To your utter surprise, he was looking at you instead of the one currently gobsmacked even if he thought Jack Abbot was talking to him. 

Tyler smiled widely to the point you spotted a small stem of green stuck in teeth. “There’s no issue here. My date just isn’t—” 

Chef Abbot held up a hand, effectively silencing Tyler. “I wasn’t asking you.” He turned his body so that you were the only one on the receiving end of his attention. “Is there a problem here, miss?” 

A thick swallow slid down your throat. “No, chef. We were just talking.” 

You hoped he didn’t catch the way you broke eye contact halfway through speaking; if he did, he didn’t say anything either, only choosing to hold out a hand. 

“Then let’s just have a nice talk. Come with me please,” he said, voice deep and borderline sultry it went straight to your core. 

Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, instantly surprised by the sheer warmth of his skin. You didn’t look back as he softly guided you toward the kitchen, the noise of the chefs growing with each step. When you got closer, he dropped his hand, and for a moment, you missed the feeling before it planted itself in the middle of your back, his fingers slightly gripping the small pudge of your sides. 

“I was not aware you’d be attending this dinner,” he said close to your ear. “And I make it a priority of mine to make sure that I know exactly who is eating my food.” 

Your shoulders hunched in on themselves. “I guess I was a last-minute surprise.” You shook your head. “Or maybe a last-minute disappointment. I wasn’t exactly the first choice to accompany the man at my table for tonight.” 

He stopped you midway, allowing the heat and chaos to blend beautifully into your skin. “I’ve noticed you don’t seem too fond of my cooking.” 

A bashful smile spread onto your face. “I’m sure it’s great, Chef, but . . .” you trailed, eyes lighting with the fire from the grill. 

He shifted behind you, subtle enough to not show how much he was affected by the sound of Chef pushing through your lips. “But it’s not for you, is it?” 

The softness and understanding almost surprised you. Your hair swayed softly as you shook your head in backwards agreement to his words. 

“It’s not.” Your gaze lingered behind his shoulder at your table. “I thought maybe it could be if I tried hard enough.” 

“That’s the thing about food,” he started. “You shouldn’t have to try to like it. Food is so moldable like that. We make it into something that we know we’ll like. When force-fed, it becomes rotten and sour on the palate.” He leaned over and ran a fingertip through an off-white sauce before presenting it close to your mouth. “Try for me?” 

Your body tensed under the command, but you couldn’t help but follow his words, tongue peeking out to run hotly across his finger. Your eyes widened at the perfect blend of salt and tang and cream. 

“Oh,” you breathed. 

His smile widened. “Is that more to your liking?” 

“Yes. I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” A heat bloomed across your face as your mind caught up with what you just said. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he responded, reassuring you with two large hands on your shoulders. “I’m glad I’m capable of making something you’d actually enjoy.” 

“I knew you were more than capable,” you softly said, your looks melting into one of embarrassment. “It was my fault; I apologize for being so picky.” 

Short tsk, tsk, tsk clicked against his cheek while he shook his head. “Please. You’re hardly the pickiest eater I’ve had the pleasure of serving in my restaurant.” His eye caught something behind your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, darling, the next course is about to be served. Will you please make your way back to your table?” 

You fought the pout that tried to make its way onto your face and simply nodded. “Yes, Chef.” 

His eyes stayed trained on your figure the entire walk back to the corner table where Tyler looked a mix between rage and burning jealousy. Once you were seated, his greasy hands splayed across the table cloth as he leaned forward. 

“What the fuck was that?” he spat. “Is this some sort of ploy to embarrass me? You’re such a bitch, you know that? You can’t eat his food, but you can give him bedroom eyes? How pathetic—” 

An echoing clap cut him off, and all eyes in the room turned toward Chef Abbot, who stood tall before his kitchen.  

“Let’s begin our next course, shall we?” 

___________________________

Jack couldn’t quite hold back the smile that spanned across his face when he looked right at the pig sitting across from you—the diner who had managed to sneak her way onto the island. He clearly had a list of just a few, simple rules, and somehow Tyler fucking Ledford had broken all of them. 

The first had been inviting you instead of his first choice; Jack wasn’t ever keen on changing his guest list up. The second had been taking his phone out during each course in the most non-discrete way known to man; he hadn’t even been smart enough to turn the damn shutter sound off. And the third had been the way he belittled you when nothing Jack made tickled your fancy; the customer was always right. 

Tyler had been running ramped for far too long, so Jack, in all his spare time (which was none) walked right over and didn’t even spare him an eye. 

And oh how much more beautiful you were up close; he could hardly contain himself. His mind raced with ideas of what he wanted to do with you, all ranging from making you the best meal you’d ever tasted to laying you across the table and taking you right then and there. 

Instead, he had to be smart. 

Jack offered you his hand, which you took almost immediately, yours slightly smaller and fitting so well in his palm. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around yours while you stood, and he had to fight back the biggest smirk when Tyler’s jaw dropped. As long as Jack was breathing and acting as head chef, that pig wouldn’t get an ounce of his good graces. To throw oil into the flame, he guided you by the waist right into his kitchen knowing he shouldn’t be toying you at all since he planned to kill everyone in the room by the end of the night. 

But the way you leaned into him, the way your dress hugged your figure, the way your cheeks heated under his gaze made him yearn for you the way all chefs yearned for their best recipe. 

And he just had to go and let you lick sauce right off his finger like he was in his own personal kitchen at home. A moan had threatened to rumble through his chest at the fleeting warm and hot feeling around his digit, and Jack tried to rid himself of the thoughts of his fingers in other places that belonged to your body. 

However, nothing would touch the feeling of the way your eyes lit up when you finally enjoyed something he had made. You were teachable; you just needed the right chef to open your eyes to a whole new world of flavors and textures. Jack would make sure it’d be him to do so. He almost hated the way he had to send you back to that table like he was banishing you to the edge of his kingdom. 

Yet, good things come to those who wait. 

This time, he couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his body as all eyes turned toward him even if he was only looking towards you. His hands firmly clasped together near his front. 

“Guests, so far tonight, you’ve taken a culinary journey through our island through each course I have prepared for you tonight. However, for this next course, I want to switch things up a bit.” 

Everyone seemed to shift at his words. Jack Abbot did not just switch things up. Never once since North & Vine opened did he ever stray from his two-Michelin star menu. Top chefs kept everything the same so that the customers got the consistency they deserved. But tonight, his customers did not deserve his consistency, did not deserve Jack at his best. His hazel gaze shifted to Tyler.

“I keep tabs on all my customers because as much as you all know about me, I wanted to know about you.” He took a small step forward. “Mr. Ledford.” 

Tyler looked pathetically like one of those stupid crusty, white purse dogs that old women loved to fawn over as he perked up at the sound of his name. 

Another step. “I’ve been following your page, your ratings, your own recipes you like to flaunt all over your social media.” 

The man looked close to wetting himself out of excitement when he stood. “Chef Abbot, you don’t know how much that—” 

“So,” Jack interrupted, “tonight you will cook for us, since in your last post you boasted that you could recreate my famous pommes purée. Because according to you, no one can . . . fuck up simple mashed potatoes.” 

Jack’s chest puffed when his ears caught the small sound of a giggle from your direction when Tyler froze in his spot. Jack looked over his shoulder at his staff. 

“Come. We even have a coat for you.” 

Begrudgingly, Tyler shuffled across the way until he stopped near the front of the kitchen. Jack didn’t turn his way, instead staying facing his guests. 

“Please.” He opened his arms, hands widespread. “Join us in the kitchen so we can watch this bright, young talent follow his dream.” 

The scrapes of chairs against the floor were music to his ears, because Tyler was now just moments away from utter humiliation, his punishment for breaking each and every one of his rules. Jack wetted his lips as you seemed to be extremely eager to be the first to get close. Your heat had him inching closer, wishing his bare arm could press against your open skin. The dress that dripped from your body had him itching to tear it off. 

Patience. 

It was time to revel in the way Tyler was about to make himself a fool. 

Jack let his sly smile slide right onto his face each time the man burnt his hand on a stove before quickly giving him faux pouts and an overly saccharined tone that held zero ounces of actual concern. His chefs, on the other hand, couldn’t hide their disgust when Tyler burnt the butter or all but beat the potatoes instead of gently folding them through. Even you seemed to know better. 

“It’s the motion supposed to be folding and clockwise?” you whispered, lips dangerously close to his face.

Goosebumps raced across Jack’s arms at the feeling of your hot breath against his hear. His eyes stayed forward, face not moving an inch, when he responded just as quietly. 

“You know my method.” He hadn’t plated it as a question. 

You shied again under his shadow. “I watch your “Yes, Chef” on Food Network when I’m bored. Clearly someone lied about doing that too.” 

“How much has he lied about?” 

Your chin jutted out. “His photos are either stock images, or he pays people to get him pictures if he can’t get into a restaurant.” You crossed your arms. “I do most of the cooking when we’re together. He burned pasta the other week.” 

Something surged deep in his chest at your blatant honesty and willingness to spill everything about the fraud you were supposedly seeing. Jack wanted—no—needed him gone. He stepped half an inch closer to you, finally letting his skin brush against yours. It delighted him to feel the small response that your body gave him. 

He wanted to reply, wanted to feel your words against his chin, but the loud, unceremonious clatter of a plate against the steel counters had everyone flinching and drawing their attention back to the horrible mess that was happening before them. 

Jack raised an unimpressed eyebrow while Tyler acted like he himself was about to earn a Michelin star. Jack’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding down on each other at the thought of putting a small bite of that burnt mess into his mouth. No one could make him do that either, so, he took one look at the slop and leaned in. 

“Everyone,” he announced, “come look at what Tyler has made for us.” His spine straightened, back stretching the white shirt he wore beneath his apron. “Come see this absolutely pathetic attempt at what he has deemed simple mashed potatoes.” 

Tyler deflated visibly with splotchy red cheeks and tears lining his already droopy eyes. Jack didn’t hide his smile this time. He slowly stalked toward the man and leaned in close, lips barely an inch away from his face. 

His tone was low and dangerous as he whispered. “You came into my restaurant with pants too big for your wretched ass. You broke my rules, you insulted your woman in my presence—” Jack didn’t dare to let his eyes drifted over to where you were watching. “You are a sorry waste of space. Why don’t you do us all a favor and use that bucket in the closet wisely.” 

A loud sniffle whistled through Tyler’s nose. He didn’t nod, didn’t make a big deal about it. All he did was step back, shed the white coat from his shoulders and leave the small area, seemingly heading toward the men’s room. 

Jack turned back toward his guests. “You may all return to your seats for the next course.”  

However, when they all turned to move, Jack gently reached out and tugged you back into him. Your breath hitched at the movement, only returning to a semi-normal pace once you were settled into his side. 

“Is something the matter, Chef?” you asked. 

Jack shook his head. “I seem to have misplaced an ingredient I need for dessert, and I was wondering if you’d be so kind to go get it for me?” 

Normally, you wouldn’t have been so eager to please, but with the way Jack was looking down at you with heat and season in his eyes, you couldn’t help but nod with wide, wanting eyes. 

“I’d be honored.” 

His lips stretched into a grin. “Good girl. What I need is the bottle of vanilla that I keep in my cabin—you know the one?” 

You gave him another nod. 

“It should be in my pantry; middle shelf,” he listed. “The door is unlocked.” 

“Pantry; middle shelf,” you repeated, and the verbal confirmation made Jack’s soul sing. 

He was going to love every second of devouring you. His hand lightly tapped your behind as he shifted past you. “Get to it, darling.” 

Jack let his eyes trail your back while you walked away, his tongue running along his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the plush flesh. The only way he stopped looking at you was when you slipped out of the door and out of sight. 

With a heavy and almost relieved sigh, Jack turned back towards his diners and clapped loudly once again. All eyes turned his way, and an unexplainable pleasurable feeling bloomed in his chest. 

“Let’s continue with our final course: dessert.” 

___________________________

Your kitten heels clicked softly against the concrete path, casting a small echo in the vast forest. You kept your arms wrapped around your middle as a chill hugged your bare skin. Each step further into the trees had your heart skipping beats. Whether it was the unnerving want to obey Jack’s instructions or the feeling of being so exposed with no one around, you weren’t sure what you were feeling during your walk while your stomach flipped. 

The cold had you missing Jack’s heat even if you had barely brushed against him. His warm palms and sturdy mass had you wanting more, had you dreaming of what it’d be like to belong to him. Surely, he’d never let you go hungry. Surely, he’d speak kind words. Surely, he’d never make you doubt his intentions. 

You’d been so lost in your head, glimpses of Jack’s hands dragging along your body, that you almost missed the small cabin you’d seen hours earlier on the tour. The structure reminded you of something out of a horror film. Nothing gave a good plot like a lonely woman coming across an empty cabin in the woods. However, even with the frightening feeling, you continued on, hand reaching out to open the door when you got close enough. 

You expected the hinges to creak under your push, but it seemed like Jack didn’t just take care of his kitchen; he seemed to take care of what he was given by the looks of the well decorated interior. A lamp in the corner had been left on, allowing the living room to bathe in yellow light. A rug silenced your steps as you walked through and straight to the kitchen where the pantry wasn’t hard to find at all. 

When the pantry door opened, you were hit with a warm aroma of spices and herbs. Bundles of dried leaves hung from the ceiling while neat containers filled with various grains and powders lined each shelf. And right where Jack said it’d be, the middle shelf was lined with clear bottles topped off with vanilla beans suspended in ambery liquid. Your weight shifted onto your toes as you reached up, fingers curling firmly around the closest bottle before holding it to your chest. 

Since the job had been done, you took your time walking through Jack’s house, only stopping once to look at the singular framed picture hanging on the wall. You smiled when you realized that the young, auburn-haired man in the photo was none other than Jack. He held an award at his front and was surrounded by a few people. What you couldn’t look away from was a smile that seemed so much more genuine than the ones he gave to cameras for magazine photos. This smile was filled with crooked teeth and paired with squinted eyes. You even allowed yourself to gently trace a finger down his face. 

You could have stayed there all night, but the soft chime of a clock down the hall had you jolting. With the vanilla still closely clutched to your front, you swiftly left the cabin with the door clicking behind you. This time, the trip went by faster with your heels clicking in a speedier pattern. Soon, the restaurant came back into view, and a surge of anticipation raced through your body, causing your heart to flutter. The thought of possibly getting to see Tyler after getting humiliating had you skipping a few steps on the way up. 

However, when you opened the door, you paused at the sight of a completely, empty restaurant. Your eyes trailed the empty tables and chairs, mind struggling to come up with any logical explanation for why everyone must have left. You took another step in and let the door close behind you with a loud thud. You didn’t stop walking until you got to the middle of the floor. Twisting, you tried to find at least one person, yet, the whole place remained strangely dead and quiet. 

That was until you heard a small shift in the kitchen. 

Your eyes immediately caught the origin of the noise. Jack was standing there, back leaned against the stainless steel of the prep table island, arms crossed over his broad chest. His apron was gone, leaving him in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You drank in the sight before your eyes shifted behind him. 

Scanning the open space of the kitchen and dining room, you found his missing apron, the article of clothing hanging from a hook over Jack’s left shoulder. Something dark was splashed across it, staining the tan leather. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what it was.

“Where is everyone?” You took a few tentative steps forward, stopping just before the single step that led up into the kitchen. “Where did everyone go? Where’s Tyler?”

Jack’s eyebrow quirked as he looked down at you, now only five feet away. He looked almost disapproving of your choice of questions. Your stomach twisted into a knot. You weren’t exactly sure why his disappointment gave you such a visceral reaction, but you didn’t want to feel it again.

“Is that really your first concern?”

His arms uncrossed, hands settling on the reflective counter behind him. Your eyes greedily tracked the flexing of his forearms when he shifted. The muscles moved tantalizingly under that warm skin that you just wanted to reach out and touch. 

“I—” Your jaw snapped shut.

Honestly, you weren’t really sure what else you should be focused on at this moment, standing in the eerily deserted space that had only minutes before been filled with your fellow diners and the veritable army of staff. 

“Give me the vanilla, darling,” he ordered with his hand reached out, palm open and waiting for the bottle still clutched in your hands. 

You eagerly complied, feet rushing up the step until you were face to face with him. Gingerly, you placed the bottle in his hand. It was difficult not to let your mind wander to how his fingers dwarfed the jar, wrapping around it in a way that your own small hands hadn’t been able to.

A smirk quirked at his lips. “Good girl.” 

The warmth that shot through you from head to toe at Jack’s words of endearment was almost pathetic. Just two words had you preening at the slightest bit of praise from this man, ready to roll over and present him your belly like a loyal dog. 

His torso twisted as he placed the vanilla down before straightening when he looked back at you with a hungry blaze in his eyes. 

“Are you ready for dessert?” he asked while pushing off the counter to close the already miniscule space between you.

“Yeah,” you replied, all soft and breathy, eyes locked on his. 

One of those big, capable hands settled on your waist and gently maneuvered you until you’d taken his place with your back against the cold steel and your thin dress acting as the only thing to protect you from its chill.

“Up.”

His command had you rushing to comply, palms pressing into the metal and lifting yourself up and onto the table. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wondered if sitting on the workstation broke a few health codes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as Jack crowded into your space. His hips found their place between your open thighs, legs spreading them wide to accommodate himself.

“Do you know what the worst part about being a chef is, honey?” he muttered. 

All the air left your lungs as he bent down, his head nosing at the sensitive skin of your neck. Goosebumps broke out across your body as his breath ghosted over your pulse.

When you didn’t respond, his hands gripped the pudge of your thighs hard enough to bruise. 

“Answer me.” 

Jack tugged your hips closer to the edge, allowing the hardness hidden by his jeans brush between your legs. You melted at the feeling. 

“I-I don’t know,” you finally answered, eyes fluttering and lids threatening to close as the anticipation of what he was about to do to you burned through you.

“My food always smells so good,” he continued. His hands were hiking your dress up now, fingers pushing the flimsy fabric up your thighs. Once the fabric bunched to his liking, he dragged his nails lightly over the bare skin as he went, only stopping when the silky skirt was pooled around your waist, your entire legs bared to him. “And I get so hungry, but sadly there's never any time for me to eat.”

A breathy whimper fell from your lips as his tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your neck. He blew against the wet spot, and a delicious shiver wracked down your body. The cold air of the restaurant stiffened your nipples until you were sure they were visibly poking through your dress.

“Jack—” You shifted forward, body aching for more.

“Uh-uh, that’s not my name, pretty girl,” he corrected with his face was directly before yours, lips almost touching as his hand slid halfway into your hair. “In my kitchen, you call me Chef or Sir. Do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide and staring up at him.

“Use your words like a big girl.” His hand tightened fractionally, lightly pulling at the roots of your hair to keep your head still.

A thick gulp of saliva slid down your throat. “Yes, Chef.”

“That’s my sweet girl.”

His lips finally met yours in a gentle almost teasing way. The kiss was chaste, entirely too soft and modest for the position you had found yourself in. It was nothing more than the careful brush of his lips against yours, yet, his grip in your hair and the commanding aura he exuded kept you from pushing for more.

“Now,” he said after parting from you. His hand still on your waist dropped to the top of your thigh. “Since I am utterly famished, are you gonna let me eat my fill?”

Your mind was working at maybe a quarter of its usual capacity. You weren’t sure exactly what he was asking of you, but you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his disappointed glare again. Not to mention, you were pretty sure you’d do anything this man asked of you. Even the briefest touches of his skin against yours had you ready and leaking.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Good girl.”

Jack pulled back, his hands leaving your body as he kneeled before the table. Your brain finally caught up to just exactly what he was planning when his hands found the hem of your most certainly ruined panties.

“Wait, Jack—” 

His eyes were hard and dark as he looked up from where he sat. You swallowed hard, realizing your mistake.

“Sir—” 

He was slowly growing tired of being kept from his meal. “What’s the matter? You gonna make me go hungry?” 

His head titled, and his soft curls tickled against the soft, plush skin of your inner thighs.

You shook your head as an embarrassed burn grew across your face. “That’s—Tyler never—I  haven’t—” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Tyler, glancing between your soaked underwear and your face. Bringing up your waste of space boyfriend at this moment probably wasn’t a wise move, but your mouth had worked before your brain.

“What about him?”

Your whole body jolted against the table after Jack’s index finger ran over the lace of your underwear, brushing a feather light touch against where you needed him the most.

“H-he wouldn’t—if I didn’t—”

It was impossible to get the words to come out in a coherent sentence when his finger wouldn’t stop applying that maddeningly soft touch. He kept it just enough to have you wanting and needy, but nowhere near to supply any real, substantial pleasure. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” Jack encouraged. “You can do it. Tell Chef what that piece of shit did that’s stopping me from enjoying the best meal of my life.”

“H-he wouldn’t go down on me,” your voice trembled, and the sound had Jack mercifully stopped his teasing. 

The tip of his finger settled right over your clit, though, lightly touching the bundle of nerves through the soaked fabric. 

Your eyes slipped shut, forcing the words out and trying desperately not to focus on the barely-there sensation. “If I didn’t shave. He s-said it was dirty, and it would ruin his palate, and I didn’t shave this morning—” 

Jack’s grip on your hips tightened. “Hey, look at me.” 

Your eyes peaked open, meeting his. His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the hazel iris that danced with shades of green and gold. He was impossible to look away from. 

“I’m not him, and you need to forget about him. I want you, exactly as you are.”

His hands once again trailed down to the waistband of your panties, and this time you didn’t stop him. Lifting your hips slightly, you let him pull down the ruined scrap of lace, face heating even further when he pushed it into his back pocket.

“And don’t worry; my palate is a lot more refined, sweetheart.”

You let Jack move you to his liking. He tugged you closer, until your ass was nearly hanging off the table. Then both of your legs were lifted with your thighs settling over his shoulders as he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue was tentative and exploring. He traced it through your folds almost reverently, all the while humming in satisfaction at the taste. But—much to your chagrin—he avoided your clit, choosing instead to lap up as much of your wetness as possible.

“Sir, please,” you whined, dragging the last syllable out in a high pitch. Your right hand slipped through his curls while the left extended behind you, bracing against the table to hold you up. “Fuck, I need more.”

“Yeah? S’that not enough for you?” he slurred, face staying buried against your cunt. His fingers came back and stroked downward over your entrance. Slowly, one pushed inside, sliding in down to the knuckle and curling upward. The pad of his finger pressed against the sweet, spongy spot inside that had your hips jerking against his hold on you. Quickly, a second joined the first, both of them incessantly pushing against you. “How’s that, sweet girl? Does that feel good?”

“Yes, yes, please!” Your eyes were fluttering closed again while your hips rocked mindlessly as they chased the high that the pleasure he brought you promised. Already, you started shaking against him, thighs clenching shut around his head.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” His tongue flattened and licked from where his fingers were working right up to where you really needed his mouth. “Can’t believe that manchild tasted this and still treated you like that. Fuck, I’m never letting you go.”

You didn’t have very long to unpack his statement before his lips were closing over your clit. His tongue traced tight, quick circles over the bud while he sucked and kissed. 

It wasn’t long before his fingers, his lips, his tongue, all of it was throwing you towards a cliff:  one that you feared you might not make it back from.

But you couldn’t fight—didn’t want to fight that rising tension, that rubber band of pleasure that was growing incredibly close to snapping. Your hips continued to rock against his face. You moans echoed out across the deserted dining room and mixed with the filthy wet noises and groans coming from between your legs.

If Jack could tell you were almost there, he gave no indication. He did not speed up or change his tempo at all and instead kept his fingers and tongue steady and consistent. 

“Oh-oh!” your voice broke as the climax crashed through you. It ripped ragged, gasping moans from your mouth, every muscle in your body contracting, your walls pulsing around his fingers. Your eyes pinched closed while your arms tried to keep yourself upright as the pleasure tore through your every cell.

Each wave crashed over you, unceasing as Jack kept up that same pace. He didn’t stop, even when your hand scrambled at his head and words begging and whining when the sensations teetered on the edge of too much.

“One more,” Jack growled out, husky and demanding and spoken into you with his mouth a fraction of an inch off of you before he went right back at it.

“No, no I can’t, sir, please!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears. 

The biggest waves had died out, dissipating as the orgasm steadily ran its course, but the aftershocks wracking your body were still jerking through you at random intervals. Combined with the way that Jack still has not stopped his ministrations, you were quickly becoming a mess.

Your hand that had kept your upright gave out, leaving you to fall flat on your back against the metal surface. The shock of the cold caused your back to arch, pushing your hips even further into his grasp while he built you up again.

Embarrassingly fast, you were back on the edge again and nearly there as Jack just stayed steadfast and methodical, never deviating from the rhythm he’d honed. He handled your body like he’s known you for years, not hours.

You were pretty sure you were crying, but you were already so lost in the sensations of him that you couldn’t even tell if the wetness on your face was tears, sweat, or drool. All you knew was that this man, this strange, magnetic chef, was tearing you apart and building you back up again.

The second orgasm hit just as quick, if not quicker. Your vision grew black for a nanosecond before your hips jerked and twisted, body trying to simultaneously get away from his hot tongue while also getting more of the feelings he’d thrust upon you. The orgasm burned through you, visceral and violent in a way the first hadn’t been. It felt like every nerve in your body had been set alight with searing hot pleasure.

Your legs shook, and your arms were too weak to lift yourself back up. All you can do was lie there and try to learn how to breathe again. Finally, Jack came back up for air. However, you didn’t have long to recover before he pulled you up and crashed his lips against yours.

“Taste so fucking good,” he muttered the words into your mouth, letting you swallow them, along with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. He felt filthy and so fucking hot. “Gonna let me fuck you now, honey?”

You nodded before you could second guess yourself, already craving even more of him. 

Jack pulled his white t-shirt over his head, and for just a second, your eyes tracked a spot of something dried and red that crusted on the hem. You didn’t have long to consider it, though, because his hands were yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you completely naked before him.

“Move back,” he directed you, large hands guiding you to scoot further up the empty table until you were laid out fully on the surface. 

The table was longer than you were tall, and it stretched almost the length of the kitchen like some kind of altar. And here, laying on the same space that his team had worked on just hours before, you felt like some sort of offering. To what entity though, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that Jack wasn’t going to stop until you’d been thoroughly fucked and spent. 

The predatory hunger in his eyes as he stripped off his jeans and boxers in one go, now baring himself completely to you, reignited your own hunger. The length of his body was beautifully tanned and freckled with soft edges curving around hard-earned muscle. 

His cock was nothing to scoff at, either and definitely more than double the size of Tyler’s (although that wasn’t saying very much). He was fully hard, tip resting against his lower abdomen, shining with precum in the low lighting of the kitchen.

Jack’s movements were steady and sure as he climbed onto the table, nudging apart your knees again to make room for himself while he hovered over you. His weight settled onto you in a mouthwatering way. He held back just enough to not crush you but to instead allow you to feel every inch of his body against yours. Your legs bent at the knees and curled around his lower back to anchor him in place.

“If I fuck you,” he breathed, his head dropping down to let his breath fan over your cheek, then lower still until he was laying soft, brushing kisses against your neck. “You’re mine. Forever. I’m not letting you go.”

Your breath hitched at his words. Forever was a long time, especially considering you barely knew him apart from magazines and your guilty pleasure cooking show. But in the time that you had, he’d shown more interest and care than any other man you’d been with. Your body was certainly screaming at you to give in and take everything he was willing to give. 

So, before you could really consider the consequences, you agreed.

“Yes, sir, I’m yours.” Your legs tightened around him, dragging the thick length of him through your dripping folds. “Please, fuck me. I’ll leave Tyler; I’ll be yours.”

He chuckled darkly as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He pressed in slowly, and you could feel everything. Each and every centimeter of his length felt like it was splitting you apart, right down the middle.

For once, Jack took his time, letting you get used to the heat and weight of him with his bare skin on yours as he pushed deeper than anyone had ever been inside of you. When his hips were finally flush with yours, you felt impossibly full. His head settled just below your cervix, and every tiny rock of his hips grazed your sensitive depths. One of his hands gently brushed a stray piece of hair away from your face before settling on your cheek.

“You don’t have to leave Tyler, pretty girl.” Jack looked immensely satisfied, his hips pulling back slowly as he braced his forearms beside your head. He laughed again at your confused expression until it melted off your face as he drove back into you, hard. “He’s already been taken care of.”

“Jack, what—” 

In the mix of pleasure and confusion, you’d forgotten the honorifics he’d demanded, and he punished you with a hard thrust in, his hips jolting your body up the rapidly warming metal and punching a whine deep out of your throat.

“Don’t forget your manners like he did, sweetheart,” he tutted as his pace settled into lazy, grinding thrusts that had your head spinning even more than the brutal ones had.

“S-sir,” you sputtered, though your mind was still focused on figuring out exactly what had happened to your now ex-boyfriend. “What did you—fuck—what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything but give him a little motivation.” Jack’s hand grasped your jaw before forcing your head towards the closed pantry door, just off to the left. His tongue darted out to trace over the shell of your ear. “He made the choice to . . . remove himself from the equation.”

“O-oh fuck, he’s-he’s dead?” 

Your eyes were wide as Jack finally turned your face back towards his. You desperately tried to scour his face, searching for any sign he might be messing with you. But with half-lidded eyes filled to the brim with pleasure, and your mind struggling to come up with a good reason to be saddened over Tyler’s apparent suicide, the need for an explanation swiftly melted from your body.

“Want to know a secret?” Jack asked as he hovered over you, eyes dragging down your face. He leaned back in close enough that his hot breath wafted over your face. A smirk stretched across his face while he spoke. “They all are.”

Your almost closed eyes shot back open, and your jaw dropped to gape up at him. Jack just continued smirking back at you, his mouth dropping onto yours as his hips picked up the pace, tongue twisting around yours between your teeth.

You let him kiss you, offering no resistance even as his words replayed in your mind. The way he’d said it made it sound like he had killed them. All the guests, maybe even his own staff. But the more you thought about it, the more you found out that you simply didn’t care. You didn’t know those people, so, why should you care if they were dead? 

You had known Tyler, but he was a piece of shit, and no part of you wanted to grieve him.

“All of them?” you whispered before licking your tongue across his lips. 

Jack grunted into your mouth, pulling back just enough to break the kiss. “All of them. You and I are the only living humans on this island.”

“Oh fuck.” Your back arched into him as he struck a particularly sensitive spot inside you. The perverse, dark little part of your brain also blamed your reaction on his confession. Sure, it didn’t necessarily bother you that he’d killed them, but you weren’t ready to admit it might have even excited you. “W-why?”

“Why, what?” Jack moved faster now, his polished demeanor falling away as he began to chase his own climax.

“Why did you—oh shit, right there, please! I—”  You were interrupted by Jack pulling one of your legs from around his hip, sliding it up and over his shoulder to pin you wide open beneath him.

“Why did I kill them?” he provided between the swing of his hips. 

You nodded frantically as your head fell back against the table. You were writhing against the surface, on the fast track for your third orgasm of the night. 

Jack laughed breathlessly; his hand that wasn’t braced on the table moved between your legs to find your clit. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!” 

You were meeting his thrusts against him now, the pressure and friction almost too much for you to handle.

“I didn’t like them.” Jack’s teeth grit together as he pushed the words out, but you got the sense that had more to do with the exertion of his own approaching climax. “Some of them were rude, some of them fucked me over once or twice,” he panted, hips pounding into yours, clearly chasing his own ending, and yours in the process. 

You were right there, almost ready to snap once again. 

He continued despite his slipping restraint. “Some of them were—oh fuck—fucking annoying, and all of them, especially your p-precious little boyfriend,” his voice dripped with venom as he brought up Tyler, “were too fucking self-absorbed to appreciate the beauty right in front of them.” 

With that, you came, the sensation less intense than your second, but still powerful enough to have you gasping for air, mind going blank as the heat of it flowed through your veins with the initial wave. You came snapping back, air filling your lungs as your body pulsed around Jack. Each rhythmic clench of your walls sent sparks flying up your spine and your legs jerking and twitching.

Jack finished soon after, his hips finally losing all rhythm. His whole body went still for a moment, before he was pressing as deep as he could, spilling into you and falling down with a hand splaying near your shoulder, just barely holding up his weight to avoid crushing you entirely, but he still had you bent nearly in half underneath him, leg still slotted over his shoulder. 

His lips found yours, the kiss slower and sloppier than before as you both panted and moaned through the radiating pleasure. You stayed that way as you came down. The kiss slowly grew more coherent, less panting and licking to more lips and tongues dancing. If he didn’t just fuck you three ways till Sunday after murdering a handful of people, it could have been almost romantic.

He gripped your hips firmly when he pulled out, the both of you lightly hissing at the feeling of parting. Your chest heaved while he quickly pulled his pants back on before helping you sit up, his hands finding the sides of your hips like they were magnets. Without much want to do anything, you draped your arms across his shoulders, fingers finding the small curls at the base of his neck. Jack reveled in the feeling of your bare skin against his naked chest. He gently brushed a hand across your forehead. 

“Did you enjoy your meal, Chef?” you asked with a sly smile. “Was it to your liking?” 

Jack shook his head and chuckled. “It was fucking delicious, sweetheart. But—” He leaned in and pressed another chaste kiss to your lips. “I think I didn’t get enough to satisfy my hunger.” 

You pouted playfully before biting your lip. “Well, we can’t have Chef Abbot go hungry; can we?” 

His right hand slid from your waist and splayed between your breasts. “Lie back down, sweet girl. Let Chef have his second course.” 

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy @hoffmanfan13 @lostfallenangelsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @isuckcigbuds @kaorisakamotofan @alexaplayldr @mszeitxt @darknessofhell666-blog-blog