groovy gal

“My turn,” He yelled, everyone, preparing yet another shot. “Never have I ever had a one-night stand.” 

“I don’t think you guys are playing this game fairly by targeting us.” You grumbled, all of the older kids slamming the shots back. You winced as the tequila burned your throat, watching Steve gag around the lime slice.

“To think, we finally let you drink with us, and this is how it is.” He grumbled, his shoulder brushing yours. Steve Harrington had been your best friend since middle school. One of the few surviving friends of his ‘King Steve’ era at Hawkins High. You survived long-distance friendship and the turmoils of life. Now here you were, sitting in his living room during the summer. Just like you were a teenager again. 

“There were no rules about what we could say. You should’ve clarified.” Mike snorted, sticking his tongue out at his sister. 

All she did was snarl back, “Okay. Never have I ever been caught hiding porn magazines under my bed.” 

That got a howl of laughter to echo around the room, the boy hesitantly chugging back the shot. The two siblings now in a stand-off of emotional warfare. 

“Never have I ever slept with Jonathan Byers.” Mike bit back. 

“Whoa!” Her ex-boyfriend and current situationship yelled, not sure why he got dragged into this. 

Another drink. “Never have I ever been a virgin at 19.” She bit back. 

“I told you that in confidence!” He cried out, not even taking the full shot. Too busy trying not to throw it up on Steve’s rug. 

“Never have I ever slept with Steve Harrington.” Mike howled.

“Oh my god, you are so ridiculous,” Nancy yelled, not even bothering to fill the glass. Content on taking a swig directly from the bottle. 

Maybe if the alcohol wasn’t already pumping in your veins, you wouldn’t have done it on instinct, but you tilted your own head back. Another shot going down, leaving a burning feeling in your chest, hand rubbing your clavicle to ease the ache. And maybe you could’ve gotten away with it, had everyone not been staring at Steve, awaiting his protests for Mike’s comment. 

“Wait,” Dustin shifted in his seat, now all eyes on you. “Did you just take a shot, Y/n?”

Steve was oblivious, still side-eyeing Mike for his unnecessary jabs at his sister. 

You froze, fingers still gripping the empty shot glass. Eyes wide as jaws began to fall to the floor, Robin covering her face with her hands. 

“Uh..” You choked out, “Yeah.” 

A chorus of yells broke out, Steve’s body tensing beside yours. 

“Oh my god.” Max cackled, her and Lucas falling into each other. 

“Dude, I told you so!” Lucas said back. 

“I knew you guys had been friends for too long not to have done something,” Dustin yelled, punching Will in the arms out of excitement. Ignoring his whines. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t say that,” Will begged, reading the room unlike his tispy friend. 

“This is insane.” Robin’s hands were gliding down her face, as her world had shifted on its axis. Unaware of how she didn’t know this had happened between her two best friends. It wasn’t something you and Steve talked about often, or really ever. 

“Wait, really?” Nancy’s eyes were wide, shooting daggers at the two of you. 

Suddenly, the room was too crowded, your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin. All eyes were now on you, and you were looking everywhere but at Steve. 

“Wait, when did this happen?” Jonathan asked, “Are you guys like, together now?” 

Too quickly, the two of you began denying it, scoffing out in unison no’s. The silence was deafening after, scoffs of disbelief and looks of confusion. 

You let Steve speak, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “It was a long time ago.” He had settled on, hoping that was going to ease the nosiness. Which, of course, it did not. 

“You told me you never had feelings for Steve,” Nancy said, an accusatory glance shot your way. 

“And I never did. It was purely physical.” You rambled, “It was way after you guys got together, swear. God, Steve and I are just friends.” 

“Just friends normally don’t have sex.” Robin pointed out, “I mean, we’ve never had sex.” 

“Robin, did you wanna have sex with me?” You scoffed, her face turning into one of disgust. 

“Wait, so this happened the summer after you graduated?” Max pointed out, doing calculations in her head. 

Steve’s heart was pounding out of his chest, his eyes glancing at your frame every few seconds. Watching your eyes dart anywhere but his. He was silently pleading for you to look at him, just one glance. 

“Yup.” You smiled awkwardly, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Now who’s next?” Doing your best to push the game forward, or end it entirely. 

“Yeah, never have I ever had sex with Y/n.” Lucas laughed, making Max push him backwards off the couch. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Steve winced, not even bothering to take another drink. Everyone was well past their limit anyway to continue drinking like fish. “You guys are cut off.” 

“No, please-” 

Steve tried to wrestle the bottles out of Dustin’s hands. The two of them ended up in a heap on the floor, playful giggles erasing the awkwardness air out of the room. 

“Jesus Christ.” You sighed, about to get up and run to the bathroom, before three sets of hands were on your shoulders. All but dragging you into the garage under the guise of smoking a cigarette. Mind you, none of you smoked. Jonathan simply handed Nancy the pack. His eyes are all-knowing. 

“Was wondering when the interrogation would start.” Your mouth watered at the pack in Nancy’s hand, demanding to bum one off of her. 

“Only if you answer our questions.” She smirked, waving the pack above your head like a dog with a bone. 

“You each get one question. Maybe two if you guys are nice.” You sighed, snatching the pack from her quickly. They were kind enough to at least give you time to light the cigarette before the questions started. They all spoke over each other, your head aching at the volume. 

“One at a time, please.” You whined, opening the garage door to feel the summer night air hit your flushed skin. 

“Me first,” Robin demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Of course, that would bother her the most. “Honestly,” You sighed, “It happened once, and we never talked about it again. Truly. It would’ve been weird to bring it up.” 

Max raised her hand like she was in school, waiting for you to point at her. “Was it a spur-of-the-moment thing? Or was there a love confession? Were you drunk?” 

“Yes, no, and no. Tipsy off champagne, sure. I was a virgin, made a joke about going to college one, and Steve said ‘What if you weren’t?’ It seemed batshit to me, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I could just get it over with with someone I trusted.”

The girl's eyes were wide, staring at you like you had three heads. 

“And there were no feelings? Like at all?” Nancy asked slowly, like she was scared of startling a wild animal. “Because I mean, for years, everyone thought you two would end up together. I mean, even I did. S’why I was so jealous of you.” 

You shook your head, flicking the cigarette on the ground. “Nope. I mean, it was intimate, yeah, but no love confessions. Just casual sex between friends.” 

“Casual. Right.” Robin nodded, clearly not believing the words coming from your mouth.

“Was it good?” Max asked, making Nancy push her shoulder playfully. “Guess I could ask you too, huh?” Max hissed back, the two of them joking around.  

“It was good.” You sighed, “Probably the best sex I’ve ever had.” You admitted, “Just hasn’t been the same with anyone else.” 

Nancy furrowed her brows, “He’s good. I get that, but hasn’t it been the same?” 

“Y’know, men are just.” You waved your hand around. “They can do all the right things, but it’s not like they’re my best friend, so they don’t know me like Steve does, I guess.” 

“What about that guy you dated for like two years?” Max asked. 

“Sex was fine, just nothing special.” You shrugged. That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s the only thing you’d let yourself believe. The thoughts resurfacing made your skin crawl. 

They all made a noise, staring amongst each other like they were in on an inside joke you weren’t privy to. You tuned them out, letting the cigarette burn up in your hand, thinking back to graduation night all those years ago.

Graduating from High School didn’t feel as monumental as you thought it was supposed to. There were no grand proposals of love in your cap and gown, no dramatic football field walk-offs, no long monologues about societal expectations. It was a diploma in your hand, too many photos, and dry snack plates littered about. It didn’t feel like much of anything. 

For Steve, it was worse; his parents didn’t even bother attending. Content on spending the start of their summer at their beach house. Calling it a punishment for Steve not getting early admission anywhere, like his father wanted. It was cruel. He acted like it didn’t bother him, but with years of friendship under your belt, you knew his tells. He was tugging the roots of his hair anxiously, the hairspray falling before the night was halfway through. Every time your parents spoke about how proud they were of you, there was a faraway look in his eyes. 

Even when your own parents took him in their arms, a son they never had. He appreciated it, but you knew it wasn’t what he wanted. To be discarded and disregarded by his own parents cut him deeper than he’d ever show. 

That’s why, after all your family retired for the night, you were sneaking into the Harrington household. Not even bothering to sneak in through the window, you opened the front door slowly. The house was dark, still. The only light was emitting from upstairs, where Steve was. You hollered out his name a few times before padding up the stairs. As soon as you spotted him, your heart fell, graduation gown lazily thrown against his chair. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. 

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Hello, graduating class of 1985.” 

He didn’t even jump, just wiped his eyes and turned towards you. You held up the stolen bottle of champagne, a bag of food in your other hand. 

“Did you think I was gonna let you celebrate your first night as a free man in this big house all by yourself?” You smirked. 

His eyes lit up in a way only you could make them. His shoulders were trembling from the laugh he was trying not to let escape. “Did you break into my house?” 

“Door was unlocked.” You shrugged, walking into his room as if it were your own. Which, at this point, it might as well have been. “Got your favorite and dessert. Figured we’d put on a record and talk about how terrible Tammy’s song was. And principal Higgin’s speeches.” 

Steve just watched you glide around his room, entering his orbit like you always had. Rambling on as you set the food out, forcing him to pick a record from his crate. 

Once the music was playing, you both ate, rambling on and on about tonight's events. It was an hour later, and you were taking turns destroying the personal-sized cake you picked up from the supermarket. Forks in hand, bitching about the upcoming Summer break. 

You’d be pulling extra hours at the diner, saving up for Fall tuition. While Steve was ranting about his father letting him know he was effectively cut off financially. And how he was really worried about how it would impact his dating life, because of course he would be.

“My summer is gonna be spent at some dead-end minimum wage job before my dad allows me to get an actual job with him,” Steve rambled, “While all the hot girls are going to college. They’re gonna see all these educated hipster dudes and come back to Hawkins and not even spare me another glance.” 

“At least you’re not going into college a virgin.” You shrugged, placing the icing-covered fork down. “I’m never getting laid ever at this rate. It could always be worse.” 

Steve’s body stilled, brows furrowed at you. “What do you mean? Are you saying you never?” 

“Thought you knew that.” You hummed, kicking your feet lazily behind you. Your head still propped up by your hand. 

“But you and Tyler? Not even once? I mean, you guys dated for almost a year.” Steve was aghast, unable to comprehend a teenage boy, not wanting to go all the way. 

“We did like hand stuff, but yeah, never.” You admitted. It wasn’t something you were particularly embarrassed about, but it worried you. Most of the time, people in college had already had sex; you couldn’t imagine many people would want anything to do with an almost 19-year-old virgin. 

Steve made a noise of shock, sitting back on his hands. His mind is running a thousand miles a minute; any longer and smoke would be steaming out of his ears. 

“God, what a loser,” he laughed, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“He just didn’t seem into it, I guess? He probably just didn’t like me very much.” 

“Hey,” Steve frowned, “It’s his loss. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

You sighed, “Just gotta find some college boy that doesn’t mind screwing virgins.” You laughed, ready to swing your body off the bed to flip to vinyl over. 

Steve stopped you, his hand steady on your arm. He wasn’t sure what he was about to offer you, whether it was the cheap champagne or the loneliness in his gut. 

“What if you weren’t a virgin, though?” He asked gently, his eyes heavy on yours. 

“What?” You laughed, sitting upright to look at him. 

“Just, what if I... you know?” He stumbled on, tripping over his own words. 

You were lost, unsure of what he was asking. “No offense, but I don’t trust you as a wingman-” 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” He grumbled, cursing himself under his breath. “You know I love you, right? You’re my best friend in the whole world. Nothing would change that.” 

“I know, Stevie. I love you too.” You smiled, covering your hand with his. 

“And I don’t have any romantic feelings for you, not in that way.” He admitted, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“And I don’t for you…” You said, unsure where he was leading with this. 

“But I do have eyes, and you’re very attractive.” 

“Thank you?” You spoke, still confused as you watched him pick out each word carefully. 

“And I’d hate for you to lose your virginity to someone who doesn’t care about you. I know teenage boys, they’re pigs.” He rambled, “It should be special. With someone who cares about you and your pleasure. Someone who makes you feel safe.” 

You nodded, urging him to continue. “So, what I’m trying to say or offer is that I could take your virginity.” 

The words cut through the air like a record scratch, your eyebrows furrowing. 

You knew Steve had a reputation to be upheld at school. The Playboy, the man-whore of Hawkins, as you called him. He was very experienced in that department; you had overheard the rumors. The girls' bathroom whispers about him. But you never thought of him in that way; he was always just Steve. Your Steve. A weird feeling sat in your gut the more you thought about it. 

You looked deep into his warm eyes. He was attractive; that much was obvious to everyone with eyes. He cared about you more than anyone ever had before. He knew you like the back of his hand. There was never a time when someone else came before you. You were two peas in a pod. Everyone knew that wherever you were, Steve was right behind. 

Because he was your Steve, you knew he’d respect you. He’d never cross any lines; he’d be the perfect gentleman. And that’s when the ache started, the gentle throb between your legs. Craving the physical touch of another. 

You don’t know how long you sat there in thought before speaking. Asking him one more time just to make sure you heard him correctly. 

“You’re offering to have sex with me? Just to clarify?” 

He nodded, “As a friend.” 

It sounded silly the moment it left his lips, a smile appearing on your lips. Just one smile and all of his anxiety disappeared. 

“You want us to have sex as friends?” You giggled, “Wait, I don’t want it to ruin what we have.” You paused, grabbing his hand tighter in yours. 

“No, no.” He said quickly, “We don’t have to. I just want you to have that experience with someone who loves you. Nothing’s gonna change between us. I don’t have feelings for you, you don’t have feelings for me. Purely casual. No kissing, no romance. Think of it as an introduction to sex.”

“What’s in it for you?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

A lazy smirk fell on his face, “Well, like I said. Saving you from a horrible first time. It’s simply a bonus that I get to have sex with a pretty girl.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Steve Harrington.” You laughed, his thumb rubbing, smoothing circles into your hand. 

“We don’t have to. We can forget I ever even said anything, and I’ll blame the stolen champagne.” 

“No, I think I want it to be you.” You admitted. 

Your Steve. The boy who took the training wheels off your bike for you. Then kissed your bloodied knees when you crashed into the asphalt. The same boy who taught you how to drive stick, letting you get curb rash all over the Beamer's brand-new tires. The two of you had been through hell and back together; nothing would ruin your friendship. You knew it deep in your heart. There was no life you’d live without Steve.

You both took a moment, letting the words settle between you. His hands were jittery against yours, in anxiety or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Your stomach was in knots, excitement and fear rising in your chest. 

“Do you wanna do it now?” 

“So should we?” You both spoke at the same time, giggling.

Untangling his hands from yours, you moved the half-eaten cake to the desk. Clearing off his bed. He closed his curtains for privacy, flipping over the vinyl once more. You crawled into his bed, settling underneath his covers. You had been in his bed hundreds of times, but now your palms were sweaty. Heart nearly beating out of your chest. 

“One rule,” Steve said, still standing at the edge of the bed. His eyes were dark as he watched you. “We communicate the whole time. I’ll talk you through everything. You tell me what you like, what you don’t like. We stop at any time.” 

Your teeth bit down on your lower lip, nodding at him. 

“Gotta say it, pretty girl.” He urged, your stomach turning with desire. 

“Y-yes.” You said, “I promise.” 

He smiled, slipping his socks off. Giving you time to undress. You lifted your hips, shimmying your pants off underneath the blankets. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to hide, but you blushed when he tugged his own pants down. You had seen him shirtless hundreds of times, but here he stood clad in nothing but his underwear. He looked godlike, his hair messy against his forehead. 

“Should I take my shirt off?” You asked breathily, fingers fumbling with the hem. 

He nodded a little too quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks. “You can leave your bra on. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” 

The shirt was off in seconds, a simple, plain black thing. Having sex with your best friend wasn’t on the agenda for the night, or maybe you would have put on something cuter. But to Steve, it didn’t matter; his jaw ticked anyway. Watching intently as the flesh bounced when you lay back on the bed. He was just a man at the end of the day. 

He joined you underneath the covers, leaning on his elbow to take a look at you. “You feeling okay?” He noted your breathing was heavier, limbs moving nervously. 

“Nervous, but good nervous.” You smiled, his face moving close to yours. 

“S’okay if I touch you?” He asked sweetly. 

You went to nod but stopped yourself, shuffling under the blanket once again to slip your underwear off. Palming up the fabric in your hand and hiding it beneath your discarded pants. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, making you glare back at him. “We’re literally about to have sex, but you don’t want me seeing your underwear?” 

“Be nice to me.” You playfully frowned, falling back into position. “Okay. You can touch me now.” 

He pressed his lips down to your forehead gently, letting his hand move underneath the blankets to rest on your stomach. You almost flinched at the warmth of his hands, willing your body to calm down. He took his time, slowly dragging his palm around your naval until it slid further down. You didn’t know where to look, eyes darting all over the room. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Steve demanded softly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it before. The words went straight to your core, nearly gasping at the lust in them. It hadn't occurred to you until now that you’d both be sharing your most intimate parts. You would see him fall apart in pleasure just as much as he would you. 

You obliged, your legs parting open for him. His hand traveled through your pubic bone, fingertips teasing the hair down there. Your hips jumped up when his middle and ring fingers pressed softly against your clit, with little resistance. You were wet, and now he knew it as he rubbed an experimental circle into the swollen bud. 

“This okay?” He panted, breath hot against your neck. You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t realize his head was nuzzling closer. 

“Yeah,” You sighed, “Y-you can add a little more pressure.” 

Oh, was he good at following directions. His fingers pressed down harder, continuing his small strokes. He watched you intently, listening to your body’s cues on where exactly to press down harder, and didn’t stop until he found the right rhythm. He knew he did when you let out a small moan, then clamped your mouth shut. Your body flushes in embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was for you to silence yourself, to worry about being quiet instead of focusing on the sensation. 

“You don’t have to be quiet,” He whispered, “I want you to focus on feeling good. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” 

“J-jesus.” You stuttered, your body going hot. Every time he spoke, you could feel yourself getting wetter, craving more of him. 

But you listened, letting the pathetic moans slip through your lips. He could feel your hips tilting upward, rocking against his hand for more. So more he gave, letting his fingers speed up their movements. 

“O-oh, Steve. Right there.” You sighed, one of your hands grabbing his wrist tightly. “Please don’t stop.” 

“M’not. Just relax. Just feel it.” He cooed, ignoring his cock twitching in his boxers. He couldn’t believe this was happening, your cunt spasming around his fingers as he drew you closer to the edge. Your chest heaved, tits bouncing out the top of your bra with each gasp that left your plump lips. He found himself staring at them, wondering what they’d feel like pressed against his. 

His hips shifted towards your leg, his bulge brushing against you. Doing everything in his power not to hump you like a dog in heat. You felt it anyway, your eyes shooting over to his. 

“You’re hard.” You spoke it like a fact, your voice breathy. 

“Yeah?” He laughed, pressing a little harder into you. “Got a pretty girl moaning my name and cumming around my fingers. Course imma be hard.” 

“God.” You moaned loudly, eyes falling back shut. 

He worked you through your orgasm gently, slowing but not stopping his movements. He waited until your moans had ceased and your breathing evened out before he let his fingers glide further down. 

“I’m gonna put my fingers in now. That okay?” He asked, feeling the opening of your entrance mouth against his fingers greedily. 

“Y-yeah.” You sighed dreamily, and one of your hands had gone behind his head. Fingers laced in his brown locks, his head hovering just above your chest. Resisting the urge to lean down and bite the supple flesh. 

He slid one finger in at a time, letting your body adjust to one before two were slipping deep into your cunt. You were soaked with your previous release and your ongoing arousal. He could feel you dripping down his hand; he was so hard he thought he was going to pass out. 

He pulled his fingers out slowly, before pushing them back in with a wet squelch. The sound would have embarrassed you if not for how deeply they were prodding inside you. His fingertips are brushing a spot inside of you that no one has ever had before. It had you grasping onto him like a lifeline, body tensing. 

“Hey, you okay?” He panted, stilling his movements. 

You nodded, moving your hips down. Trying to fuck yourself on his fingers since he stopped. “F-feels weird. In a good way. Overwhelming. Never felt that before.” 

A deep smirk appeared on his lips, curling his fingers ever so gently to the right. He knew he hit the spot again with you jumped. He let his fingers push in deeper, prodding the spot with each thrust. “Is that it?” 

“Yes.” You cried, head thrown back into the pillows. “Fuck, that’s so good.” 

“S’your sweet spot. It’s gonna feel so good when I’m inside you, honey.” He mumbled, his thumb coming up to rub your clit gently. 

His words made you cum without warning; the sheer mention of his cock being inside you had you cumming around his fingers again. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he walked you through it, the kindest, filthiest words leaving his lips. 

“There we go, look so good cumming for me. It’s okay, just take it. There you go.” 

Your legs slammed shut around his rest, thighs shaking around him. He took the hint and gently removed his fingers, leaning over to wipe them off on his discarded shirt. You were out of breath, watching his back muscles ripple with his movements. 

“How was that?” He grinned, acting as if he didn’t just give you the two best orgasms of your life. 

“No wonder half of Hawkin’s is throwing themselves at your feet.” You teased him, rubbing your face with your hand. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” 

Pride oozed off of him as he leaned forward, ready to crawl on top of you. You stopped him with a hand to his chest, letting your fingers glide through the soft patch of hair. “Will you let me..?” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna-” 

“Just a little, if t-that’s okay with you. Think it’s only fair.” You smiled, omitting the fact that you so desperately wanted to feel him at least once in your hands. Who was Steve to deprive his pretty best friend of anything? 

He pushed his boxers down off his legs quickly, his cock slapping his pubic bone with a snap. The covers had long been pushed down beneath your knees; no point in hiding from each other at this point. All shame and embarrassment had long been out the window. You had to stifle the gasp once your eyes fell between his legs. He was huge, in a way that felt anatomically impossible. His thick bulbous tip was the prettiest shade of pink, his length long, complete with a thick vein that ran underneath. 

“Steve.” You paled, mouth agape at him. 

He must have been used to this reaction as your hand reached out, wrapping around his length. Your fingers barely fit around it. He had to bite his lip to avoid moaning just from the simple grab. He twitched heavily in your hand. 

“I heard the rumors, but this is insane. That’s not gonna fit inside me.” You gawked, stroking him slowly. 

Between your hand and the words leaving your mouth, he was doing all he could to not ruin this entire idea of his by blowing his load early. 

“I’ll make it fit, pretty girl, don’t worry.” He spoke through clenched teeth, whining when you brought your other hand up. Fitting more of him in your hands. He pulled away slowly, ignoring your whines of protest. “Don’t wanna be a ten pump chump for your first time.” 

You giggled at this, letting him slot himself in between your legs. He leaned over you to fumble around in his bedside drawer, pulling out a stack of condoms. You watched him open the foil with his teeth and expertly roll the latex over himself with ease. You tried not to think of just how many girls have seen him do this, ignoring the weird ache it brought in your chest. 

All of that left the moment he leaned back down, his hand bracing himself next to your head. The other holding his heavy cock in his hand. You could feel the tip brushing against your entrance ever so slightly. 

“Are you ready? Still okay with this?” He asked again, staring deep into your eyes for confirmation. 

You had made your mind up already, spreading your legs wider for him. “Yes, please.” 

He leaned down, dropping another kiss to your forehead before he lined himself up, letting his tip push past your drenched folds. He held you close to him, whispering words of encouragement as he settled inside of you. The stretch hurt, a deep ache that hurt in a good way. Your head was heavy, eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hands were pressing deep red marks into his shoulder blade, but he didn’t care. Not while your tight cunt was barely making room for him to push in. 

“Gotta relax, baby.” Steve cooed, not even a quarter of the way in. Your heart thumped widely at the nickname, letting his slip of tongue go unnoticed by him. 

“Stevie, y’so big.” You cried, still urging him to continue. He pushed deeper, his hand rubbing small circles on your hip bone. Doing his best to relax you, so you’d open up wide for him. Your cunt took him in slowly, fluttering and squeezing with each inch he slowly dragged in. By the time his hips hit yours, tears were pouring down your cheeks. The stretch was too much; it felt like he was splitting you apart. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry. It’s in now, baby. It’s okay, shhh. Do you wanna stop?” He whispered, smoothing down your hair, keeping you as close as possible to him. 

“N-no, please don’t.” You sobbed, “Just need a minute.” 

“I’ll give you all the time in the world.” He smiled, pressing small kisses into your neck. He meant it; you were warm and wet around him. So tight he had to breathe through his nose and think of anything else to calm him down. 

It took a few minutes of feeling his lips on your skin, his hands roaming respectfully. One of his hands settled on your thigh, nearly gripping your ass in his hands as he held you close. The dull ache had faded, your body stretching to his size as if you were made for him. You could feel your cunt drenching around him again, the ache of needing more settling deep in your bones. 

“Steve.” You breathed out, nearly startling him. 

He looked down at you with his brown doe eyes, ready to give you anything you wanted. Because he always would. He’d never say no to you. Not his Y/n. 

“How’s it feel?” He asked. 

“Good. Really full.” You whispered, “You can move now.” 

“Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He didn’t move until you nodded, slowly dragging his cock out of you a few inches before pushing back in. 

You gasped loudly, encouraging him to keep going as he did it again. And again. Slicking up your entrance enough to gain traction, allowing him to slowly slip all the way out, and then your cunt suckling him back in.

“Oh my god.” You cried out, your head deep in the crook of his neck as you clung onto him for dear life. 

His movements were careful and deep, pounding into that sweet spot he found earlier with each thrust. He was surely ruining you for all men to come, as he found a rhythm that worked for both of you. His hips slapping against yours, the lewd sounds of his wet balls slapping against your ass. 

“You feel amazing, honey,” He grunted, making sure you knew this was good for him too, “So tight and wet.”

“Oh, Steve. I-I think I’m gonna cum. I feel like-” Your moans were cut off by his hands grabbing your ass, lifting your leg higher. He shifted even deeper inside of you like this, his tip slamming into your spot with each jolt. 

“You’re gonna cum for me.” He spoke like a fact, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

You melted, your body falling slack as you fell into your third orgasm of the night. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” 

It was hard to keep your eyes open as your body shook with pleasure, but it was worth it to see Steve’s face. His plump lips parted, his cheek flushed as his eyes were locked on where you were connected. Watching your release soak his cock. He was beautiful. 

Suddenly, all of the girls in the Hawkin’s bathroom made sense. Why they’d come to his door crying, begging for another chance. Why he walked around god-like all those years. Because with each snap of his hips into yours, Steve Harrington was fucking you into heaven. He was hitting spots inside of you that you’d never even heard of. Bringing you more orgasms in an hour than you had in your entire life. 

“That’s my gorgeous girl.” He preened, and doesn’t miss the way you clench around him after he says it. He’s chasing his own high, leaning back down to press his body against yours. His thick patch of hair rubs against your clit with each roll of his hips. Your entire body was sensitive; each touch had you crying out. 

No matter how much he wanted to cum, he decided he needed one more out of you. Dragging his hips even faster. If this were the first and last time this would ever happen, he’d make it last. He wanted to memorize each gasp that left your lips, the furrow of your brow when you were close. How you felt marking him as your own. 

“Stevie…” 

“Yes?” He panted, his eyes meeting your blissed-out ones. 

“Kiss me.” Your voice was strained, face scrunched up in pleasure. 

Kissing was crossing a line you hadn’t discussed; kissing made it something else. But Steve couldn’t say no to you, not while your lips were parted, begging to be kissed. Begging for him.

He didn’t hesitate to bring his lips down to yours in a crushing kiss. It wasn’t romantic; it was hot and desperate. Open mouth panting into open mouth as you both fell apart in unison. His balls were tightening as your legs shook around his waist. 

“You gonna cum for me? One more time?” He asked against your lips, your head shaking. 

“Yes, you can, baby. Can feel it. Just one more. You’ve done so well.” 

You were crying out against him; you were overstimulated in the best way. With each drag, you could feel the coil tightening, an unusual feeling appearing in your lower belly. 

“W-wait, Steve.” You panicked, pulling away from his kiss. “I feel like I have to-to you k-know” 

He ignored your panic, lifting your leg higher around his waist. “Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” You nearly sobbed, the feeling only growing stronger. 

“Then shhhh, just relax. I got you.” He whispered, speeding his thrusts up. 

You could barely breathe, each thrust knocking the wind out of you as the pleasure swelled into something you didn’t have a name for. All it took was one more thrust, and the dam had burst, your cunt squirting around him. Your entire body is shaking in pleasure, unable to hear the pornographic wet sounds. It was music to Steve’s ears, his own body flinching in pleasure when he came undone. Spilling his seed into the condom, his hips stilling. 

“Oh my god, Y/n.” He moaned in awe, shakily looking down at the now ruined sheets. 

The room felt too hot, your body slick with sweat, rubbing against his own. You couldn’t look, keeping your eyes clamped shut. 

“That’s so gross.” You grumbled, “M’sorry.” 

“Sorry?” His jaw dropped, leaning down to cup your face in his hands. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t ever apologize for your pleasure. Don’t let any of these little boys make you feel bad, or gross.” 

“Yes, Captain.” You giggled, a goofy smile on your face. His forehead was damp, his hair curling and sticking to his forehead. 

“Gonna pull out and clean you up, okay? Don’t move. It might sting a little.” He warned, pressing a barely there kiss to your lips before he moved. You hissed at the loss of contact, the ache coming back once he slipped out. You refused to look at the damp and bloodied sheets, simply letting him bring a cool washcloth to your legs, patting you clean. It was more intimate than the sex, letting him take care of you like this. 

He gave you a t-shirt of his to slip on and an old pair of boxers. You went to the bathroom while he changed the sheets. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you hardly recognized the girl staring back at you. Your hair was a mess, cheeks flushed. Small love bites littered your neck from where Steve got carried away. The ache he left between your legs. Your Steve. 

When you walked out of the bathroom, he was sliding a movie into the VHS player, a goofy smile on his lips. “You don’t regret anything, do you?” 

You shook your head, “Not at all. Now grab that cake and pour me a glass. What movie did you put in?” You hobbled over to the bed; if Steve noticed your gait off he didn’t comment on it. Content to follow your orders, as the old TV crackled to life with ‘The Breakfast Club’. 

You were snuggled up in his bed, blankets pulled up to your chin, when he brought you a slice of the cake. Another red solo cup full of champagne. “For the newly no longer a virgin.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled, snatching the plate from him. He ended up stealing half of your piece, your forks battling as the movie droned on. The night continued as normal, no more touches. Everything was just as it was before, as if nothing had happened. So why was it over half a decade later that the memory still made your heart race? 

You avoided Steve for the rest of the night, content on blindly hoping that everyone would have forgotten it by now. But Steve was just as lost in the memory as you were, both of you zoning out, trying to forget the looks on each other's faces as you came. It wasn’t that you forgot about it over the years, more like you actively tried to. He was your friend; it was a simple act between two horny teenagers who cared for each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Right? 

You should’ve known you’d have to face him eventually, his hand grasping your shoulder gently. Guiding you into the hall outside his bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his breath smelled of tequila and lime. A stark contrast to the champagne and cake from the last time his face was this close to yours. 

You stilled, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “Yeah, why?” 

“Just everything in there. I’m sorry that happened. They can be, well, you know.” He chuckled,  his hands still sitting comfortably on your shoulders. Your body leaned into his subconsciously. 

“I already got interrogated in the garage,” You admitted, “It was my fault anyway. Should’ve just lied and not done the shot.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed a bit at this, “Do you?” He cleared his throat, “Do you regret it?” 

You reeled back a little, shaking your head. “N-no. no.” 

“Oh, okay. Good.” He nodded, the air around the two of you growing awkward. It was never awkward with you and Steve. Immediately, you hated it; it felt like your skin was crawling. He felt it too. The nagging feeling inside his chest telling him to pull you close, to bring you back to him. The silence was heavy, covering you two like a blanket. It stayed until Steve opened his mouth, the next few words tilting the world on its axis. 

“I regret it.” 

It took the air from your lungs, nearly staggering back if his hands weren’t holding you steady. His fingers tightened their grip, scared you’d make a run for it before he could get all the words out. He must have seen the look of horror on your face, the shame filling your chest. 

“Not because of you,” he rushed, voice cracking immediately, like he’d been waiting to say this and now it was all coming out wrong. “Jesus, no-not because of you. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Then why?” Your voice was meek, almost unrecognizable. 

“Because it ruined me,” he said quietly, like admitting it out loud might finally split him open. “Not because it was wrong, but because it was right. Right in a way, I never even realized until years later, I regret it because I couldn’t stop remembering it. Because every time I looked at you after that, there was this gap. This space between what we were and what we could’ve been.”

“I didn’t know…” You whispered, “I didn’t even. I didn’t let myself think about it. I thought it just wasn’t in the cards for us. You were my Steve. Wasn’t gonna ruin that.”

“I love you,” he said, finally, like it was a confession and an apology and a surrender all at once. Like he couldn’t go another second without the words leaving his chest. “I loved you before I knew it had a name. And now I do, and I don’t know how to live with it without wrecking everything.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the tequila talking?” You asked, the world still spinning on its side, as he looked down at you as if you were his whole world. Which you were to him. 

“Yes, I mean it’s giving me courage, but everything I’m saying I mean. God, Y/n, I mean it.” He promised. The confession had you reeling. 

“Steve…” You whispered, “I love you, too.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled, his hands shaking. “Thank god, I was feeling a little nervous there.” 

The tension was broken at that, laughter filling the air once again. The language the two of you knew well. You didn’t know where to put your hands, what to say next. 

“It’s never been like this with us,” You said quietly, as if you said it too loud, it would jinx it. 

“I know,” comes the answer right away. “That’s what’s freaking me out.”

“I’m also freaking out.” You assured him, your eyes wide. Laughs erupt from your chests, leaning towards each other from it. Your hands came up, pressing gently against his chest. You and Steve were never overly touchy-feely as friends; boundaries were upheld. Upheld for so long, it's as if each of you knew once it started, you’d never want to stop. 

“I don’t know how to do this.” He admitted, his hands covering yours. You could feel his heart beating against your intertwined hands. Fast, loud, and just for you. 

“Me neither, but it feels right. Don’t you think?” You smiled up at him. 

He gave you that beautiful, toohy grin of his. “God, yeah, it does. Feels like there’s always been something missing.”

“All this time?” Your eyes softened, mourning the years lost. How could you miss something you never even knew you could have had? 

“All this time.” He beamed, “And I don’t know what’s next. All I know is that I’m never letting you go. Ever.” 

“That a promise, Harrington?” You teased, his body leaning closer into yours. 

“That’s a threat, actually.” He smirked, finally crashing his lips onto yours. 

“Fuck, princess,” he growled, voice low and rough, laced with that Brooklyn accent that thickened when he was turned on. “Look at you. So wet already. Been thinking about this tight little pussy all damn day.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “Bucky… please.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest. One hand slid up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair before he gripped your throat from behind. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel owned. His palm was huge, calloused from years of football and gym sessions, wrapping around your neck with perfect pressure. He squeezed just a little as he finally pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open.

“Oh god-” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut as he filled you completely. The stretch burned so good, his girth splitting you wide. You could feel his heavy balls resting against you, the coarse hair on his thighs brushing your skin.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Take it all.” Bucky’s hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the room. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started thrusting, deep powerful strokes that made the bed creak beneath you. Each slam of his hips drove you forward, your breasts bouncing, nipples hard against the sheets.

His hand tightened around your throat, tilting your head back so he could lean down and growl right against your ear. “You feel that, baby? How deep I am? This pussy was made for me. So fucking tight, squeezing my cock like you never wanna let go.”

You were already a mess, moaning loudly with every thrust. “Bucky- fuck- harder-”

He obliged with a grunt, pounding into you harder. The force was relentless. He was stomping the shit out of you, hips slamming forward with bruising intensity, the sound of his pelvis smacking your ass filling the room alongside your broken cries. Sweat slicked your bodies, dripping down your back as he railed you. His free hand reached around to pinch and roll your clit, making you jolt and clench around him.

“Babygirl, you’re creaming all over me already. Such a greedy little thing,” he praised, voice strained with effort. His balls slapped against your clit with every brutal thrust. The pressure on your throat made everything sharper, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming. Stars danced behind your eyelids as he choked you just right, controlling your breath, making you lightheaded in the best way.

You were mewing, actual pathetic little mewls spilling from your lips as he destroyed you. “Ah-ahh- Bucky! I’m- fuck- I’m so close-”

“Not yet, princess,” he snarled, slowing his thrusts just enough to torture you, grinding deep and circling his hips. The head of his cock rubbed against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “You’re gonna cum when I say. Gonna fill this pussy first.”

He kept you right on the edge, choking you tighter when you tried to chase your orgasm, then loosening just enough for you to gasp for air. His body was a wall of muscle behind you, broad chest pressed to your back, abs flexing with every powerful snap of his hips. The scent of sex was thick in the air, your arousal coating his thighs and dripping down yours.

Finally, he let go of your restraint. “Cum for me, baby. Milk my cock like the good little slut you are.”

You shattered. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice, pulsing wildly as your orgasm ripped through you. Bucky groaned loud, hips stuttering before he buried himself deep and came with a guttural roar. Thick ropes of hot cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse as he emptied himself inside you. He kept thrusting through it, pushing his seed deeper, making sure you took every drop.

“Fuck yes… good girl. Taking my load so perfectly, princess.”

You stayed locked together for a long moment, both panting. Bucky’s hand loosened on your throat, sliding down to stroke your back almost tenderly. But he wasn’t done. Not even close. He pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum leaked from your swollen, abused hole.

You collapsed onto your stomach, trembling, trying to catch your breath. But Bucky flipped you onto your back with ease, his massive hands spreading your thighs wide. He settled between them, staring down at your dripping, creamy pussy with hunger in his eyes.

“Wait- Bucky, no,” you protested weakly, cheeks burning as you tried to close your legs. The overstimulation made you sensitive, and the thought of him going down after he’d just finished inside you made you squirm. “That’s… that’s icky.”

Bucky paused, eyebrows shooting up. A wicked grin spread across his face. “What did you just say, babygirl?”

You bit your lip, voice small. “Icky. It’s… it’s nasty, Bucky. You just came in me. You don’t have to-”

“Fuck you mean nasty?” he interrupted, voice dropping to that dangerous, dominant tone that made your stomach flip. He grabbed your thighs harder, shoving them further apart and pinning them down with his broad shoulders. “You think I give a single fuck about that? This pussy is mine. Every fucking inch of it. My cum dripping out of you? That’s the hottest shit I’ve ever seen, baby.”

“Bucky- ah!” Your words cut off in a sharp cry as he dove in without warning.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. The taste of your combined release didn’t deter him one bit, in fact it seemed to drive him wild. He licked broad stripes up your slit, lapping up his own cum mixed with your juices like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck, princess. You taste so goddamn good. Sweet and creamy and all mine.” His voice was muffled against your folds, but the words were clear. He devoured you, no mercy. His tongue fucked into your entrance, scooping out more of his cum before he swallowed it down and went back to your clit.

You were thrashing, hands flying to his hair, half trying to push him away, half pulling him closer. “Bucky- oh my god- it’s too much! I can’t- fuck-”

“You can and you will,” he growled, the vibrations making your hips buck. One of his thick fingers pushed inside you, curling right against your g-spot while he sucked your clit relentlessly. His other arm wrapped around your thigh, holding you open as you squirmed. The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out filled the room, slurping, licking, moaning like a starving man.

Tension coiled tight in your belly again, faster than you expected. The overstimulation blended with fresh pleasure, building higher and higher. He added a second finger, pumping them in and out in time with his tongue.

“Look at you, whining like a little kitten,” he teased between licks, his chin and lips shiny with your mess. “Thought you said this was nasty? Now you’re grinding on my face like you can’t get enough, babygirl.”

“I- I didn’t- Bucky please- ” Your protests dissolved into broken moans. You were a complete mess, thighs shaking around his head, fingers yanking his hair as he stomped you with his mouth the same way he had with his cock, ruthless, relentless, perfect.

He doubled down, sucking your clit hard and curling his fingers just right. “Cum again, princess. Squirt all over my mouth. Give it to me.”

Your whole body seized, back arching off the bed as you screamed his name. Liquid gushed out of you, soaking his face, his tongue, dripping down his chin and onto the sheets. He didn’t stop, didn’t even pull back. He drank it all down, moaning loudly as you squirted again and again, flooding his eager mouth.

“Fuck yes, babygirl. That’s my good girl. So fucking pretty when you squirt for me.”

He kept licking you through the aftershocks, gentler now but still thorough, until you were twitching and whimpering, completely spent. Only then did he crawl up your body, pulling you into his strong arms. His face was slick, lips swollen, but he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourselves on his tongue.

“You’re never calling my pussy nasty again,” he murmured against your lips, voice full of dark amusement. “Understand, babygirl?”

You nodded weakly, curling into his chest with a shy, satisfied smile. “Yes, Bucky.”

“Good princess.” He stroked your hair, holding you close as your heartbeats slowly synced. “We’re just getting started tonight.”

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

Her hands were messing with his pants as she groped him. Harry didn’t care what she did as long as she did it long enough to distract him. Although he wanted to enjoy it, he was struggling to do so. His eyes moved up to stare at the wall across from him. The girl shoving her hand in his pants to wrap her hand around his dick was not doing enough to distract him. 

Just as the girl pulled him out of his pants, the door shot open. Niall walked in with a strange look on his face but it had nothing to do with what he walked in on. 

“Harry.” 

“Fuck off, Horan.” He snapped. 

“Put your dick up and c’mon!” 

“I said, fuck off.” 

Niall groaned as he slammed the door shut. Harry was unaware that he was pacing in the hallway. He knew that Sky would kill him if he didn’t get Harry to come with him. He opened the door again, but before Harry could say anything, Niall spoke.

“It’s Violet.”

Harry darted his eyes to Niall. “What?”

“Sky said she’s puking and.. some guy is with her.” Niall explained. “I thought she was with you.”

“With some guy?” Harry clenched his jaw and grabbed the girl’s wrist. He yanked her hand away from his body. “Stop. It’s not happening.”

She cocked her brow at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” 

The girl huffed and stormed out of the room, hitting Niall with her shoulder as she went by. Harry fixed his clothes and swept a hand through his hair. 

“Where is she?” 

“Sky saw her go into the bathroom with some guy.” Niall looked down the hall. “The one on the other side of the house.” 

“Fuck.” Harry huffed. “I told you to watch her.”

“She’s your pet to watch, not mine.”

“She’s not a fucking pet!” Harry yelled out. 

Niall didn’t say anything else, he knew it wasn’t his place to. Harry rushed off, the only thought in his mind was to find Violet. He fought his way through the crowd of people until he broke out on the other side. Thankfully, he was familiar enough with the house to know where the bathroom was. He saw Sky and hastily went to her. 

“Sky, where’s Violet?” He was frantically looking around trying to catch a glimpse of her. 

“In the bathroom.” Sky pointed to the door closest to them. 

Harry wasted no time barging into the room. He was met with curses and yells from some person he’d never seen before, but none of that mattered. Violet was sitting on the floor throwing up in the toilet.

“Do you mind, jackass?” The guy threw his hands in the air and huffed like an angry toddler. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry walked up to him, anger making his blood boil. “Get out.” 

She heard Harry’s voice and whined quietly. She muttered his name out, but he didn’t hear her. She wasn’t sure how he found her, but she was glad someone she knew was close by. She needed him to help her. 

“Find your own girl.” 

“That is my girl.” He felt like he was about to explode. “Fuck off. You’re not touching her.”

“You fuck off.” The guy pushed Harry back. “Soon as she’s done my dick is going in her. So get the fuck out.”

“You’re not putting any fucking thing in her. Go fuck yourself.” 

Violet turned her head just in time to witness Harry harshly grabbing the guy by his collar and shoving him into the wall. She couldn’t see either of their faces, but the anger was evident in Harry’s voice, 

“Get the fuck out!” 

Violet jumped at the volume. She had never heard him get that loud before. Niall came in the moment he heard the thrashing around and shouting. 

“Get the fuck off me.” 

Harry threw a few more punches into the guy’s face. He wasn’t completely unscathed, the guy was able to get a hit in. 

“Sky, don’t.” Niall grabbed her arm to push her away from the door as she tried to come in. “I’ll get her.” 

Violet hadn’t thrown up in a couple of long moments. She was hoping her stomach was empty and this would all be over soon. Niall lowered to the ground and took hold of her elbow. 

“C’mon, Violet. Can you get up?”

She slowly turned her head to look at him. “Yeah.. I think.” 

“Come with me.” Niall pulled her up and carefully put his arm around her waist to help her walk. 

“Harry..” Her lip quivered as she tried to look back at him, but Niall wouldn’t let her. 

“C’mon, now.” 

Tears began trickling down her cheeks as Niall walked her a few feet from the door. Sky quickly grabbed her face and held her head up. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

Violet shook her head. “Where’s Harry? I’m.. I’m scared.” 

Niall left the girls alone so he could get Harry away from that guy before he did something regrettable to him. Sky sighed and looked over her shoulder towards the bathroom. She could hear the mix of all three of them yelling at each other. Niall was trying to break it up, the guy was trying to get out of the way, and Harry was trying to hurt him..

“I need him, please.” She tried to walk around Sky, but she was stopped. 

“Niall’s getting him.” 

Violet felt the burn of her mascara in her eyes. “M’sick.. he.. he was right. I.. I’m sick.” 

“Okay, calm down. You’re alright.” Sky tried to shush her, but it wasn’t working. 

“He’s.. he’s gonna be mad at me.” She felt extremely embarrassed and upset. 

He had warned her countless times to take it slow and not rush the drinks down her throat. She didn’t listen and now it had caught up with her. He was going to be so disappointed. 

“No, he won’t.” Sky wiped away some of the tears. 

“So mad. I.. I didn’t mean to.. get sick.” She kept shaking her head back and forth. 

“Violet, please, just breathe.” Sky felt bad for letting her slip out of sight. “Hey, you don’t need to let him see you cry, okay? He’ll be worried.” 

The thought of causing him any more worry made her anxious. She nodded quickly and started rubbing her face to rid her skin of the tears. Her makeup was ruined but that was the least of her worries. There was still so much noise spiraling around her. The music hadn’t died down, nor the loud talking and laughing. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. Calming herself seemed impossible, but she wasn’t going to give up. 

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, Harry appeared. He grabbed her elbows and yanked her body forward, she whined as her head fell back. 

“Violet.” His voice was still loud. 

“Harry.. my tummy hurts.” She reached for his waist with both hands and held onto his shirt. 

He tightened his hold on her arms. “What the fuck have you been doing?”

“My.. my tummy, Harry.” Her eyes swelled with more tears as she saw the anger on his face. 

“Answer me.” He demanded coldly. 

She couldn’t look away from his harsh glare. “Having fun.. I thought. This isn’t fun anymore, Harry.” 

“Are you trying to get hurt?”

She furrowed her brows. “No he—”

“Violet, what have you been drinking?”

“I-I don’t..” She couldn’t get her thoughts in line. 

“Answer me. I’m serious.”

“I-I.. I dunno.” 

“Was he giving you drinks?” He was overwhelming her.

“No, I.. I mean maybe.. maybe a few.”

“Damn it, Violet!” He let go of her arms and huffed. 

“I’m.. I’m sorry, Harry.” She covered her face as she started to sob. She turned away from him to hide. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” He circled around her, trying to pull her hands down.

She fought against him for a moment, but quickly gave up and let him move her arms. He carefully lowered them down and left her hands at her side, opting to cup her cheek with one hand and hold her waist with the other. 

“Are-are you mad at me?” She barely managed to get the words out as her eyes opened up. 

Harry felt his heart drop to his feet. Her pretty eyes were red, her mascara and makeup were smudged all around them. She looked so sad and afraid. 

“No, I’m not mad. I’m worried, though.” 

“I’m sorry.” She coiled her hand around his wrist, forcing his palm to stay on her face. He had no plans on moving it anyway. 

“Don’t get upset.”

Violet chewed on her cheek for a second. “You’re.. you’re yelling at me.” 

“I’m yelling because it’s loud, not because I’m mad at you.” Harry sighed. “C’mon, we’re leaving.”

He grabbed her wrist and started pulling her. She clawed at his forearm and whined. 

“Ow, that hurts.” 

Without second thought, he slid his hand down to her hand and squeezed her palm tight. “Sorry.” 

“I wanna go home.”

“I’m taking you home.”

Violet whined again and grabbed onto his elbow with her other hand. “Not home.. I wanna go to your place.”

“That’s what I meant.” Harry sighed back. 

He wasn’t irritated with her, just with the situation and the fact they hadn’t left yet. He was ashamed of himself for allowing her to get so drunk and incoherent. If something bad had really happened to her, he would’ve never forgiven himself. 

“Can I stay with you, please?” She asked with a pleading look in her eyes. 

“Yeah, you can stay.” 

He quickly told Niall they were leaving before dragging her to the front door. Violet felt her stomach start to turn again, but she tried to ignore it. Throwing up in front of him was not something she wanted to do. Harry lead her to his car and opened the door as fast as he could. He motioned her to get in, so she did. She realized how sad she really was feeling the moment Harry leaned inside of the car, taking the seatbelt in his hands. 

“Let me buckle you in, Violet. Be still.” He lowered his voice as she tried to put her arm around his neck. 

“I wanna hug you.” She said in a sweet, yet very upset, voice. 

“Not right now.” He sighed while buckling her in. 

“Please, Harry.” 

“You can hug me when we get home, love.” He glanced at her, and she tried to grab him again. 

“I want a hug now.” She whimpered, batting her lashes at him. “Pretty please? My tummy hurts.” 

Hearing her say that again made him melt into a puddle. How could he deny her? She was asking so sweetly and being so adorable. 

“Fine. C’mere.” He slid his arm around her waist and the other quickly followed suit. 

“Thank you.” She lifted her arms and snaked them around his neck. 

“You’re welcome, angel.” 

“Hm. That’s cute.” She giggled softly.

“What?”

“Angel.”

He pulled back, their eyes meeting. “You’ve had too much to drink. Time to get you home, yeah?” 

“Yeah, please.” She agreed with a pout. Her stomach was hurting again. 

The car ride was quiet for the most part. The radio was off, only the sound of the engine and other cars passing by filled the silence. Violet kept her eyes fixed on her lap after realizing that watching the street lights go by made her queasy. Harry kept his eyes forward, except for every once in a while when he’d glance over at her to make sure she was still alive. She was so quiet.

When they were just a few minutes away from home, Violet broke the quietness. 

“Was that guy gonna do something bad to me?” She asked, afraid to know the answer. 

During the drive, she had been thinking about everything that happened — well, everything she could remember. Some of the night was very fuzzy in her mind. But she recalled talking to the guy the second go around in the kitchen. He was funny and kind to her. They danced together for a while. She let him touch her body and he did the same for her. She was having a decent time. He didn’t seem like he had any bad intentions. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Probably, yeah. If I hadn’t come in there.. he could’ve hurt you.” 

Violet thought about how nice the guy made her feel wanted and appreciated. She knew what she was doing when she decided to hang out with him. 

“I didn’t mean to.. to go in there with him. I wanted to go alone.. but I told him to come with me.” She said while picking at her nails. “He wasn’t.. wasn’t being pushy or.. or anything.” 

“I wish you would’ve found me when you started feeling bad.” 

“I’m sorry. I tried looking for you.” 

He sighed. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I dunno. I.. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Vi. You’re alright now.”

She wasn’t the only one to blame anyway. It was his fault she got upset with him and ran off. It was his fault she was alone in such a vulnerable state. He felt like an idiot for being so mean to her. He should’ve just let her kiss him like she wanted to. Most likely, she would’ve just done it for a few minutes, asked for another drink, and moved on. She probably wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in her mind the way he had. 

When they got to his place, she dreaded the walk up the stairs. Harry took her through the back entrance and unlocked the door that lead to his apartment. He motioned for her to go first, but she pouted and huffed. 

“Harry.. I’m sick.” 

He chuckled. “You’re drunk, Vi.” 

“I can’t.. make it.” She stared up the staircase. 

“C’mon, hold on to me.” 

Without second guessing, he swept her off her feet. She squealed, then giggled as he carried her up the stairs. She held on tight to his neck, hoping that he was strong enough to make it to the top. He didn’t seem to have any issues. 

“Thank you.” She said politely as he helped her back to her feet once they reached the door. 

“You’re welcome.” 

He followed her inside and shut the door behind them. She waited patiently for him to say something or tell her what to do. He tossed his phone, keys, and wallet on the kitchen counter and pushed out a heavy sigh. He was exhausted and ready to crash. 

“M’gonna go wash my face. I’ll get you a washcloth for your makeup.” He said while walking past her. 

She watched him go into the bathroom. He didn’t shut the door, but she still assumed he didn’t intend on her following him. She sat down on the couch and took off her shoes and the tiara that had somehow managed to stay on top of her head all night. 

Harry scrubbed his face until it was clean of all the paint. He stared at his reflection for a long minute. How could he let all this happen tonight? She got out of his sight and almost got stuck in a bad situation. He felt bad that she had gotten sick without him there to take care of her. He hoped she wasn’t afraid at any point. 

Now, she’s sitting in his apartment waiting for him to come back. He quickly sorted through his thoughts and made a few decisions. He had something she could sleep in, since that dress wasn’t going to be a suitable choice. He didn’t have a spare bed, but he had a couch and he’d gladly take it for the night.

He dried his face off before getting a washcloth for her. He soaked it with warm water and folded it neatly into a square. When he saw her waiting patiently on the couch, his chest started to tighten. He cleared his throat and approached her. 

“I hope this is alright.” He said in a mumble, handing her the wash cloth. “I don’t have any sort of makeup remover stuff.”

Violet smiled as she took it from him. “You wear eyeliner.”

He chuckled a little. “Yeah, but I just wash it off in the sink.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at the wash cloth before pressing it to her face. 

Knowing he made sure it was warm was comforting for her. She wiped it down her cheeks, trying to get rid of the makeup. It wasn’t going to be the best removal job ever, but it’ll work fine for the night. Before wiping over her eyes, she looked back up at him. 

“Harry.. do.. do you have something I can.. sleep in?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you a shirt.” He was about to turn around, but he stopped. “Do you want some shorts or pajama pants?” 

She exhaled slowly. “Do you care if I sleep without any pants?”

“If you’re fine with it, I don’t mind. I’ll be on the couch anyway.” 

Violet shook her head. “Okay.. I just get.. hot when I sleep.”

“As long as you’re comfortable, I don’t care what you do.” He reassured her before walking off. 

She looked down at her dress and furrowed her brows. She hadn’t thought about how she was going to muster the strength to take it off until now. Harry was across the apartment digging through his drawers to find her something comfortable to sleep in, so she stood up and made her way to the bathroom. When he heard footsteps, he looked over his shoulder to check on her. A smile softly spread over his lips as he saw her shutting the bathroom door. Maybe she was feeling a bit better. She seemed to be moving around easier. 

In the bathroom, Violet finished wiping off her makeup and splashed some cold water over her face. She took the opportunity to let her curiosity take over. Harry had the usual things cluttering his counter, like toothpaste and a soap tray. She picked up a black pencil and read over the words. It looked like he had a favorite brand of eyeliner. She thought it was cute that he had a few sitting out. 

Her stomach felt empty, but it was still bubbling. A groan slipped out as she looked back at her reflection. She was a wreck. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was messy, and her entire body ached. 

Harry tossed a pillow and a throw blanket on the couch for himself and sighed. He wondered how she was doing in there, but he didn’t get in the way. He gave her the space she needed and waited for her. He was still holding the shirt in hand when the door opened. 

“Harry.” She poked her head out, the dress still on her body. 

“Yeah?” 

Her heart started to race. “I.. I need your help. I can’t get my.. my dress off.”

“C’mere.” 

He met her half way and gestured for her to turn around. He had never delicately taken a dress off a woman before, but there was a first time for everything. He carefully pulled the zipper down. Violet felt the release of the fabric and sighed in relief. She was sick of wearing it. He gave her the shirt. She took a step back towards the bathroom but stopped. 

“Can you.. can you undo my bra?” She asked quietly while turning towards him. “I.. um, my whole body hurts.” 

He gently grabbed her waist and twisted her back around. “Yeah. Be still.” 

“Thanks.” 

Harry grabbed the clasp and carefully undid her bra. He released the sides and watched the item fall away from her skin. She pressed her hand over her chest to keep everything in place. Without saying anything, she vanished into the bathroom and changed into the shirt he picked out for her. It was one he didn’t throw it on often, but it had plenty of wear on the fabric. It was comfortable and a bit stretched. She thought it was perfect. 

Violet came out of the bathroom and glanced around the apartment as she waited for him to tell her what to do. Was she allowed to get on his bed? Sure, he mentioned the couch, but did he actually want her sleeping in his bed? Harry noticed how lost she looked, so he made his way to her. She looked up at him with wide eyes and a soft pout. 

He touched her waist with one hand, just barely. “How’s your tummy, hm? Are you feeling any better?” 

She smiled at the way he said that word. It sounded very sweet coming from him. He had never said that word, but after hearing her say it over and over again, he couldn’t shake it from his head. 

“Somewhat, yeah.” She nodded. 

Harry grunted lightly as she unexpectedly put her arms around his waist and yanked him close. He licked his lips and took a slow breath before returning the favor and wrapping his arms around her back. 

“Thank you.. for taking care of me.” 

“You don’t have to thank me.” He pressed his hand against the back of her head and held her in place. 

She hummed at the feeling, closing her eyes as she smiled into his chest. This felt insanely perfect and natural. She never wanted it to stop. He was so warm and soft, yet his body was toned and firm. He was comforting and gentle in the moment with her. 

“Can you say it again?” She muttered out.

“Hmm?”

“Can you say.. what you said in the car?” 

Harry lowered his hand from her head, but he didn’t let her go. “What do you mean?” 

“When you.. hugged me in the car.” 

He thought back to everything he said. A smile appeared on his face as he remembered the name he called her. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if she’d even remember it. 

“Angel?”

“Yeah. Can you.. call me that again?” She let her head fall back. 

“Violet.” He sighed as he caught her pretty eyes. 

He shouldn’t call her that, or anything similar. He shouldn’t want to. But it was impossible to fight her cute pleading face — her eyes were so big and her lips were pouting. She fluttered her lashes and tried again. 

“It’s pretty and I.. I like it. Please?” 

He felt defeated, in a good way. “If you want me to, angel.” 

“Mhm.” 

She laid her head back on his chest and tightened her arms around him. He sighed slowly, his body melting in her arms. Holding her like this was strange. He’s never really felt this way about anyone before, plus he never hugs people like this. His hook up routine doesn’t include long embraces and gentle touches. 

“You need to lay down.” Harry mumbled to her, his hand gently rubbing a circle on her back. 

“I wanna go with you.” 

He smiled to himself. “No, you need to go to sleep. I have to take a shower.” 

She rubbed her temple against his chest. “Harry, please? I don’t feel good.” 

It took all of his strength to ignore the cute gestures and the softness of her voice. He couldn’t cave in. She wasn’t entirely in her right mind, and he’d like to believe he wasn’t either, but that wasn’t true.

“No, Vi. Lay down, okay?” 

“But.. but.. I can’t go to sleep.” She whined back. 

“You haven’t tried.” A chuckle followed his words. 

“I won’t be able to.” 

“Violet, please.” 

She looked up at him again, this time it felt more intense and special than before. “Stay with me for a bit.. so I can fall asleep. Pretty please.” 

He nodded lightly and smiled. “After my shower, I will.” 

“Promise?” A grin spread over her face.

“I promise.” 

Despite not really wanting to, Violet decided to let him go. She was in his apartment, so she knew he wasn’t going to disappear. He was about to guide her to the bed, but she walked off before he could. The bed did look comfortable and she was beyond tired. She yawned while climbing onto the foot of the bed. A soft laugh left his mouth as he watched her get comfortable. 

Harry made the short trip over to the bed. “Don’t you want to lay down the right way?”

She rolled over onto her back and peered up at him as he appeared. “In a minute. You’re gonna go take a shower right?”

“Yeah, I just told you that, Vi.” He lightly scrunched his brows. 

This girl was either still drunk or just very, very tired. Though she had a lot to drink, he knew some of it had worn off by now. 

“I’ll move when you come back. M’too tired to move.” 

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She quickly grabbed his hand and gave him a tug. “Harry.”

“Hm?” 

Violet reached over with her other hand and wrapped it around his wrist to keep him anchored. “Can I have a hug before you go?” 

“I just gave you a hug.” He smiled again. Nobody had ever made him smile as much as she has since they met. 

“I want another one. You’re leaving.” She pouted her lips out.

“I’m not leaving you, Vi. Just going to shower.” He reminded her, not wanting to give in to her pleading again. 

But it was hard. It was so fucking hard. How could he resist her when she used the sweetest voice and batted her lashes? How could he ignore her when she pouted those pretty lips out and begged him over and over again? From the moment he met her, he knew he’d do absolutely anything for her. Was it a good thing? Probably not, but tonight wasn’t the night to decide that. 

“Please?” She tried again. 

“Alright.” 

Harry leaned down and let her put her arms around his body. He slipped one arm beneath her and the other hand grabbed her waist. Violet sighed into his ear as he let his head fall. Something about her was captivating and inviting, yet so dangerous. He felt incredibly good while being in her arms, their bodies pressed together. It was probably a horrible decision, but right now none of the consequences mattered. He pushed everything out of his mind and focused on the feeling of being this close to her. He had spent countless hours debating with himself over his feelings for her. Were they really feelings or was it just a misunderstanding? He never wanted to admit it, but he knew they were real. Being with Violet was when he felt the most comfortable, when he felt like himself. She made everything better. She made everything easier. However, she also made it quite complicated and chaotic. She was disrupting his life in a way he had yet to fully comprehend. 

Her soft lips brushed his ear as she mumbled. “Your hugs make me feel safe.”

“You’re always gonna be safe with me.” He never wanted her to think otherwise. 

If he knew anything, if he was certain about any fact in his life.. it was that he would never put her into any danger. The situation at the party terrified him enough, he couldn’t possibly handle any more. He wasn’t always the nicest person, or the most open one when it came to emotions, but he knew he would never let anything happen to her. 

“I liked it when you kissed me at the party.” Violet’s gentle voice broke his trance. 

“That was an accident.” He sighed back.

She placed her hand on his jaw and tried her best to angle his head. “Didn’t feel like one. Can you do it again?” 

“Violet.” He wouldn’t let her move him. 

“Pretty please?”

“You’re drunk.” He felt bad as she tried again, this time curling her fingers into his hair to get a better grip.

“M’not as drunk as earlier. Please.” She managed to get him to adjust his position. “I want to, Harry.” 

Hearing her use the word want made his stomach twist up. He didn’t give her what she wanted earlier because he was too stubborn to admit that he wanted it, too. And how did that play out? She ran off and got caught up in what could have been a way worse situation than it was. He stared into her sparkling eyes, even though they were hardly opened he got lost in them. He couldn’t disappoint her again tonight. Once was far too much. 

It took everything in her not to explode with pure joy when his lips pressed down onto hers. He held them there for a long moment, not sure how far she wanted to take it. Violet lifted her other hand and sat it against the side of his neck. She really liked touching him like this. It felt real and magical all at the same time. She pecked his mouth a couple of times as he tried to pull back. Each little touch made him want to sink further and further into her. He was completely melted. 

“Can you kiss me?” She broke away from his mouth. 

He furrowed his brows and muttered back. “I just did, Vi.” 

She lightly shook her head and brought her hand to her jaw. “No, here. Please?” 

Harry watched her tap her fingertips on her jaw, indicating that she wanted more than just a few pecks on her mouth. The look of utter disappointment and sadness she gave him earlier in the night when he refused to kiss her was burned into his brain. The thought of seeing it again made him nervous. He couldn’t disappoint her again. He took a deep breath and nodded. 

Harry molded his lips to the shape of her jaw and placed a few kisses across her skin. She bit down on her tongue and let her fingers slide further into his hair. Her fingers were still touching her face, so he gave each of them a soft kiss, too. She giggled quietly at the ticklish, but extremely comforting, feeling. 

“Here, please?” She trailed the tip of her index finger down her neck, stopping at the base. 

Harry obliged. A very soft, almost nonexistent moan came from her mouth. The sound sent shockwaves to his core. This can’t happen. He shouldn’t be doing this. 

“And.. here.” She instructed again as she pulled down the hem of the tshirt that smelled like him and skimmed her finger over her collarbone. 

He did exactly what she wanted. It was quite unbelievable. Hours ago, she was begging him to do something and he just refused all together. Now, he’s doing it without questioning it, without second guessing or denying her. 

“Harry..” Her soft voice faded out. 

He grunted against her skin, but didn’t move an inch. “Tell me where, Vi.. anywhere you want.” 

She struggled to catch her breath all of a sudden. Was this real? Was this some sort of drunken fueled dream? It felt like one. It felt like the world didn’t exist, like they were the only two people to ever live. This couldn’t be real, but it was.

“Any.. anywhere?” She whispered. 

“Anywhere.” He kissed her collarbone again, awaiting the next instruction.

The hand she had tangled in his hair relaxed against the back of his head while the other moved down to grab the hem of the shirt. She carefully pulled it up to reveal her boobs. The sight made Harry lick his lips. He couldn’t have guessed this would happen tonight, or at all for that matter. Violet took hold of his jaw again and positioned him where she wanted. She held her breath as he started to gently place kisses across her chest. He wanted to hold her breast, but he refrained and let his mouth do all the work. He admired the warmth and softness of her skin. 

“Oh.” She gasped as Harry’s lips closed around her nipple.

Her eyes closed as she soaked up the sensations running through her body. He released her with a quiet pop and moved over to the other side. Although she had faith he wouldn’t pull away, she didn’t let him go in fear that he could at any second. She wanted to thank him out loud, but she was so afraid he’d stop if she did. 

Harry followed her silent commands as she pulled his head back to the middle of her chest and dropped her hand to trace down her stomach. He started down the invisible line, placing soft pecks down her abdomen. He wasn’t sure if her stomach was still bothering her, so he kept his touch light. 

She grabbed the side of his neck again and held him as he marked her body with the sweetest, softest kisses she’s ever felt. Nobody has ever made her feel this way more. Harry was more than just another guy. He was everything she wanted. 

He slowed to a stop as he reached the thin waistband of her panties. He lifted his head in time to see her prop herself up on one elbow. She nodded quickly, giving him permission to continue. He looked down at the fabric of her underwear and stared at it for a few seconds. Was he really going to do this? He swallowed and darted his eyes back up. Violet combed her hand through his scalp, pushing his hair back. 

“Please.” She said through a breath. 

Harry put his mouth on her body and started to kiss her exactly where she wanted. Through the fabric, she could feel his warm mouth and nose as it scraped over her body. She whined lightly as she felt the pressure on her clit. He kissed down to her covered butt then up the inside of her thigh. It was driving her mad. She tugged at his roots, groaning as she craved more from him. 

Harry stood up suddenly, his hands leaving her body. Violet was about to huff and beg him to come back when he suddenly grabbed her hips and yanked her to the edge of the bed. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled her panties up her legs. She giggled shyly as her legs fell back down. He parted her knees and got situated on the floor with his mouth hovering over her pussy. She was perfect and beautifully made, but he didn’t have the time to admire it for long. He was starving for some sort of intimacy with her. He needed this. Harry swept his tongue up her slit, making her moan and curl her toes. 

“Oh my..” She tried to speak, but he took her breath away with another lap of his tongue. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she fell onto the bed. As much as she wanted to watch him, she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up. She loosely held his hair as he ate her out. His tongue worked magic on her body, his mouth sucked on her clit like it was his only job. Everything they had been through together rushed through her mind, from their first interaction, which was a bit harsh, to the joyful time they shared while she did his costume makeup. Harry was all she could think about. 

“Mm, that feels so good.” She told him through a breathless laugh, unable to comprehend all of this. 

It had to be a dream. He was going down on her in his bed, without her having to beg him. He was giving her his undying attention, something her body craved more than air. She was his sole focus. 

“Fuck.. Harry.” 

He moaned against her clit, the vibrations making her back arch off the bed. He was incredibly good at this. Her fingers scratching at his scalp were encouraging. He didn’t want to let up anytime soon, especially before she had reached an orgasm. As long as she was positively responding, he wasn't going to stop. She was no stranger to sex or self pleasure, but she couldn’t recall a time when she approached climax this quickly. 

“Yes, yes.. right there, please, don’t stop.” She was gasping for breath as Harry hollowed his cheeks around the most sensitive part of her body. 

Violet was unable to keep her eyes open. She couldn’t see anything but stars anyway. This was the best experience she’s ever had. She didn’t want it to stop, but she was falling over the edge. 

“Oh, Harry.. m’gonna.. m’gonna cum.” The warning was quick and the outcome was even faster. Within a second, her thighs were shaking. Her stomach rolled, her back arched high as it ran through her body. “Fuck, Harry.”

He licked up the mess he caused slowly, swiping his tongue through her until she was cleaned. All while she was moaning and whimpering. He wouldn’t dare waste a drop of her release. He had already convinced himself he’d never do this again with her, never do anything intimate after tonight — not even a peck on the cheek. But for now, he was going to appreciate every second of it. 

Her moans slowly died down as her lungs caught up to her racing heart. She relaxed her legs, unaware of how tight she had been tensed up. 

“Oh my god.” She said through a soft exhale. 

Harry placed a gentle kiss off to the side of her cunt before standing up. She rested her hands on her stomach as she tried to coax her body down from cloud nine. He picked up her panties that he had tossed on the bed next to her just minutes ago and guided them back up her legs. She lifted her hips as he slid them over her butt and secured them in place. Violet grabbed his hand and tried to pull him down. He fell victim to her, not that he was fighting hard to stop her, and leaned down over her body. 

“Thank you.” She carefully cradled his face and pulled his mouth to hers.

He let her kiss him for as long as she wanted. Her tongue softly moved against his. It was a bit more intense than earlier, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel her in every way he could right now. 

Violet whispered against his lips as her hands slowly fell down. “That was amazing.”

A half smile tugged on his lips. “Get under the covers and go to sleep, okay?” 

“Okay.” She nodded gently, no longer strong enough to fight or argue with him, or beg for his attention. She was worn out. 

“Goodnight.” He gave her one last kiss on her forehead, holding his lips there for a long moment. It would probably be their last kiss. It had to be. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

Violet twisted around after pulling down the shirt to cover her body. He watched her crawl up the bed and slip beneath the covers. Once she was situated, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

While in the shower, he thought about getting himself off just to relieve some stress, but he didn’t. He felt ashamed. He could only see this as a bad thing. Did she think that? Well, no, but he wasn’t going to assume that. She was in such a vulnerable state. He had accused someone else of trying to hurt her. He ended up feeling like he did that instead, even when he hadn’t.

Of course, there was a part of him that didn’t feel shameful about it. She had asked him to do it. That’s what she wanted and he gave it to her. He made up for what he didn’t give her earlier in the night. She enjoyed it. She wanted it. She wanted him to do it. How could that be a bad thing? 

— —

Harry didn’t sleep very late that morning, but he let Violet stay in the bed as long as she wanted. She had barely moved all night. He sat on the couch quietly watching the television while waiting for her to wake up. Every now and then, he’d glance back to check on her. She’d make a small movement or let out a noise, but she didn’t wake up. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the picture of her laying in his bed with his shirt on and her hair all messy. It was a glorious sight, something he could’ve only dreamed of before. There was an angel sleeping in his bed, a princess in his home, the absolute most perfect woman in the world was in his world. 

It was nearing eleven when she rolled over and let out a groan. When Harry looked at her this time, he saw her moving her arms as she rubbed her eyes and yawned. She even woke up beautifully. She was perfect. 

As she sat up, the covers fell and piled onto her lap. She looked around with a haze in her eyes, trying to focus her sight. For just a split moment, she was unsure of where she was. This definitely wasn’t her room at home or her studio. She glazed over him at first, but her brain got triggered. Harry. She darted her eyes back and gave him a sleepy grin. 

“G’morning.” He said with a laugh as she huffed and started moving around. 

Her legs felt like jelly as her feet touched the floor. She balanced herself and carefully started to walk. He held back the bigger laugh he wanted to let out as he watched her stumble and try to keep herself poised. 

“Morning.” She mumbled back as she reached the couch. 

“Do you want something for breakfast?” 

“No.. m’okay for now.” Violet sat down on the opposite end of the couch and sighed slowly. 

“How are you feeling?” 

She smiled lightly. “Better.” 

Harry picked up the remote to change what he was watching. She let her eyes move with his hand. She had an odd obsession with his hands. Her face changed from admiration to concern as she saw the condition of his knuckles. 

“Your hands are bruised.” 

He didn’t care to look down at them, he already knew how bad it appeared. “I was hitting a guy in his jaw.” 

Something between them shifted. Violet swallowed as his rather cold, lifeless words came out. He definitely wasn’t the sweet and caring Harry he was last night. He was back to his usual self. He didn’t want to bring it up or relive what happened, but she wasn’t going to go along with that. 

“Are you okay?” She asked in a soft voice, hoping not to upset him. 

“M’fine.” He shrugged. 

For a few minutes, she was quiet. She looked at the screen across from them and tried to focus on the show that was playing, but it was difficult. She replayed the entire night in her head, from him arriving at her studio to his head between her legs. She kept circling back to the outburst he had. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was it purely anger fueled? Was he trying to protect her? Was he being reckless? Did he really care enough to save her from what he assumed was a bad situation? A sigh left her mouth. 

“Why did you stop him?” 

Harry clenched his jaw as her question broke their silence. “Because he was going to hurt you.”

“I went with him. He didn’t force me.” She was quick to clarify. 

He rolled his eyes lightly. “But he would have.”

She sucked on the inside of her cheek as she moved her eyes down to stare at her lap. She forgot she wasn’t wearing any pants, just the shirt he gave her last night and the panties he swiftly discarded. So, based on his response, she assumed his reaction last night was created by the need to protect her. It made sense. He had been very mindful of what she was doing the entire night, until she vanished out of his sight. She wasn’t upset by the fact he wanted to protect her, but it was somewhat insulting. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t some damsel in distress. If she wanted to kiss a guy and hook up with him in a bathroom, then she had every right to. 

“Harry, I’ve had sex before.” 

He let the irritation from what happened take over his mind. “You’ve never been wasted and had sex, have you? You think he was going to put on a condom? Do you think he wasn’t going to force you to do what he wanted? You could’ve gotten hurt.” 

She stayed silent for a minute as his rant ended. As much as she wanted to understand where he was coming from, she had to defend herself. 

“He didn’t seem like he was going to be that way.” She said honestly.

“You were drunk, Violet.” Harry shook his head. 

The way he acted about it made her feel like an idiot, like she didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe she was a bit out of her mind from the alcohol, but she wasn’t an idiot. She thought the guy was nice and attractive and she would’ve had sex with him if she hadn’t gotten sick, and if Harry hadn’t barged in and stopped them. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m stupid.” She crossed her arms on her chest and huffed.

“I never said that.”

“You basically did.” She snapped her head over, not expecting to see his hard stare. 

“I did not. I’m not saying you’re stupid for wanting to have sex. You just.. you were drunk and I didn't want you to make the wrong decision.”

“Okay!”

“Violet.”

“I said okay, Harry.” Her voice got louder. 

He easily recalled how upset he made her at the party and he didn’t want that to happen again. He pushed down the words he wanted to spit out in anger and opted for something else entirely. The best way to end this would be to just be away from her. He needed time to think by himself. He needed to be away from the distraction she created in his brain. 

“I need to take you home.” He sighed out as he stood and walked past her, heading to his dresser. “I’ll get you some clothes to wear.” 

Violet didn’t argue and she didn’t protest it. If that’s what he wanted, then she was going to agree. Besides, she was mad at him and wanted to be by herself for a while. She had fun at the party, until she didn’t, and she had a nice time on his bed last night. But, for the sake of her sanity, it needed to be over soon. 

Harry gave her a clean shirt and a pair of lounge pants to wear home, telling her he’d get them back some other time. When she didn’t reply while snatching the items from his hand, he knew she was upset. She locked herself in the bathroom to change clothes, leaving him huffing and puffing as he got dressed himself. It was going to be a long car ride to her studio. 

Harry was not very keen on having any sort of conversation as they walked down the stairs and got in the car. Violet didn’t care to speak, either. She kept her eyes glued to the window and watched the buildings and cars pass by. It was eating them both alive, though. Harry was much better at ignoring his feelings and blocking things out than she was. It didn’t surprise him when she started to talk. 

“Can we talk about what happened last night?” 

He sighed heavily and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “A lot happened last night.” 

Violet shifted in the seat to face him, her eyes burning holes through the side of his face. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

He set his jaw as everything flashed through his mind. Of course, he knew exactly what she was referring to, but acting like he was clueless was easier. That wasn’t going to cut it with her. 

“What is there to talk about?” He seemed very uninterested in the topic. 

“I.. I don’t know.” Violet dropped her eyes down to his neck. “We just.. haven’t talked about it.” 

She thought about how nice it felt to touch him there, to hold on to his body and knot her fingers in his hair. It felt natural, it felt real. Harry was very annoyed with himself for the choices he made the night before. He crossed the line multiple times and it would be impossible to go back. The boundaries had been broken. He made a mistake. 

“Well, I ate you out. That’s all there is to talk about.” He shrugged, once again speaking like it meant nothing to him. “It is what it is.” 

It felt like a blow to her gut. Did it really not matter to him? Was she foolish to think otherwise? Without thinking, she blurted out. 

“Well, I just want to know if you did it because you wanted to.” She pushed down the lump in her throat. “Why’d.. why’d you do it?” 

He glanced at her for a split second. “I did it because you asked me to.” 

She licked her lips slowly and shifted her eyes to the windshield. Her body turned in the seat, facing forward once again. The harsh memory of what happened when he refused to kiss her at the party resurfaced in the forefront of her mind. She wanted to do that. She wanted him to use his mouth on her. 

“So, you.. didn’t want to.” She tried to say it as a fact instead of a question. 

“Obviously, I wanted to or I wouldn’t have done it.” His tone still hadn’t changed. 

She picked at the polish on her thumbnail. Despite not wanting to say another word to him, she couldn’t hold back. She had to know the truth, she had to know all the little things or else it was going to kill her. 

“Was I okay?” She looked his way once more. “Like.. was it okay?” 

The gentle tone of her voice finally broke through his thick skull. He had been rather rude to her since she got up this morning. What for? Because she asked him questions, because she wanted to know his thoughts, because she kept bringing it up.. 

He refrained from giving her any attitude. “Why are you asking me if it was okay?” 

“I don’t know.” 

It was obvious that she was nervous and unsure about things, and that was entirely his fault. She did nothing to deserve the treatment he was dishing out. He sighed again, this time reverting back to that cold tone he was so good at using. 

“I’m the one that should be asking if it was alright, if I did a good job or whatever.” 

Violet pulled her eyes away from him with no intentions of returning them anytime soon. “I just didn’t know how you felt about it.” 

She wasn’t too shocked by his lack of response. For a couple minutes, she closed her eyes and tried to dissociate from the car. She just wanted to be at her studio, somewhere away from him. He had done enough damage to her for the time being. She couldn’t survive anything more. 

They were both silent, lips sealed and locked until the car arrived outside of her building. Violet let out a deep breath and reached for the handle, but before she could pull it open, he interrupted the harsh silence. 

“It was okay. It was better than okay.” 

Violet didn’t dare look over at him. She didn’t think he deserved to see her reaction. She kept her features relaxed and stayed calm, knowing it was for the best. She opened the door, but didn’t get out of the car just yet. 

Her voice was soft as she replied. “I thought so, too. You were.. definitely better than okay.” 

She put her leg out, hoping to make a quick escape but he kept talking. Making up for lost time wasn’t what she wanted right now. 

“But I did it because you asked me to.” Harry restated as if she had forgotten. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

She gulped as the realization sank into her body. He only did it because she asked him to. Sure, he didn’t mind doing it, but he made it clear that it was a one time thing. Even if he didn’t say those exact words, she knew that’s what he meant. 

“Right, okay.” 

Violet got out of his car with her dress balled up in her arms and her shoes dangling from her fingers. She didn’t care about being barefoot. She refused to say anything to Harry as she shut the door with a bit too much force and headed to the front entrance of the building. The only thing keeping her motivated to move was knowing a shower was waiting for her upstairs. Harry stayed parked until she disappeared inside. But once she was out of his sight, he left. 

Once she was enclosed by the comfort and familiarity of her studio, she stripped her body of his clothing and threw it on the ground along with her belongings. She ignored the painting she left on the easel and the pile of sketchbooks on her desk. None of that mattered right now. She adjusted the water in the shower to the hottest temperature her body could tolerate and stepped in. 

Washing away the smell of his clothes and bed, the residue of his lips all over her body, and the feelings he created were her only concerns. She had to rid herself of the last twenty four hours. She had to free herself from the cage he tossed her in. It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t in it alone, but he locked her in and left her. 

[a/n: i really hope that was unexpected but well written and exciting.. but you know me, and you know this series, don’t get too excited just yet. Hope you enjoy!!!]

reblog banner: #cafekitsune

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

@victoriasigaard

@ariiscringe

@harlowsgirl

@lomllover

@haniaaa04

@sideboobrry11

@tenaciousperfectionunknown

@fangirl509east

@fruity-harry

@sassamanda77

@lizsogolden

@prettygurl-2009

@sincerely-yours-marsbar

@mypolicemanharryyy

@angelbunny222

@mads3502

@inlikea-coolway

@matildasatellite

@imaginexxharry

@daphnesutton

@triski73

@indierockgirrl

@adore-you-hs2

@angeldavis777

@stylesftcher

@monicaalexandraaa

@mema10

@harryyloverrr

@mothersversiononly

@hsandts4l

@gem1712

@prettydelilah

@witch-rry

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 😌

it was a very normal day for you. waking up, drinking your usual coffee with oat milk, getting ready for work and just leaving the house. nothing unusual or weird... but one thing — today you had a little trip with your class and that meant a very perfect day: no chaos in classroom, no cleaning, just kids having fun outside. there were also downsides of a trip: trying not to loose a child and go back to their parents in one piece. but what can happen with four adults and a little bit over 30 kids? it is going to be a great day!

kids were definitely more excited than anyone else, because show me a kid whos not obsessed with any sort of big car... your kids were always glued to the windows when there was a garbage truck outside a preschool so they were obviously very excited for a trip to the fire station.

"the last time they were so excited was when we were watching new paw patrol movie." your friend and coworker laughed when you finished helping kids with their shoes.

everyone was ready. you had to take a bus to get there, but that's just another attraction kids adore.

"we could be driving around the city in a bus for a whole day and they will love it." you laughed.

it took you a little bit over 30 minutes to get there. kids were more and more excited with every second. you and three other teachers weren't that excited, you did it for children and your only goal was to just survive another day.

you arrived right on time. there was already a few firefighters waiting for you ready for the tour. they introduced themselves, the one who was doing most of the talking said his name is james, but everyone calls him bucky.

"this is the bestest day ever!" one boy who was holding your hand exclaimed with a huge smile on his face.

everything went great. all the kids had a great time, they were really interested. you weren't paying much attention to what was being said, you were there for the children and if they had a great time so had you. the most exciting part for the kids was a fire truck. they were obsessed. and that's what they were talking about all the way back. you took a lot of pictures for the parents, so they also knew how fun your little trip was. everything was so casual and normal, but on your way back to work that's where things got... interested.

"i may be delusional, but the talking guy was looking at you all the time." was the first thing your best friend said to you when you left the fire station.

"huh? me? noo... what are you talking about?"

"girl, are you blind? the big guy was... i want to say what he was doing with his eyes to you but we are still with a bunch of 5 year olds, so i will tell you that later."

nooo... it cannot be. she's obviously joking, right? you would notice... or maybe not. not like you were paying much attention to the firefighters or what they were saying or what they were looking at. but you had to admit, that talking guy was... attractive. and now he will be the only thing on your mind for the rest of the day. thanks to your very observant best friend.

he seemed pretty focused on his job.

and on talking to kids.

and on kids.

and he seemed to be good with kids too.

and he was big.

like big big.

and hot.

okay he was hot.

fuck.

now you wished your work bestie was telling the truth, but at the same time what can you do now? it's not like you can go back without the kids after work and what? pretend you left your phone? or that a child lost something? like a hat? it's dumb. and it won't work. no way it will work...

"hey! earth to y/n! you okay?"

"huh?" you looked at your friend when your kids were having a nap after your trip. there was still a few hours before their parents have to take them home and they were really tired after all day of activities.

"what are you thinki- wait. are you daydreaming about that hot firefighter? seriously?"

"hey! don't judge me! you've put this into my head... it's your fault."

"i just told you what i saw, y/n."

your day at work was almost over, still with only one thought on your mind. him. and the worst thing? you haven't even said one word to him. your delusion was based on what your best friend told you. at this point you accepted that you will probably think about him for a week and it will be over. with only one hour of work left and only 5 kids in your group you were playing with dolls and animal figurines ready to go home, but that's when things got... interesting. one of your other coworkers came to your classroom and said there is someone asking for you and waiting in the waiting area.

"who? can you stay with the kids for a second?" because you can't just leave them alone. when they agreed you left your classroom and a few moments later you looked like you saw a ghost. just blinking a few times to be sure you are not daydreaming again.

"hi." was all he said at first, nervous. he was clearly nervous. scratching the back of his neck, just looking at you.

"um... hi, is... is there something wrong? we left something? or did the kids break something?" you asked it really quickly, your mouth faster than your brain. okay why are you talking so fast, you are asking normal question. just calm down.

"no, no, no! not that! i was just looking for you and i had to come here." he paused for a second. "okay, that sounded a bit creepy. let me just start again. hi. i'm bucky. i obviously saw you today, you were with the kids and i will be honest i was kind of... it was hard to focus and i was wondering if you maybe want to go out? i wanted to ask you that earlier but... they would probably kill me for doing that at work, so..."

you had to blink a few more times, because what? he did what? oh fuck your friend was so right.

"i- okay, wait. i guess i know how you found me... it's... i was not expecting that. i mean you. here. i was not expecting you here... bucky. yes. yes i do want to."

he smiled. he was grinning like a child who was just told he can put his dream toy into a shopping cart.

"you do! okay... okay! can i get your phone number then? and we will set a date later?"

you nodded and he gave you his phone. you quickly saved your number with your name and gave him back his phone. after that he just looked at his screen and said your name out loud with a huge smile. your legs became weak that second. oh god.

after that you had to come back to work. still over 40 minutes left. but now you had that strange feeling inside of you and nosy coworkers gossiping about you for the rest of... now the day but realistically speaking for the next month.

when your work day ended and all the kids were picked up by their parents you came back home with a big smile on your face. the first thing you did was obviously texting your best friend about it.

the call lasted almost an hour. in the meantime you had dinner, cleaned your place a little bit and picked an outfit for tomorrow. it was late and you had to take a shower. were you waiting for bucky's text? yes. but the only notification on your phone was new sabrina carpenter's post on instagram. nothing else.

when you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, you looked at your phone again and you froze. it was finally him.

that's how you ended up with a date. next saturday. so in like 2 days. all of this felt like straight from a book. almost like the airport run for a girl, but you met the guy today and he just found you at work... but you have to start somewhere. all you have to do now is survive all the gossip at work for a few days and pick an outfit.

×××

bucky planned a really sweet date. you went for a long walk and had a really nice dinner. nothing too fancy, but the food was really good and the company was even better. you talked a lot, actually it felt like you knew him for a long time. he was a bit shy at first, but after a few moments conversation became way more comfortable. you two got to know each other pretty well during that first date. you found out you both chose your career paths because you wanted to help people, but with a clearly different approach. you are helping kids learn and you are building their personalities and he's saving people. you learnt about his family, his hobbies and his fluffy white cat (he showed you pictures and it was the sweetest kitten you've ever seen).

"you know, you are really smart, that's very attractive." he said when he was walking you home after your dinner. it was late, but the date went so amazing you wanted it to last forever.

"you are making me nervously giggle when you say things like that, bucky." that was true, he was complimenting you all night. his eyes on you all the time. and it was a look of pure adoration. he was making you both blush like some high school crush and weirdly turned on the whole evening.

when you arrived at your doorstep he looked at you looking like a lost puppy but also like a hungry dog. this huge man needed you. the truth was he needed you from the second he saw you for the first time. but he was too much of a gentleman to do anything before he was sure you wanted something more too.

"i had a really great time, y/n." he said with a big smile, but the truth was he wasn't ready to say goodbye, not yet.

"me too! thanks for... stalking me at work, i guess?" you laughed and also just stared at him. a few moments of not really uncomfortable silence passed. a lot of thoughts passing through your head. mostly about him. about his body. about his big body. about how sweet and kind he was all evening. about his biceps. oh god his biceps. should you or should you not- fuck it.

"do you want to come inside?" you just asked, not even a five seconds later you also added "i have wine."

"yes! i mean- i would love to!" he said it way too fast with so much enthusiasm, it was actually cute. he made you laugh again.

you found your house keys in your bag and opened the door. after your invitation he stepped inside your apartment and looked around. it was small, but cozy. a few little trinkets here and there. it was obvious that a teacher lives here with some puzzles or colouring books on a shelves. also a lot of paper work left on the table in the kitchen.

"sorry, i wasn't expecting guests." you said as you started to gather your papers in a pile.

"you don't have to worry, it's cute. i can tell you actually live here. there is a life in this place, i like it." he gave you a warm smile.

when you cleaned the area a little bit you found your wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

"we can go to the living room or stay he- oh." you turned around to face bucky and there he was. so close to you. your breath stuck in your lungs for a second. "um... hi." you whispered after a deep breath.

"hi." he was looking into your eyes. fixed your hair by putting one loose strand behind your ear. his touch soft. gentle. "i have to be honest with you, can i be honest with you?" when you nodded he continued. "when i saw you for the first time a few days ago i knew i wanted you. it was hard to focus on work... you were so hot and pretty and i had no idea what happened to me but i've never felt anything like it. i had to find you and talk to you. i needed it. i needed to see your pretty face, your gorgeous smile. and i did that. now there are a few more things i still need. i need to touch you. i need to feel your body in my hands. you are so cute and small and i know you are going to feel amazing in my arms... is this okay? for me to need this? to need you like thi-" he had no chance to finish his last words because the next thing he felt were your lips on his. a few seconds later your hands found their way to his hair. his hands on your hips as he kept you closer and closer with every second. your kiss quickly became more passionate, both of you needed each other.

you don't remember when you ended up on a kitchen counter but you did. bucky's lips on your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist keeping him as close as you could. the kisses on your neck were wet and a little bit chaotic. it was obvious he needed you. really needed you. when he left a little mark on your neck you gasped. a few moments later your dress was rolled up around your waist and bucky was on his knees before you. he gently spread your legs. his eyes on yours the whole time. fuck he was so hot like this. first bucky gently kissed your skin. leaving a lot of little kisses on your legs, then your thighs, slowly coming closer and closer to where you needed him.

soon your panties were gone and that moment when you felt his lips on you, you were thrilled with the fact that he came to find you at work, because this man knew what he was doing. he was slow but his tounge was working magic on you making you only more and more wet. you started to moan and whimper a little bit. your hand grabbed his hair keeping him close. bucky moaned into your pussy and that made you whimper. when you pulled his hair a little that was when he added his finger. only one at first. starting slow, but you had a feeling he won't be like that for a long time and that was the truth. in just a few more minutes this man that you met a few days ago was making you feel like you've never felt before with only his mouth and fingers.

"don't stop or i will kick you out-" you moaned when you were getting really really close. he had no plan to stop. he needed you to cum on his face. he needed to feel it. and it was making him really horny.

"i won't stop, i want you to cum, sweetie." he hummed. "can you do that for me? you are being such a good girl for me, making such a sweet noises..." he just kept going and it was impossible for you to hold it longer. with a loud moan of his name you finished on his tounge, pulling his hair and keeping him close to your already sensitive pussy.

bucky was so turned on by just eating you out. it was insane for him, he knew you for a few days and was already obsessed with you. intoxicated by you. by your noises. by your taste. by the feeling of your skin in his hands. he was addicted. and honestly? you were too.

he gave you a few moments to breath.

"you okay?" he asked and licked his lips as he looked at you. you nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "can i keep going?" another nod from you and the next thing you see are his fingers. so close to your mouth. "open up, baby and suck on them."

and you did just that. your head dizzy. empty. this man had to put a spell on you, there was no other option. you tasted yourself on his fingers. he kept eye contact with you the whole time you were sucking on them. you knew it was making him hard. and you needed to feel it. with bucky's fingers still in your mouth you started to unbuckle his belt. eye contact very strong as the attraction and tension between the two of you was insane. when his fingers left your lips you whispered softly.

"my turn, james." his eyes widened. more because of you using his full name, not because of what you wanted to do. now you needed to taste him. a few seconds later you were the one on your knees in front of him, unzipping his pants, still keeping that eye contact.

bucky was hard. really hard and your mouth watered at even just the thought of him. he groaned when you took him inside your mouth. his hands were in your hair even faster than yours ended up in his just a few moments ago.

"fuck, i had a feeling your mouth would feel amazing, but that's pure heaven, baby."

his words only made you work harder and really do your best. you were getting turned on again and him pulling your hair only added to the feeling. at the same time bucky felt like he was loosing it, he tried not to be too rough with you but you were making him feel so good, it wasn't easy to keep himself from straight up fucking your throat.

"you look so pretty, fuck- i just want to-" he pulled your hair harder, you moaned around him. the thing about bucky - he was big everywhere and when he finally started to be more rough with you - you really felt it.

you were sucking him for a couple more moments, but then he just stopped.

"fuck it, i need you. bend over."

you just blinked, but you obeyed. you stood up and quickly bucky was behind you next to the same kitchen table you were cleaning before. you felt his breath next to your right ear. he gently kissed it, then left a few slow kisses on your neck. you felt it behind you, your pussy getting more wet with every second.

"i can't promise i will be gentle." he whispered and bit your ear. this made you moan and bit your lip right after.

"you don't have to be." you said breathlessly.

"that's my sweet and brave girl." he hummed and you gasped at the sudden feeling of him filling you. at first he was slow, giving you time to get used to him and you needed that. but when it started to feel comfortable he lost all of his restraints. he was big and he was really getting into it. it was rough, it was deep, it was hard. he was holding you by the hips as you were slowly becoming a moaning mess under his touch.

"you are so tiny in my hands, angel." bucky growled as he kept going. you were so wet it was so easy for him to keep hitting all the right spots. you've never felt anything like this and it was a paradise on earth right now with him. soon your body started to shake a little as another orgasm was coming closer and closer. you needed it.

"please-" you whined.

"please what?"

"don't stop."

"awww are you close, sweetie? c'mon give it to me."

and you did. you came with almost a scream and it was enough to send bucky over the edge too. he held you tighter and he finished inside you with a hard bite on your shoulder.

bucky kept holding you as you were a weak puddle in his hands. he smiled when you both caught your breath. now he was next to you, but still holding you close.

"shit... i'm obsessed with you." he giggled and so did you. you looked at him with hazy eyes. "let me give you a glass of water." he said and took the wine glass that you prepared before you kissed him first and filled it with water. bucky gave you the glass and you drank almost all of it. he put you on top of the table again so you were sitting on it.

"you okay?" he simply asked.

you nodded and said a very quiet "more than okay."

the rest of the evening went smoothly. you took a shower, together and yes his fingers ended up inside you again. after that you got dressed and finally had that wine you promised him. he left your house almost in the morning leaving you satisfied and empty headed, but at the same time full of... a very weird feeling inside you. no, you can't have a crush on a guy you met not even a week ago... but fuck, wasn't he hot, funny, charming and good in bed?

×××

Dustin—who had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the party’s weekly movie night—laughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.

“I’ll just go alone,” Steve grumbles against his arm. “I’ll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding and—”

“What about Max’s sister?”

Steve can’t help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.

He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.

“What’s wrong with my sister, Harrington?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s ears turn red.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problem—

“Nothing!” Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely nothing! She just—”

“Hates his guts?” Dustin offers.

Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Max insists. “She just—she just thinks you’re an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.”

Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billy’s family—and by extension your family—’trash’. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didn’t take them back. He didn’t apologise.

He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byers’ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didn’t buy it. You had made it very clear that you didn’t want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood why—you were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.

And so, Steve wasn’t exactly convinced by Max’s insistence that you didn’t hate him.

“There is no way she’ll go with me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. “She hates—”

“—she will,” Max says with a knowing smile. “She owes me a favour.”

Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout ‘April Fools!’.

When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.

“What for?”

“She broke my skateboard,” Max explains. “I was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.”

Dustin laughs and the corner of Max’s mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“Gee, thanks Max,” Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. “But I really don’t think she’ll agree.”

And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one. 

Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Of course—it was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they weren’t fourteen.

“We’re closing in—”

“—in five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.”

Steve’s stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. “Robin has the flu if that’s what you—”

“—I’m here to see you,” you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steve’s hand before you look back up at his face. “Max told me about your—your plus one situation.”

“Oh,” Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. “Yeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. She’s cat sitting or something so can’t um, make it.”

You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you don’t, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. “I’ll do it.”

The bopper in Steve’s hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.

“Seriously?” He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. “You—you’re not—this isn’t a prank, right?”

You frown slightly. “Why would I do that?”

Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him. 

“I—I dunno—I just—you know this is a wedding, right?” Steve asks you. “Like I’ll be in a suit and you’d wear—”

“—a dress,” you finish. “I know, Max told me. I have a dress if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. “I’m not worried about that, it's just—are you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this wedding—with me?”

You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.

“Yes, Harrington,” you say finally. “As a favour to Max, I’ll go to this wedding with you.”

Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or that you weren’t going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasn’t a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much. This means a lot. My family are—yeah—this is just, it’s really great of you to—”

“—but I’m not dancing with you,” you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. “Or doing anything remotely touchy feely. I’m just your plus one. That’s it. That’s all I’ll be.”

“That’s fine!” Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. “Makes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Ju—just my plus one.”

You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. “Good. Glad we got that covered,” you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.

“You know you need to pay for th—”

“See you tomorrow, Harrington,” you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.

“Could you sit still? Just for two minutes?”

“Is this really necessary?”

Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.

You huff but you don’t question her further.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morning—the time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour away—you found that you were starting to feel nervous. 

The pale green satin dress you were wearing—the one you had been saving for Max’s graduation—hugged your body in a way that you weren’t used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didn’t exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing you’d be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.

“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. “I mean—I could say I got the flu from Robin or—”

“—absolutely not,” Max snaps at you. “Just give him a chance? Alright? He’s not the asshole he was in high school.”

You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you don’t respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldn’t allow yourself to believe it.

By some miracle, you were ready just before ten o’clock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.

“Still wanna back out?” You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your mom’s nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.

You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach. 

“No,” you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. “I made a promise so I should stick to it.”

Max looks at you before she smiles. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your mom’s purse from her hands. “Not bad for a last minute wedding.”

The corner of Max’s mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. “You promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?”

“Max—”

Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. “I’m serious. I want you two to get along. You’re important to me, he’s important to me.”

You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.

“Just don’t—don’t tell him I said that,” Max adds.

You fight back a smile. “I won’t.”

It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.

“You look great,” your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile back—not entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steve—the guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steve—the guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.

You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.

“—is the tie the right colour?” You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. “‘Pale green’ was right of vague, I had to—”

“—you don’t need to match with her dress, it’s not prom, Steve—”

“—but I thought—”

You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.

In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.

He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steve—really look at him—and admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearing—the tie of which almost perfectly matched your dress—he looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.

The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.

“You’re late,” you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesn’t give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. “You know it’s rude to show up after the bride?”

Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.

“It was the tie! And there was some construction near the—”

“—still. You’re late.”

Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained. 

“Ready to go?” Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.

You nod, opening your mom’s purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. “Yeah. Ready to—”

“—wait!” Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. “Let me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.”

Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.

The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey. 

It dawned on you that you hadn’t ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But now—you face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.

One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.

“Do you have to hum while listening to music?” You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.

You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.

“It’s my car,” Steve points out. “I can hum in my car if I want.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that you’d try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip. 

Baby steps.

But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.

“Are you ready for this?” Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.

You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.

“Yeah,” you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steve’s hand moves to open the door, you add, “it’s just—I’m not—I’m not great with family.”

Steve’s hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. “That makes two of us,” Steve tells you. “So don’t worry. My parents hate everyone. Just don’t take it personally and you’ll be fine.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.

As you walk by throngs of Steve’s relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of who’s who while you try to keep up.”

“That’s my uncle Simon,” Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. “Been married like three times. Doesn’t seem to understand what monogamy is.”

You bit back a laugh.

“That’s my great aunt Sara—”

“—great aunt?” You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. “Are you sure she’s—”

“—she had a face lift,” Steve explains and you nod slowly. “Well, we all suspect she’s had a face lift. She’s never actually said. She just keeps saying it’s because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.”

Another laugh you had to fight back.

Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.

“And this,” he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. “Is my aunt Edith. She’s a bit much but—”

“Stevie! Oh, look at you!”

You watch in fascination as Steve Harrington—the guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three years—turns bright red.

“Edith—”

“—what?” Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. “Is it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?”

Steve doesn’t respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesn’t tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Steve, is this your—”

“—friend,” Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. “Just a friend.”

In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.

“And a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,” Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. “I’m only teasing him, honey. Don’t look so worried.”

You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. “No, go ahead. Tease away. I didn’t know he could turn that shade of red.”

Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle. 

“Oh, I like her already.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you can’t help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You can’t blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.

But Edith doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate.

“You two should probably head inside,” Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. “Or you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.”

You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.

“Sorry about Edith,” Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. “She’s really—”

“—she was lovely,” you tell Steve. “Really. She wasn’t too much at all.”

Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.

You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.

“By the way,” Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. “I forgot to say earlier but you look—”

But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.

As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a church—albiet, nowhere near as extravagant as this—had been at Billy’s funeral.  

Despite the fact you hadn’t been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billy’s death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billy’s death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billy’s death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didn’t, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Max’s life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.

But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billy’s death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billy’s name—was that, try as you might, you couldn’t protect Max from everything.

And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.

After the ceremony—of which, you remember very little—you and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still weren’t so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.

Though he wasn’t saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didn’t even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.

“Okay,” Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Did I do something or—”

You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time. 

“I haven’t—I haven’t been in a church since—” you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steve’s smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.

You miss how Steve’s eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.

“Oh,” he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry. I—”

“—it’s okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. “I’m okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.”

Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasn’t going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you weren’t going to get away that easily.

“—I know I’m not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me about—”

“—Steven! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You watch as Steve’s face almost completely drains of colour.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a couple—who were undoubtedly his parents—striding towards to two of you. “Okay. It’s just my parent’s. It’s just my—”

“—oh, you must be Steven’s girlfriend!” Steve’s mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you don’t even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steve’s girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.

That son of a—

“He had told us you were pretty but I don’t think you’d be—”

“—mom,” Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didn’t care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.

Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steve’s parents didn’t let your name pass without acknowledgement.

“Oh dear,” his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. “I thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?”

You don’t trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.

“We’re terribly sorry for your loss,” his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. “Awful accident.”

You smile in acknowledgement but you aren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunately—or unfortunately—for you, Steve’s father continues talking.

“And for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all places—it must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!”

You swallow. It had been awful but you didn’t think much of Danny Harrington’s tone—of the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your mom—even if she had started drinking to cope—and a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.

But before you could tell Steve’s father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.

“Dad, let’s not—let’s not go there, okay?” Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.

Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his son’s words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.

“Very well,” he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy the evening, both of you.”

The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.

You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. “That was—”

“—I’m really sorry,” Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. “For making them think that you’re my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didn’t know what to say—”

“—Steve, it’s—”

“—and I’m sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didn’t need me to—you know. I just—my dad he just—I couldn’t—I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that. Like he—”

“—Harrington.”

Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently. “I—I appreciate it. Really. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you weren’t lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you weren’t used to around him. 

“Okay,” Steve says with a grateful smile. “Okay. That—that’s good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.”

“No,” you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. “But the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.”

Steve can’t help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.

Baby steps.

He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.

“Yeah?” you reply in a voice that you hope doesn’t give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.

“I wanted to—I forgot to say this earlier,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didn’t think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. “I think—you just—you look beautiful, Mayfield.”

You weren’t entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.

“You look pretty good yourself, Steve,” you say with a small, barely there smile.

Steve blinks and then—

“You just called me Steve,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.

You shrug, you pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

Baby steps.

It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.

You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.

“Please Steve!” the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. “Just one more!”

“Later,” Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. “Later, I promise!”

You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.

“What are you smiling at?” He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.

“Nothing,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth of your cheeks. “Just—you’re really good with kids.”

Even the colourful disco lights couldn’t conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Steve murmurs. “Kids are much easier when there’s no Upside Down involved.”

You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.

It’s quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steve’s fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You can’t help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.

“You want another drink?” Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. “I can get you another—”

“—do you want to dance?”

The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away and—

“Yes,” Steve says quietly and with a nod. “I’d love to.”

You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.

“I’ll be a gentleman,” Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. “Promise.”

The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight. 

“Do my eyes deceive me,” Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, “or are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?”

You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.

“No,” you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steve’s mouth to twitch. “Course not, Harrington.”

“Oh? Are we back to Harrington, now?” Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. “What did I do? I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.”

It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn. 

“Just keeping you on your toes,” you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him. 

Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. “Misson accomplished.”

There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldn’t move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.

“Mayfield, I—”

“—Steve!”

It was the voice of his younger cousins’, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.

“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. “I’ll um, I’ll go get another drink while you—”

You gesture towards his younger cousins’ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steve’s attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldn’t deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight. 

You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousins’ easily. 

“He’s always been great like that with kids.”

The sound of Steve’s Aunt Edith’s voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steve’s beer.

“Sorry honey,” she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her. 

“It’s okay,” you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steve’s parents, Aunt Edith didn’t make you feel even remotely nervous. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Becuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?” She offers with a wry smile.

Your face warms but you don’t even try to deny it.

“You know, I’ve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,” she tells you.

You couldn’t stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m just saying,” she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, “that I think, as his favourite auntie, that you’d be pretty grear together.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.

Edith’s words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billy’s funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.

“You’re looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.”

The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.

“Just thinking,” you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. “Here’s another beer, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. “Need it after running around with those kids, I’m too old for this shit.”

You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. “You’re twenty one, Steve.”

“Twenty one going on seventy.”

You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.

“I know you just got us some drinks,” Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. “But I really want to dance with my date.”

The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.

“Plus one,” you correct him, biting back a smile.

“Synmatics,” he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. “Dance with me, Mayfield.”

There was no other answer but yes.

You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.

“Ever thought that you’d be slow dancing with me?” He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away. 

“Not even in my wildest dreams,” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. “But—I think today may have helped me change my mind about you.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a hopeful smile. “Or maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?”

You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didn’t hurt. 

“Something like that.”

You and Steve didn’t leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didn’t leave Steve’s arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their droves—the bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.

“You wanna head back?” Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.

“Not really,” you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. “But I think we’re about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.”

Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steve’s eyes as he looks back at you.

“C’mon,” he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. “Let’s go for a walk.”

You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steve’s hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

“I really thought you weren’t going to say yes, by the way,” Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. “To be my plus one, I mean.”

“I owed Max a favour,” you tell him. “Broke her skateboard. By accident.”

“She mentioned that,” Steve smiles fondly. “I think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.”

You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. “Twenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonight—I have to admit, it’s been pretty good.”

“Just good?” Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile. 

“No, much better than pretty good,” you say. “Maybe something closer to…pretty incredible.”

“What? Me or the wedding?” Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.

“Undecided,” you tell with a whisper of a smile.

Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steve’s eyes remain on you, thought you don’t see it—on the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Max’s skateboard.

“For the record, I’m really glad you said yes,” Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.

“Me too,” you admit. “I um—it made me realise how silly I was—for um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.”

Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didn’t matter but you continued talking before he could do so.

“I think I’ve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I just—I’m her big sister, you know? And—I get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I just—I struggled to let go of what you said.”

“Because it was cruel what I said,” Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. “It was cruel and stupid and I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.”

“I know and—”

“—and if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand and—”

“—Steve!”

“Yeah?”

You smile, shake your head and say, “I don’t want to go back to ‘normal’ after this.”

“Then what do you want?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.

You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, “another dance?”

Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.

“You did,” you whisper back with a barely contained smile.

“Well, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thought—fuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.”

Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“Because I’m annoying?” You offer with a teasing smile.

“No,” Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. That’s why.”

Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steve’s mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasn’t a dream—that Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.

And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.

“Then kiss me, before I change my mind.”

Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.

“As you wish,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.

You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.

“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. “You’re gonna ruin me, Mayfield.”

You don’t know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.

“So much for keeping my hands to myself,” Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and can’t help yourself—you pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sister’s skateboard.

dividers and banner by me 🌸

please credit me if you wish to reuse

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

Marnie lifted her head; her mascara was dangerously close to smudging. "I can't. I can't do it, Y/N. Greg is going to be there."

"Greg?" Y/N frowned. "I thought Greg was in finance. Why is Greg at a fashion party?"

"Because his firm sponsors the vodka brand that’s sponsoring the bar!" Marnie cried, sitting up and gesturing wildly. "And he’s not just going to be there. He’s going to be there with his 'work friends,' which means I have to walk in there alone, three days after he dumped me via text, while the vultures from my PR team watch me crumble."

Y/N sighed, looking back at her screen. She really wanted to finish this edit. But looking at Marnie, usually so put together, now vibrating with anxiety, she knew her night of solitude was over.

"The vultures?" Y/N asked.

"Sarah and the other junior publicists," Marnie said darkly. "They smell blood. If I show up alone and sad, they’ll eat me alive. I need armor. I need a buffer." She looked at Y/N with wide, pleading eyes. "I need you."

Y/N laughed dryly. "Me? Marnie, I’m editing. And I haven’t washed my hair in two days. I am not red carpet material right now."

"I don't need red carpet material!" Marnie stood up, marching over to Y/N’s desk. She grabbed the back of Y/N’s chair. "I need 'cool, rising-star photographer who is too busy for this shit but is here anyway.' I need your energy. Please. If you come with me, I look connected and unbothered. If I go alone, I look like the ex-girlfriend who couldn't get a date."

Y/N looked at her best friend. She thought about the time Marnie had spent three hours helping her carry lighting equipment up four flights of stairs for her first paid shoot.

"Fine," Y/N groaned, saving the file and shutting down the computer. "But we are not staying late. And I am absolutely choosing my own outfit."

Marnie let out a squeal, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck. "I love you. You should wear the golden dress. It’s very 'off-duty model.' Just hurry!"

Y/N stood up and headed toward her bedroom. "I’m giving you two hours, Marnie. If I don't see a free drink in my hand by 10 PM, I’m coming back here to sleep."

"Deal!"

The venue was exactly what Y/N expected, a sensory overload of velvet, crystal, and ego.

The moment they stepped out of the taxi, the humidity of the London rain clinging to their skin, they were hit by the wall of sound. Inside, the bass vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the ice in the glasses of the waiters weaving through the crowd.

Y/N brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, feeling the cold air hit the exposed skin of her back. The dress Marnie had bullied her into was incredible, she had to admit. A shimmering, champagne-gold mini dress that caught every stray beam of light. It had long, flared sleeves that swished dramatically when she moved, but the back was completely open, held together only by a delicate tie at the nape of her neck.

"Okay," Marnie breathed, gripping Y/N’s arm. Her grip was tight, her nails digging in slightly. "Target acquired. Sarah is at the bar with the Creative Director from Gucci. I need to go say hello before she spins the narrative that I’m at home crying into a tub of ice cream."

Y/N squeezed her hand. "Go. Be charming. I’ll get a drink and try not to look like I’d rather be editing."

"You look amazing," Marnie said, her eyes scanning the room. "Thank you. Seriously."

With a deep breath, Marnie smoothed her hair and disappeared into the crush of bodies, instantly transforming from the frantic friend in the apartment to the polished PR maven she was paid to be.

Y/N stood alone for a moment, letting the wave of the party wash over her. She navigated toward the bar, but the queue was three deep. The air was hot, smelling of expensive perfume and stale champagne.

I need a drink. Immediately.

Just as she was about to give up, a waiter breezed past with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Y/N didn't hesitate. She reached out and snatched a glass, downing half of the expensive fizz in one unladylike gulp. The bubbles burned pleasantly in her throat, taking the edge off her anxiety.

She grabbed a second glass from the retreating tray before the waiter could protest and turned toward the back of the room.

She spotted a heavy velvet drape near the back of the room, slightly ajar. Slipping through the crowd, the sequins of her dress brushing against tailored suits, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the terrace.

The silence was instant and blissful.

The terrace was stone, wet from the rain, overlooking the slick streets of Mayfair below. It was empty. Or so she thought.

"Smart move," a voice said from the shadows.

Y/N jumped slightly, her hand going to her chest.

Leaning against the stone balustrade in the corner was a man. He was wearing a flared suit that looked like 70s wallpaper in the best possible way, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to show a hint of tattoos. He was holding a heavy crystal tumbler, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light.

Harry Styles.

Y/N blinked. She didn't gasp. She didn't pull out her phone. Her photographer’s brain just instantly registered the composition: the way the streetlamp backlit his curls, the contrast of his sharp suit against the rough stone.

"Jesus," she let out a breath, stepping further onto the terrace. The wind whipped at the long sleeves of her dress. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Harry said, though he was grinning. His voice was slow, raspy. He didn't move from his spot. "Usually people come out here to smoke or to cry. You don't look like you're doing either." His eyes dropping to the full glass of champagne in her hand, and then to the empty one she had evidently just finished and was still clutching. "Thirsty?”

Y/N looked down at the glasses, realizing she was double-fisting. She shrugged, setting the empty one on the balustrade and taking a large sip of the full one. "It’s that kind of night. I'm hiding. My best friend is currently fighting for her life in a PR war inside. I'm the designated moral support, but I'm currently on a union-mandated break."

Harry laughed, a genuine, bubbling sound. "PR war? Sounds dangerous."

"It's brutal," Y/N agreed, leaning her elbows on the wet stone. She looked at him sideways. "And you? Hiding from the adoring masses?"

"Hiding from a guy trying to pitch me a metaverse concert," Harry said, flicking ash over the side of the balcony. He turned his body toward her, his green eyes scanning her face, then drifting down to the open back of her dress before snapping back up. "I think I prefer the PR war."

"Trust me," Y/N smirked. "You don't."

There was a pause, but it wasn't awkward. It was heavy. The kind of silence where you can feel the other person’s gravity.

"I'm Harry," he said finally, extending a hand.

Y/N looked at his hand—rings on almost every finger—and then met his eyes. "I know." She took his hand. It was warm. "I'm Y/N."

Harry didn't let go of her hand immediately. He tilted his head, studying her with a lazy, amused expression. "Y/N. No last name? Like Madonna? Or Cher?”

"Like someone who wants to keep her anonymity intact," she countered, finally pulling her hand back to take a sip of her champagne. The bubbles were making her head spin in a pleasant, fuzzy way. "Besides, you're one to talk. pretty sure you’re just 'Harry' to about three billion people.”

"Touché." He took a long swallow of his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. "So, Y/N who is hiding from the PR war. What do you do when you aren't double-fisting champagne on balconies?”

"I'm a photographer," she said, leaning back against the stone railing. She gestured vaguely with her glass toward the party inside. "Fashion. Editorial. Usually, I'm the one behind the lens telling people like you to tilt their chin down because the lighting is tragic.”

Harry laughed, a low rumble in his chest. He stepped a little closer, encroaching on her personal space. "Is that what you're doing now? Analyzing my angles?"

Y/N looked him up and down. The suit was ridiculous, really—a geometric 70s print that should have looked hideous but somehow just looked... cool. "I'm trying to figure out if that suit is custom Gucci or if you peeled it off a wall in a grandmother's house in 1974."

Harry grinned, looking down at his lapels. "It's vintage. And for your information, grandmothers love me."

"I bet they do," she murmured, taking another large gulp of her drink. She was definitely feeling the alcohol now; the sharp edges of her anxiety about Marnie were blurring into a warm confidence. "You have a very 'bingo night' energy."

"Bingo night energy?" Harry feigned offense, but his eyes were dancing. "I'll have you know I am the life of the party. Just... not this party."

"Why?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious now. "Everyone in there is dying to talk to you."

"That's the problem," Harry said. He turned to lean his back against the railing next to her, so they were shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the rainy street. "Everyone wants to talk at me. Pitch me things. Take a selfie. It’s loud. And I’m starving."

"Well, there are canapés inside," Y/N pointed out.

"Tiny, sad toast," Harry dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Suddenly, the velvet curtain behind them whipped open. A burst of loud bass and laughter spilled onto the quiet balcony. A man in a shiny suit stuck his head out, his eyes widening when he saw Harry.

"Harry! Mate! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, we need to discuss the—"

Harry’s jaw tightened. He didn't look at the man. He looked at Y/N, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He finished his drink in one swallow and set the glass down on the stone ledge.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice low, just for her. "I'm going to go home, make a proper grilled cheese sandwich, and open a bottle of wine that actually tastes like grapes. You should come."

Y/N blinked, surprised. "To your house?"

"My place in Hampstead," Harry nodded, ignoring the man who was now stepping fully onto the balcony. "It's a bit of a drive, but the company is better. And I promise the lighting is excellent."

It wasn't a smooth pickup line anymore; it was a lifeline. He was offering an escape hatch.

Y/N looked at the man approaching them, then back at Harry’s open, hopeful face. The alcohol in her system made the decision feel easy, almost inevitable.

"I do love a grilled cheese," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Harry grinned, his dimple popping. "Run," he whispered.

He grabbed her hand, and before the man in the shiny suit could say another word, they were ducking past him, Harry leading her not back into the party, but toward the side stairs that led down to the alleyway exit.

The back of the blacked-out SUV was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just left. The rain drummed rhythmically against the roof.

They sat close, their thighs pressing together every time the car took a sharp turn. The adrenaline of their escape had faded into a comfortable, heavy silence.

"You weren't kidding about the drive," Y/N murmured, watching the London streets blur past—moving from the lights of Mayfair to the darker, leafier roads of North London.

"Worth it," Harry said. He was slouching in the leather seat, looking more relaxed than he had all night. He turned his head to look at her. "You okay? No regrets about deserting the PR war?"

"Marnie will understand," Y/N said, though she made a mental note to text her. "She usually supports my bad decisions."

"Is this a bad decision?" Harry asked softly.

Y/N met his gaze. In the flashing streetlights, his eyes were dark and intense. "Ask me after the grilled cheese."

Harry laughed, and the car finally slowed, pulling through a set of high gates and crunching over gravel.

The house was beautiful—a white stucco Georgian home that looked cozy rather than imposing. Inside, it wasn't the sterile showroom Y/N expected. It was cluttered and warm. There were piles of books on the floor, guitars leaning against walls, and a mismatched collection of colorful furniture.

"Shoes off," Harry instructed, kicking off his boots by the door.

“I'll go foraging for cheese. Make yourself at home."

He disappeared into the kitchen, humming something off-key.

Y/N stood in the hallway for a moment, the silence of the house settling around her. She unbuckled her heels, sighing with relief as her feet hit the plush rug. She quickly fished her phone out of her clutch.

To: MarnieI escaped. Sorry!! Left early. Will explain everything tomorrow. Don't die. Love u x

She hit send, guilt-swallowing slightly, but not enough to leave. She dropped the phone back into her bag just as Harry reappeared.

He had ditched his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt further, sleeves rolled up. He was balancing a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a plate of rather burnt-looking grilled cheese sandwiches.

"The dining table is covered in fan mail I haven't opened since 2019," he announced, nodding toward the living room rug. "Floor?"

"Floor is good," Y/N agreed.

They settled on the thick Persian rug in front of the fireplace. Y/N sat cross-legged, the gold dress shimmering in the low light, while Harry stretched his long legs out, pouring the wine with a heavy hand.

"To escaping," he toasted, handing her a glass.

"To burnt cheese," she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They ate the sandwiches, which were actually delicious, and drank the wine. Fast.

An hour later, the bottle was dangerously low, and the air in the room had shifted from awkward to that specific, hazy comfort you only get at 2 AM with a stranger.

Y/N was laughing so hard she had to lean back on her hands, her head tilting toward the ceiling. "No, you did not. You are lying."

"I swear!" Harry protested, his face flushed, eyes bright and glassy. He was lying on his side now, propped up on one elbow, tracing the pattern of the rug with a ring-clad finger. "I fell off the stage. Fully off. And I just... kept singing. I thought if I didn't acknowledge it, no one would notice."

"Harry," Y/N giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. "Everyone noticed. There are probably memes."

"There are so many memes," he groaned, hiding his face in his hand for a second before peeking back at her. "God, it's nice to just... talk shit. Usually, people want to talk about the 'creative process' or my hair routine."

"What is your hair routine?" Y/N teased, reaching out to poke his knee.

"Neglect and humidity," he grinned. He sat up a little straighter, reaching for the bottle to split the last dregs between them. "What about you? What's the worst thing that’s happened on a shoot?"

Y/N took the refilled glass. She felt loose, warm, and happy. "I once told a very famous supermodel to 'stop looking like a dead fish.' I thought I was whispering to my assistant. I was not whispering."

Harry barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. "Did she storm off?"

"No, she actually posed better. Fear is a great motivator."

They fell into a comfortable silence then. The laughter died down, leaving a heavy, charged quiet in its wake. The room was dim, the only light coming from a few lamps and the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

Y/N took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. He was looking at her. Really looking at her. Not at the dress, but at her face.

It was the wine, she told herself firmly. Definitely the wine.

That was the only reason she was noticing the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders as he leaned back. It was the mix of champagne and expensive red that was making his eyes look so unnervingly green, like moss underwater. If she were sober, he would just be a celebrity with a bad haircut and too many rings. Right now, in this lighting, he looked like a Renaissance painting she wanted to touch.

Harry set his glass down on the floor. He shifted, moving a few inches closer on the rug.

His knee bumped hers.

It was a casual, accidental touch, but Y/N felt it like an electric shock. She didn't pull away.

"You're cool, Y/N," he said softly, the playfulness in his voice replaced by something sincere and a little slurred. "I'm really glad you were on that balcony."

"Me too," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She set her glass down on the floor, suddenly feeling very aware of how close they were sitting.

Harry reached out, his hand hesitating for a second in the air before his fingers brushed the bare skin of her forearm.

Y/N stopped breathing.

His skin was warm, his rings cool against her arm. He traced a line from her wrist up to her elbow, his touch feather-light.

It’s just the alcohol, her mind insisted frantically. The shivering is just the alcohol. The heat in your stomach is just the alcohol.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers.

Y/N nodded. She couldn't find her voice.

He moved slowly. His hand trailed up her arm to her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline. He leaned in, and Y/N instinctively leaned forward to meet him.

The kiss was slow. Soft. He tasted like red wine and grilled cheese and vanilla. Y/N hummed into the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as his other hand came up to cup her face, deepening the contact.

She moved her hands to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in her fists. They fell back against the rug, limbs tangling, the empty wine bottle forgotten on the floor beside them.

Harry hovered over her, his weight supported on his forearms so he wouldn't crush her. His hair fell forward, tickling her cheek, creating a private curtain around them. He kissed her jaw, then trailed his lips down the column of her neck, making Y/N gasp.

His hands moved to her shoulders, his fingers finding the straps of the gold dress. He nudged the fabric aside, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the bare curve of her shoulder.

"Harry," Y/N breathed, her voice shaking slightly. The reality of who he was and where they were pierced through the wine-haze for a second. She reached up, her hand resting on the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his curls to stop him for a moment.

He paused immediately, lifting his head to look at her, his eyes dark and dilated. "Yeah?"

"Do you do this a lot?" she whispered, searching his face. "Just... pluck girls from parties and feed them burnt cheese?"

Harry let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against her chest. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down to press a kiss to her collarbone, his rings cool against her heated skin as he traced the line of the dress.

"When I was younger? Maybe," he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with honesty. He lifted his head again, looking her dead in the eye. "But not now. Not for a long time."

Y/N searched his face for a lie, for a rehearsed line, but she only found a raw, boyish openness.

"Good," she whispered.

"Good," Harry echoed.

He reached behind her neck, finding the delicate string that held the back of the dress together. With a deft tug, the knot came loose. The dress slackened, the sequins rustling as they slid down her arms.

Harry’s gaze followed the movement, reverent and hungry. He helped her ease the shimmering fabric down, the dress pooling around her hips.

The air in the room was warm, but Y/N felt the sudden exposure, a coolness hitting her skin that had nothing to do with the temperature. She instinctively brought her arms up to cover herself slightly, her cheeks burning hot.

Harry stopped her. He gently took her wrists, pulling her hands away so he could look at her properly. His eyes roamed over her, the curve of her waist, the slope of her breasts, and the deep, rosy flush that was spreading across her chest and up to her neck.

"God," he exhaled, the sound rough. "Look at you."

"It's the wine," Y/N stammered, feeling the heat in her face intensify under his scrutiny. "I turn red when I drink."

"Liar," Harry murmured, a crooked, knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in, brushing his nose against her burning cheek. "You're blushing. I'm making you blush."

"You're very full of yourself, Styles," she whispered, though she leaned into his touch.

"I'm just observant," he countered. He sat back on his heels, his hands moving to the buttons of his own shirt. He undid them with maddening slowness, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She had seen photos of him shirtless, obviously—who hadn't?—but seeing him right there, inches away, was different. The ink of his tattoos stood out against his skin in the firelight. The swallows on his chest seemed to flutter as he breathed. He wasn't perfect and polished like a statue; he was real, warm, and solid.

"You're beautiful," she admitted quietly.

Harry caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. He didn't deflect or joke this time. He just held her gaze, his pupils blown wide, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"You are... absolutely trouble."

He didn't wait for a response. He kissed her hard, a claiming, bruising kiss that swallowed her gasp. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh there, anchoring her to the rug.

Y/N arched into him, the friction of his pants against her bare thighs sending a jolt of raw need straight to her core. She felt the heavy, hard ridge of him pressing against her stomach, a promise of what was coming. It made her ache, a sudden, wet heat pooling between her legs.

"Harry," she whimpered, her hands scrabbling at the waistband of his trousers. "Please. The clothes. Too many clothes.”

Harry groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes blown black. He sat back on his heels, his breathing ragged. He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one frantic movement, kicking them away.

When he moved back over her, the feeling of skin-on-skin was electric.

Y/N reached down between them. She wanted to touch him, to feel the weight of him in her palm. Her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him once, firm and slow.

Harry made a strangled noise, his hips bucking instinctively into her touch, but a second later, his hand clamped over hers, stopping her movement.

"Don't," he choked out, his voice wrecked.

Y/N looked up, confused. "why?"

"I can't," he admitted, his chest heaving as he pulled her hand away, interlacing their fingers and pinning her hand to the rug beside her head. "If you touch me like that... I won't last. I won't be able to hold it.

He looked at her with a desperate, starving intensity, his forehead glistening with sweat.

"I want you too much," he whispered, the confession raw. "I need to be inside you. Just let me have you.”

He settled between her legs, using his knees to nudge her thighs wider apart. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist instantly, her heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him flush against her. The contact was searing—the heat of his chest against her breasts, the roughness of the rug against her back, and the hard, tip of him teasing her entrance.

Harry braced himself on one arm, his other hand reaching down to guide himself. He paused for a heartbeat, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling in sharp, synchronized pants.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural rasp.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

"Don't close them," he breathed, his eyes searching hers with a desperate intensity. "I want to watch you take it.”

It wasn't a gentle slide. It was a slow, stretching invasion. Y/N threw her head back, but kept her eyes locked on his, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as he filled her, inch by thick inch. He was big, stretching her in a way that felt bordering on pain before bleeding into exquisite, overwhelming pleasure.

Harry hissed through his teeth, his jaw tight as he buried himself to the hilt. He held perfectly still for a moment, letting her adjust to his size, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"You feel..." he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before snapping them open again to look at her. "Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good."

"Move," she begged, her hips snapping up to meet him. "Harry, move."

He withdrew slowly, almost completely, before snapping his hips forward, driving back in with a force that knocked the breath out of her.

The rhythm started slow, a heavy, grinding friction that targeted every nerve ending she had. But as the pleasure coiled tighter in her belly, the pace shattered. Harry abandoned the slow exploration. He began to pound into her, his movements sharp and possessive.

The only sounds in the room were the wet slap of skin against skin, the rustle of the discarded sequins, and their harsh, broken breathing.

Y/N was lost in the sensationthe burn of the rug on her back, the sweat slicking their bodies, and the relentless pressure of him hitting that sweet, aching spot deep inside her over and over again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent moon marks on his skin.

"Harry," she gasped, the pleasure building to a breaking point, tightening like a rubber band about to snap.

"I know," he panted against her ear, his hand slipping between their bodies to find her clit. "Let go, sweetheart. Just let go.”

The added friction was too much. Y/N shattered.

She cried out, her body bowing off the floor. She clamped down on him, the spasms of her orgasm milking him.

Harry groaned, a deep, animalistic sound. He drove into her hard, once, twice, three times, fast and erratic, before he stiffened. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there as he spilled into her, his body jerking with each pulse of his release.

They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and heavy, sweaty breaths, the silence of the room slowly rushing back in to replace the chaos.

The light filtering through the linen curtains was gray, flat, and unforgiving.

Y/N woke with a gasp, her heart hammering before her eyes even fully opened. Her head was throbbing—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the cheap champagne and the expensive red wine.

For a terrifying second, she didn't know where she was. The sheets were white and smelled of cedar. Then she felt the weight—a heavy arm draped across her waist, and the steady, deep sound of breathing against her bare shoulder.

She froze.

The memories of the night crashed into her like a wave. The balcony. The "escape." The burnt grilled cheese. The rug.

Harry Styles.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she turned her head on the pillow.

He was fast asleep on his stomach, face buried halfway into the pillow, his curls a chaotic halo around his head. He looked peaceful. Younger, somehow, without the guarded expression he’d worn at the party. The sheet was pooled around his waist, exposing the tattoos on his back that she had traced only hours ago.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the hangover.

What have I done?

She checked her phone on the nightstand. 6:17 AM.

If she stayed, she had to talk to him. They would have to order coffee. He might be nice. He might be awkward. It would become a "thing." It would become a story.

She couldn't do it. She was a professional photographer, not a groupie who lingered for breakfast. She had an edit to finish. She had a life that didn't involve navigating the morning routine of a global superstar.

Y/N carefully, millimeter by millimeter, lifted his arm. It was heavy. Harry grunted softly, shifting his leg, and Y/N stopped breathing, her eyes widening in terror.

He settled again, letting out a soft sigh, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

She slid out of bed, shivering as the cool morning air hit her skin. The room was messy—clothes scattered in a trail from the doorway.

She found her gold dress in a heap near the foot of the bed. She pulled it on, wincing at the loud rustle of the sequins in the silent room. It felt sticky and inappropriate for a Tuesday morning.

She found one heel near the door. The other was halfway under the armchair. She grabbed them both, clutching them to her chest like stolen goods.

She paused at the bedroom door, her hand on the brass handle. She looked back at him one last time. The gray light was hitting his sleeping face, highlighting the slope of his nose and the fan of his eyelashes.

A part of her—the reckless part that liked burnt cheese and bad jokes—wanted to crawl back in.

"Bye, Harry," she mouthed silently.

She slipped out, the latch clicking shut with a finality that made her chest ache. She didn't look for a note. She didn't leave her number.

She tiptoed down the stairs, past the kitchen where the empty wine bottle still sat on the floor, and let herself out the heavy front door.

The morning air outside was biting and cold. Y/N walked quickly down the gravel driveway, barefoot on the wet stones until she reached the gate, carrying her shoes.

The smell of the darkroom chemicals usually grounded her. Today, it made her want to retch.

Y/N sat on the rolling stool in her studio, her head between her knees, taking deep, steadying breaths. The room was spinning slightly. It had been spinning since Tuesday.

Just the flu, she told herself for the fiftieth time that morning. A really long, really persistent stomach flu.

She sat up, grabbing her water bottle and taking a tentative sip. Her calendar on the wall glared at her. She was booked solid for the next month, a campaign for a denim brand, an editorial for Dazed, and a portrait session with a rising indie band. She didn't have time for the flu.

The studio door chimed, and a second later, Marnie breezed in, bringing with her a gust of cold London air and the overwhelming, pungent scent of roasted coffee.

"Morning, sunshine!" Marnie chirped, holding up a cardboard tray. "I come bearing gifts. Extra shot, oat milk, just how you like it."

Y/N’s stomach did a violent somersault. She forced a smile, waving a hand vaguely. "Hey. Thanks. Just... set it on the desk. I'll drink it in a bit."

Marnie paused, her sharp PR eyes narrowing immediately. She set the coffee down and walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Okay, what is going on? You haven't answered my texts since Monday, you look like you haven't slept in a week, and you just turned down fresh caffeine. Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?"

"I'm fine," Y/N lied, turning back to her monitor to hide the fact that she was sweating. "Just busy. The Wonderland edits were a nightmare."

"Uh-huh," Marnie said, not buying it. She picked up a stress ball from the desk, tossing it in the air. "You've been weird for weeks. Specifically, since the Fashion Awards."

Y/N froze, her finger hovering over the mouse. "I haven't been weird."

"You ghosted me at the biggest party of the year," Marnie pointed out, though her tone was more curious than angry. "One minute you were getting a drink, the next you were gone. And then you sent me that cryptic text at 2 AM saying you 'escaped.'"

Marnie leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So. Who was he?"

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. She could still feel the phantom weight of Harry’s arm around her waist, the smell of cedar in his sheets.

"Who was who?" Y/N asked, keeping her eyes glued to the screen.

"The guy!" Marnie groaned, exasperated. "Come on. You didn't leave a free-bar event to go home and knit. You left with someone. I saw you talking to that model, the one with the cheekbones? Was it him?"

"No," Y/N said quickly. "It wasn't a model."

"Then who?" Marnie pressed. "Was he famous? Old? Rich? A criminal?"

"He was... nobody," Y/N said, fighting to keep her voice even. "Just a guy I met on the balcony. A lighting technician. We just... went for a drink."

"A lighting technician?" Marnie looked skeptical. "And was the lighting technician good enough to make you disappear for three weeks?"

"It wasn't a big deal, Marnie," Y/N snapped, a little sharper than she intended. The nausea rolled over her again, sudden and violent. She squeezed her eyes shut. "It was a one-time thing. It’s over. I just want to focus on work."

Marnie softened instantly. She reached out, touching Y/N’s forehead. "Okay, okay. Sorry. You really do look pale, though. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I think I ate some bad sushi," Y/N lied, pulling away gently. "I just need to sit here for a minute."

"Well, avoid the sushi," Marnie said, grabbing her bag. "I have to run to a lunch meeting, but seriously—drink the coffee. It’ll wake you up."

"Will do," Y/N managed to say.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Marnie, Y/N grabbed the trash can from under her desk and dry-heaved.

Nothing came up. Just the empty, hollow feeling that had settled in her gut.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at the calendar again. specifically, at the dates. She counted backward. Then she counted again.

Her period was ten days late.

"No," she whispered to the empty studio. "Absolutely not."

The bass from the playback speakers was thumping so hard it felt like it was rearranging Y/N’s internal organs.

"Chin down, chin down—yeah, there. Hold that."

Y/N crouched low, adjusting the aperture on her lens. She was shooting a four-piece indie band from Leeds who were currently the darlings of NME, and they had the attitude to match. The lead singer was draped over a vintage leather armchair, smoking a clove cigarette that smelled like burning sugar and rot.

Three weeks ago, Y/N would have found the smell annoying. Today, it was a biological weapon.

"Can we kill the smoke?" Y/N called out, her voice sounding thin to her own ears. She straightened up, feeling the room tilt dangerously to the left. "The haze is getting too thick. It’s softening the focus."

"It's the vibe, though, isn't it?" the drummer argued, twirling a stick. "We want it gritty."

"I can add grit in post," Y/N snapped, harder than she meant to. She saw her assistant, Leo, shoot her a worried look from the monitor station. "Just... kill the cigarette. Please."

The singer rolled his eyes but stubbed it out.

Y/N brought the camera back to her eye, trying to find her rhythm. Usually, when she was shooting, the world disappeared. It was just light, shadow, and composition. She was known for her speed, her ability to get the shot before the subject even knew they were ready.

But today, her focus was fracturing.

Every time she looked through the viewfinder, she didn't see the band. She saw the flash of gold sequins on a wet pavement. She saw green eyes looking at her over the rim of a crystal tumbler. She heard a raspy voice whispering, You are absolutely trouble.

Stop it, she commanded herself, changing her angle. He’s a pop star. You’re a photographer. It was a Tuesday. It’s over.

She had spent twenty-one days trying to scrub the memory of Harry Styles from her brain. She had deleted the draft text to Marnie explaining everything at least a dozen times. She had avoided listening to the radio.

"Y/N? You good?"

Leo was at her elbow, holding a bottle of water. "You're sweating. Like, a lot."

Y/N lowered the camera. The studio lights—huge, hot tungsten beasts—felt like they were pressing down on her skull. The smell of the hairspray from the stylist’s station mixed with the stale smoke and the metallic tang of the equipment.

Saliva flooded her mouth. The warning sign.

"I need five," Y/N gasped, shoving the heavy camera into Leo’s hands.

"But we have the label execs coming in ten—"

"I said five!"

She didn't run, because running would make her throw up, but she walked very, very fast toward the back exit. She pushed through the heavy fire doors and stumbled out into the alleyway.

The air was cold and smelled of wet concrete and exhaust, but compared to the studio, it was heaven.

Y/N leaned against the brick wall, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing deep gulps of air into her lungs. She pressed her cold palms against her burning cheeks.

It’s just the flu. It’s stress. It’s the sushi.

But deep down, in the quiet, terrifying part of her brain, she knew. She had known since she realized she hadn't bought tampons this month.

Her hand went to her stomach. It was flat, firm, unchanged. But something felt... different.

She thought about the condom. Had they used one? Yes. Wait. The second time? The memory was blurry, softened by the wine and the firelight and the desperate, laughing, consuming heat of the moment. She remembered his hands. She remembered the way he said her name. She remembered the feeling of skin on skin.

She didn't remember a wrapper the second time.

"Oh, god," she whispered to the alleyway dumpsters.

She pushed off the wall. She couldn't go back in there. She couldn't look at the indie band and talk about aperture settings.

She pulled her phone out. She cancelled the afternoon session. She blamed food poisoning. It was professional suicide to cancel last minute, but the alternative was fainting on top of a drum kit.

She typed Pharmacy near me into maps.

There was a Boots ten minutes away.

Y/N pulled her coat tighter around herself, lowered her head, and started walking. She wasn't Y/N the rising fashion photographer anymore. She was just a girl walking through Hackney, terrified of a plastic stick.

The fluorescent lighting of the pharmacy was violent. That was the only word for it. It buzzed overhead, casting a sickly, sterile pallor over everything.

Y/N pulled her scarf up over her nose, keeping her head down. She wasn't famous—not like him—but her face had been in a few "Behind the Lens" features in industry magazines recently, and paranoia was a powerful thing. She felt like she had a neon sign blinking above her head: IRRESPONSIBLE.

She bypassed the makeup aisle, usually her favorite place to swatch new textures. She ignored the sale on vitamins. She walked straight to the aisle labeled FAMILY PLANNING.

The euphemism made her want to laugh hysterically. There was no planning here. This was the opposite of a plan. This was a chaotic, uncontrolled collision of events.

She stood in front of the shelves, overwhelmed by the choices. Pink boxes. Blue boxes. Boxes with smiling couples holding hands (which felt like a personal attack). Boxes that promised results in one minute. Boxes that claimed 99% accuracy.

She didn't look at the prices. She grabbed the most expensive looking one—a digital Clearblue that came in a twin pack. Double confirmation.

She snatched it off the shelf, her hand shaking so badly she almost knocked over a row of ovulation kits.

To make it look less suspicious—a logic that made sense only to her panicked brain—she grabbed a bottle of shampoo, a packet of mint gum, and a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps.

See? she thought wildly. Just a normal shopping trip. Just getting snacks and hair products. Nothing life-changing happening here.

The cashier was a bored teenager who didn't even look up from her phone as she scanned the items.

Beep. Shampoo. Beep. Crisps. Beep. Pregnancy test.

The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet store. Y/N flinched. The girl didn't blink. She shoved it all into a plastic bag.

"Receipt?"

"No," Y/N croaked. "Thanks."

Her apartment was quiet. Usually, Y/N loved the silence of her space. It was her sanctuary away from the loud music and shouting of the studios. Today, the silence felt heavy. Oppressive.

She locked the door and didn't even take off her coat or boots. She walked straight to the bathroom, dumping the plastic bag onto the pristine white counter.

The blue box stared at her.

She ripped it open, her fingers fumbling with the cardboard. Instructions. Pee on the stick for 5 seconds. Lay flat. Wait 3 minutes.

Three minutes. The length of a pop song.

Y/N did what she had to do. It was unglamorous and clinical. She set the cap back on the stick and placed it on the edge of the sink.

Then, she sat on the closed toilet lid, pulled her phone out, and set the timer.

2:59... 2:58...

She put the phone face down. She couldn't watch the numbers count down.

She stared at the bathmat instead. It was fluffy and white. She needed to wash it.

If it’s negative, she bargained with the universe, clasping her hands together until her knuckles turned white. If it’s negative, I will never drink red wine again. I will be more professional. I will go to church. I don't even believe in God, but I will go.

She thought about her career. She was just getting the big bookings. Vogue had emailed her agent yesterday about a potential cover shoot in Milan next month. Milan.

You couldn't shoot a Vogue cover with morning sickness. You couldn't haul lighting rigs if you were pregnant.

It’s just stress, she told herself. My cycle is late because I’m stressed about work. That’s all.

1:30.

She stood up and paced the tiny bathroom. Two steps to the door, two steps to the shower.

She thought about Harry.

She hadn't let herself think about him properly in weeks. She had pushed the image of him—laughing on the floor, his hair messy, his eyes soft—into a box in the back of her mind labeled DO NOT OPEN.

If this test was positive, that box was going to be ripped open. He wouldn't just be a memory or a mistake. He would be... permanent.

The thought made her dizzy. He was Harry Styles. He was currently on a world tour. He lived on planes. He belonged to the world. He didn't belong in a bathroom in East London staring at a plastic stick.

0:15.

Y/N stopped pacing. She gripped the edge of the sink, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

0:05... 0:04...

Her phone alarm went off. The standard, cheerful "Radar" ringtone. It sounded hideous.

She swiped the alarm off.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked pale, her eyes wide and terrified. Just look, she told her reflection. Just look and get it over with.

She looked down at the stick.

The digital screen had stopped flashing the little hourglass symbol. The words were black, crisp, and undeniable against the gray background.

Pregnant 2-3 Weeks

The world didn't stop. The floor didn't open up and swallow her.

Instead, a ringing sound started in her ears. A high-pitched, deafening whine.

Y/N picked up the stick. She stared at it. She turned it over, as if the back might say "Just Kidding." It didn't.

"No," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "No, no, no."

She sank down onto the bathmat, her legs giving out. She curled her knees to her chest, still clutching the stick in one hand.

Two to three weeks.

The math was perfect. It was cruel, precise, and perfect.

Three weeks ago, she had been drinking wine on a rug in Hampstead. Three weeks ago, she had let a stranger with green eyes take off her dress.

She was pregnant. And the father was the most famous pop star on the planet.

Y/N put her head between her knees and, for the first time in ten years, she started to cry. Not polite, silent crying. Ugly, gasping sobs that echoed off the tiled walls.

The next seventy-two hours were a gray, suffocating blur.

Y/N didn't go to the studio. She told her agent she had a severe migraine and forwarded all urgent emails to her assistant.

She spent the days sitting on her living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, staring at the wall.

She had gone through every emotion possible. First came the denial. Maybe the test was wrong. (She took three more. They were all positive). Then came the panic. She looked at her bank account. She looked at her calendar. She looked at the lease on her apartment which strictly forbade children. Then came the logic. She opened a browser tab for a clinic in Central London. She stared at the "Book Appointment" button for four hours. Her mouse hovered over it. It was the sensible thing to do. She was twenty-four. She was just starting her career. She was single. The father was a ghost who belonged to the world, not to her.

But every time she tried to click, her hand physically stopped. A heavy, sickening weight settled in her chest. She wasn't religious. She wasn't traditional. But she knew, with a terrifying clarity, that she couldn't do it. She didn't have the stomach for it. She didn't have the heart for it.

By Friday evening, the silence in the apartment was deafening. She couldn't carry the weight alone anymore.

She picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled as she typed.

To: Marnie I need you. Please come over. Don't ask questions just come.

Marnie arrived in record time—fourteen minutes.

She didn't knock; she used her emergency key. She burst into the apartment carrying a bottle of wine, a bag of chocolate, and a look of sheer terror.

"I'm here," Marnie announced, dropping her bag by the door. She scanned the room, taking in the drawn curtains, the pile of tissues, and Y/N curled up on the sofa wrapped in a duvet like a burrito of misery.

Marnie rushed over, dropping to her knees beside the sofa. "Okay. You're alive. That's good. Is it family? Did you get fired? Did the studio burn down?"

Y/N shook her head slowly. She looked at her best friend—Marnie, who had held her hair back when she threw up in university, who had helped her paint this apartment, who loved her fiercely.

Y/N sat up, the duvet falling away. She reached onto the coffee table and picked up the plastic stick she had been staring at for three days.

She didn't say a word. She just handed it to Marnie.

Marnie frowned, confused. She took the stick, looked at it, and then froze. The color drained out of her face. She looked at the little screen, then up at Y/N, then back at the screen.

"Oh," Marnie breathed. It was a soft, punched-out sound. "Oh my god."

"Yeah," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking.

Marnie set the test down on the table gently, as if it were a bomb. She moved instantly, climbing onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around Y/N.

That was the breaking point. Y/N buried her face in Marnie’s shoulder and sobbed. It was the release of three days of holding it together. She cried until her chest ached, until her throat was raw. Marnie just held her, rubbing her back, rocking her slightly.

"I've got you," Marnie kept whispering. "I've got you. It's okay."

When the tears finally subsided into hiccups, Y/N pulled back, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"I can't get rid of it," Y/N blurted out. It was the first time she had said it out loud. "I tried to book an appointment. I sat there for hours. But I can't do it, Marnie. I’m scared to death. I don't know how I'm going to do this with my job, or money, or... anything. But I can't not have it."

Marnie looked at her, searching her eyes. She reached out, tucking a strand of messy hair behind Y/N’s ear. "Okay. Then you're keeping it. And we figure it out. You’re not doing it alone. You have me. You have your parents. You have a career."

Marnie took a deep breath, her PR brain clearly trying to organize the chaos. She squeezed Y/N’s hands.

"But Y/N," Marnie said gently, her voice dropping. "We need to talk about the math. You’re... what? Three weeks along?"

Y/N nodded, biting her lip.

"That means..." Marnie did the calculation in her head, and her eyes widened. "That means it happened the night of the Fashion Awards."

Y/N looked away, staring at the pattern on the rug. Her heart started to hammer again.

"The mysterious lighting guy," Marnie said slowly. "The one you disappeared with."

"Yeah," Y/N lied. It tasted like ash in her mouth.

Marnie squeezed her hands tighter. "Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Y/N felt a fresh wave of panic. Tell him? Tell Harry Styles? Call his management? DM him on Instagram? Hey, remember the burnt cheese? I'm having your baby. He would think she was crazy. Or worse, he would think she trapped him. He had said on the rug, You are absolutely trouble. He had no idea.

"I... I can't," Y/N stammered. "It was a one-night stand, Marnie. I don't even have his number. He’s... he’s not from here. He was just in town for the job. He’s gone."

It wasn't technically a lie. He was gone. He was on tour in America.

Marnie looked furious on her behalf. "Well, screw him then. If he’s just some random guy who vanished, you don't need him. We raise this baby on 'Girl Power' and expensive coffee." She pulled Y/N into another hug. "But if you ever do find 'Lighting Guy,' I am going to punch him in the throat."

Y/N closed her eyes, resting her chin on Marnie’s shoulder. Guilt clawed at her stomach.

"okay," she whispered.

"Acceptance" was a strong word. Y/N preferred the term "Strategic Denial."

She knew she was pregnant. Her body certainly wouldn't let her forget it. The smell of coffee was still the enemy, her boobs hurt if she looked at them wrong, and she was currently surviving on a diet of ginger tea and dry oatcakes.

But as long as she didn't look pregnant, she could pretend her life was still hers.

She was currently sitting on the floor of her studio, sorting through contact sheets from the denim campaign. She was wearing oversized dungarees—a "fashion choice," she told her assistant, Leo, but really it was because the waistband of her jeans was starting to feel like a torture device.

The phone on her desk rang. Not her cell—the landline. The business line.

Y/N scrambled up, brushing oatcake crumbs off her lap. She put on her "Professional Photographer" voice.

"Y/N Photography, Y/N speaking."

"Clear your schedule," a voice barked.

It was Simon, her agent. Simon didn't say hello. He only called when something was either a disaster or a goldmine.

"Hello to you too, Simon," Y/N said, leaning against the desk. "I can't clear my schedule. I have the indie band reshoots on Thursday and the—"

"Cancel them," Simon interrupted. "Push them. Refund them. I don't care. You are busy Thursday. And Friday. And probably the weekend for edits."

Y/N frowned. "Simon, I can't just drop clients. Unless the Queen is resurrecting herself for a portrait, I’m booked."

"Better," Simon said. She could practically hear him grinning through the phone. "British Vogue."

Y/N stopped breathing. The receiver slipped slightly in her sweaty palm. "Vogue? The main book?"

"The cover feature," Simon corrected, dropping the bomb. "They want you. Specifically you. The Creative Director loved the grit of your Wonderland spread. They want that 'raw, intimate' vibe for the next cover star."

Y/N’s heart did a somersault. This was it. The bucket list. The career-maker. The reason she had hauled gear up stairs and lived on instant noodles for five years.

"Okay," she breathed, grabbing a pen. "Okay. I'm in. Obviously. Who is it? An actress? A model?"

"It’s a musician," Simon said. "He’s in the middle of a world tour, but he’s flying back to London for a five-day break before the European leg. We have a very tight window. Thursday is the only day he can shoot."

A cold dread started to pool in Y/N’s stomach, sitting right next to the oatcakes.

Musician. World tour. Five-day break.

"Simon," Y/N asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Who is the musician?"

"Harry Styles."

The world didn't spin this time. It just stopped.

The studio went dead silent. The hum of the computer fan seemed deafening.

Harry.

She hadn't seen him in six weeks. She hadn't spoken to him since she snuck out of his house like a thief in the night. She was currently carrying a secret the size of a blueberry that was half-him.

"Y/N?" Simon’s voice crackled in her ear. "You there? I know, it’s huge. He’s arguably the biggest star on the planet right now. It’s going to put you on the map globally."

"I..." Y/N choked. She cleared her throat. "He’s... he’s back in London?"

"Lands Wednesday night. Shoots Thursday. Flies out Monday," Simon recited. "It’s a whirlwind. They want you because you're fast and you don't faff around. It’s at a private location in Hampstead. Low crew. Just you, him, styling, and the CD."

Hampstead.

She was going to have to go back to the house. The house with the rug. The house with the burnt cheese.

"Y/N, I need a yes right now," Simon pressed. "They have Mario Testino on speed dial if you blink."

Say no, her panic screamed. Run away. Move to Scotland.

But she couldn't. She had a baby coming. She needed the money. She needed the career stability this job would guarantee. If she shot the Vogue cover, she could take six months off after the baby was born and still have a career to come back to. If she said no, she might regret it forever.

And partly—the dangerous, stupid part of her—wanted to see him.

"Yes," Y/N heard herself say. "Yes, Simon. I'll do it."

"Good girl," Simon said. "Brief is coming to your email. Don't screw this up."

The line clicked dead.

Y/N slowly put the phone down. She stared at the wall.

Thursday.

She had four days to mentally prepare herself to walk into a room with the father of her child, take the best photos of her life, and pretend that she hadn't been counting the weeks since she left his bed.

"Oh god," she whispered, her hand instinctively going to her stomach. "This is going to be a disaster."

The gravel crunching under the tires of the production van sounded exactly the same as it had six weeks ago.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, clutching a travel mug of ginger tea like it was a holy relic. Her assistant, Leo, was driving, frowning at the sky through the windshield.

"I hope you brought the big HMI lights," Leo grumbled, parking next to a massive catering truck that was blocking half the driveway. "I just checked the windows on the way up. The natural light in there is shit today. It's completely flat. We’re going to have to fake the sun."

"Great," Y/N murmured, staring up at the white stucco house. "Just what I needed."

She felt like she was going to throw up.

It wasn't just the pregnancy nausea—though that was present, a low-level hum of misery in her stomach—it was the house. The last time she had been here, she had been barefoot, carrying her heels, sneaking out of that front door at dawn.

Now, the driveway was a circus. There were rails of clothes being wheeled in by frantic assistants. There were light scrims, C-stands, and a craft services table laden with pastries that made Y/N’s stomach turn.

"Let's do this," she whispered to herself. You are a professional. He is a subject. This is a job.

She climbed out of the van, pulling her oversized parka tighter around herself. She was wearing her "armor"—baggy cargo pants and a thick hoodie that hid everything, even though there was barely anything to hide yet.

Walking into the house was surreal.

The hallway where she had taken off her shoes was now lined with equipment cases. The living room...

Y/N paused in the doorway of the living room.

The Persian rug—the rug—was still there. But now, it was covered in extension cords and a stylist’s rack of silk shirts and velvet suits. The fireplace where they had drunk wine was currently serving as a charging station for camera batteries.

It felt like walking onto a crime scene that had been turned into a circus.

"Y/N! Darling!"

The Creative Director of Vogue, a terrifyingly chic woman named Alana, swept over. "The space is difficult, isn't it? We want to shoot him right here. By the window. We need it to look raw."

"We'll make it work," Y/N managed to say, setting her camera bag down. She avoided looking at the spot on the floor where she had traced his tattoos. "Leo, set up the reflector board on the left. If the light is shit, we'll force the contrast."

For the next hour, Y/N buried herself in the work. She checked her ISO. She changed lenses. She barked orders at Leo to fix the shadows. She drank her ginger tea. As long as she had the camera in her hand, she could pretend she was just Y/N the photographer, not Y/N the terrified, pregnant one-night-stand.

"He's coming down!" someone shouted from the hallway.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The chatter died down. The stylist stopped steaming a shirt. The air became charged, electric. The "Harry Styles Effect."

Y/N’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She gripped her camera tighter, her knuckles turning white. She stood behind her tripod, using it as a shield.

Just look at the lens, she told herself. Don't look at him. Look at the framing.

Footsteps on the floorboards. Heavy, booted footsteps.

"Morning, everyone," that voice rasped.

It went through Y/N like a physical blow. It was the same voice that had whispered You’re absolutely trouble against her skin.

She looked up. She couldn't help it.

Harry stood in the doorway. He looked tired, bone deep tired. His hair was a little longer, messy in a way that wasn't styled. He was wearing loose sweatpants and a white t-shirt, holding a mug of coffee.

He looked around the room, smiling politely at the team, nodding at Alana.

Then, he turned his head toward the camera setup.

His gaze swept over Leo, over the lights, and landed on Y/N.

He froze. The polite smile vanished from his face instantly. His green eyes went wide, flashing with a shock so raw it cracked his media-trained mask wide open.

He didn't move. He just stared at her across the crowded room, the coffee mug halted halfway to his mouth.

"Y/N?" he breathed, his voice loud enough to cut through the silence.

If you’d like to read the remaining nine chapters of Off the Record, consider joining my Patreon, where the full series is available exclusively. 🤍

YN had known that Harvey was going to propose to Yasmin for a while, so she wasn’t too shocked when the announcement photo went up on Instagram, or when the wedding invite came through her door a couple of months later. She knew it was only going to be small, with only close friends and family in attendance. The one thing she just hadn’t quite anticipated that it would take place in Positano. Looking back though, she probably should have. Italy was one of YN’s favourite places, and one of Harvey’s and they’d had their fair share of holidays there with Yasmin too. It made sense that they wanted to celebrate their love there.

Yasmin was perfect for Harvey. Whilst Harvey could be a little over the top, always high-energy and bouncing between one thing and another, Yasmin calmed him. She was stiller, highly organised and kept him in line — exactly what he needed. They were in YN’s eyes a perfect match, and she couldn’t wait to watch them get married and start the rest of their lives together.

Now, that was one thing. Seeing the two of them get married at the end of the week was its own thing, in YN’s mind. The wedding itself, the week long event that they’d rented a villa for — that was the thing that YN was dreading.

The siblings were as close as they have ever been, especially after their mother died. Their father hadn’t been in the picture, so it had always just been the three of them, well now two. No matter what swirls in YN’s head about the event — she loves her brother and would always be there for him. They’ve only got each other now.

But, saying that, they were different.

YN was twenty-six, Harvey was thirty. There was a significant age gap between them that never mattered when they were younger, but grew more as they did. When YN started university at eighteen, Harvey had already graduated and was making a name for himself in the music industry.

Their lives were very different, and that meant their circles were very different.

Harvey had more friends that YN could probably name, making them throughout his long career as a music producer. It was actually how him and Yasmin met, when she was recording backing vocals on an album Harvey produced five years ago.

YN had studied English Literature at university, and worked as a junior editor for a publishing firm. She had one friend, Olive, who had been her rock throughout university and beyond, and that was pretty much it. She had acquaintances, and people she spent time with but not a lot of true friends.

Their lives were very different, and that wasn’t a bad thing but it did mean that YN often felt slightly out of place in Harvey’s circle. They were all in the music industry in some capacity, living a life completely different to what YN was. There was nothing wrong with that, it just made her slightly uncomfortable. And if she was honest, slightly insecure. She didn’t have the most money, or the biggest flat but she had worked hard for every penny, and every step she had taken in life.

There was another thing. Another thing that niggled in the back of YN’s brain, and had done since she met him eight years ago.

Harry Styles. Harvey’s best friend and partner in crime.

It was a storyline that YN had read a hundred times over, and no matter how many times she had told herself that she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall victim to something so common — she couldn’t help it.

YN had been eighteen when she first met Harry. It was actually her eighteenth birthday, and he had been twenty-four. YN was going out in London with Olive and some of her friends from college as a last hurrah before university. Harvey had asked if he could drop in with a friend or two. YN had said yes, obviously, having not seen her older brother in a while. What she hadn’t expected that night was Harry Styles to be the friend he was bringing.

YN had taken one look at him, standing next to her brother, head tipped back as he laughed at something stupid Harvey had said — and that was it. She was done for.

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖

YN has had too many shots. Categorically, too many shots.

It was her eighteenth birthday after all, obviously drinking had been on the cards but she just hadn’t expected to quite have so many in such close succession.

That was why when Olive had pulled her over to the bar, arguing that they needed to have more shots, YN had backed out.

They had rented out the top floor of one of their favourite bars for the event, or Harvey had. When he heard that his little sister wanted to celebrate her birthday with her friends in London, he had insisted he helped. YN wasn’t going to say no, especially when she knew her and her friends would all be safe if he did that.

“Water, please,” YN had all but gasped to the bartender.

“Boo!” Olive had drunkenly slurred from the side of her, “C’mon it’s your eighteenth, YN!”

“Yeah and I would like to live to see nineteen!” YN retorts, face lifting in joy when the bartender placed a pint of ice cold water in front of her.

YN watched as Olive picked up another shot of what YN was guessing was tequila and threw it back, taking a bite of lime afterwards.

Olive and YN were platonic soulmates. Both girls knew it and weren’t going to let anything come between them. They were slightly different though, with Olive a lot more outgoing than YN was but they balanced each other well. Despite their differences, they hardly ever argued or got annoyed with each other and if they did it was always small and easily fixed.

YN pretty much drank the entire pint of water in one gulp, feeling slightly refreshed afterwards and ready to get back to it.

“Come on!” Olive grabbed her hand and started to pull her towards the dance floor, “I wanna dance.”

YN allowed herself to pulled a step or two and then her phone vibrated in her pocket. YN pulled her arm out of Olive’s hold and held up a finger.

“One sec!”

YN stopped, watching as Olive found a group of people to dance with in the middle of the floor. Pulling her phone out, she saw a very unflattering photo of her brother (one she had chosen especially for his contact photo) and swiped to answer.

“Harvey?” YN practically shouted down the phone, trying to be heard over the background noise around her.

“YN?” He shouted just as loudly back, “We’ve just got here! Where are you?”

“Upstairs!” She called back, “Harv, I really can’t hear you.”

“Harry!” She heard Harvey call, quieter than before, “Upstairs mate!”

“Where are you?” YN asked, trying to push past the bodies towards the entrance. Just as she got there, she spotted her brother walking towards her, “Oh, I see you!”

“Jesus, YN, how many friends do you have?” She watched as Harvey, phone to his ear still scanned the crowd for her. It was only when she started to wave her arm around like a mad woman that he finally spotted her, “There you are.”

YN closed her phone and placed it back in her pocket, smiling as she bounced over to her brother. Just as she started to move, she spotted that he wasn’t alone. Well, YN knew he wasn’t alone from the conversation they had earlier, but she hadn’t quite expected that this ‘friend’ of his to be none other than Harry Styles.

YN froze.

She watched as Harvey said something to Harry. Surprisingly, it must have been funny because Harry tipped his head back in laughter, his eyes closing as it shook through his body.

“You gonna say hi or what?” YN was in that much shock that she hadn’t even noticed that the duo was now standing directly in front of her, staring at her expectantly.

“Oh,” she plastered a smile on her face, “Hi.”

“Happy birthday, squirt,” Harvey extended his arms out, and engulfed YN in what could only be described as a bear hug.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “Thanks for…” she motioned to the party around them, “This.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harvey shrugged, dropping his hands into his pockets, “This is Harry… Harry this is my little sister, YN.”

YN never thought that she would have a book moment in real life. She had read so many books, so many romance books at that and she never thought she would ever experience anything like book characters do on a page. But, as she stood there in the middle of her eighteenth birthday party, and Harry Styles’ eyes settled on her, the world stilled around her. The music quietened, the people seemed to disappear and all she could focus on was the green of his eyes. Eyes that were staring directly at her.

“Happy birthday,” He gave her a smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Harv’s always talking about you.”

YN froze all over again, “Thank you… It’s… uh nice to meet you too.”

The problem was, YN hadn’t even been that big of a fan of one direction. She’d enjoyed Harry’s first album, but Harvey had helped produce that one so she felt like she had to. But, even minus her brother’s involvement it was a damn good album, and Sign of the Times was a fantastic song to sing in the shower.

“There’s a lot of people here, squirt, I didn’t think you had that many friends,” Harvey commented, looking around the room once more.

“I don’t think I know who half these people are,” YN admitted, brushing a piece of her hair away from her face, “I think they’re treating it more as a final college bash than a birthday.”

“You’re having fun though, yeah?” It was Harry that asked. It was at that point that she also realised he hadn’t stopped looking at her, “You only turn eighteen once.”

“Yeah… yes I am,” YN nodded.

“Great,” Harvey tapped her on the shoulder, “Well… we’re going to get a drink, do you want anything?”

“No thank you,” she managed to squeak out before they walked away from her and towards the bar.

It was almost as though her feet were cemented into the ground. She couldn’t move. Of course she knew that Harvey and Harry Styles were friends, but she hadn’t the slightest clue that they were close enough for Harry to tag along with him to his little sisters birthday party.

“YN,” Olive appeared directly in front of her, the girl’s hands resting on her arms and giving her a shake, “You still with me?”

“I… I think so,” YN muttered, looking at her friend with the same shocked expression.

“Is that fucking Harry Styles with Harvey?” she asked, shock evident in her own voice.

“Yes?” YN’s response sounded more like a question than anything else.

“Harry Styles is at your birthday party?”

“Yes?”

“Why is Harry Styles at your birthday party?”

YN just shrugged, “I don’t know… Harvey said he’d be bringing a friend but I didn’t know that it was going to be… him.”

“Jesus.”

“I know.”

“He’s even prettier in real life, if that’s even possible.”

“I know.”

That was the first of three things YN learnt on her eighteenth birthday. The second being that tequila is not her friend and never will be.

The third was that meeting Harry Styles on that day was one of the best and worst things to ever happen to her.

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

A crush had blossomed somewhere in her chest, and she hadn’t ever been able to get rid of it. That was the tale, the one as old as time — the younger sister falling for her older brother’s friend.

That eighteenth birthday party had just been the start of something that grew. All of a sudden, Harry was everywhere. Every time she saw her brother, he was there too. They became inseparable.

That’s why when she had heard the news that Harry was going to be Harvey’s best man, she hadn’t been the slightest bit shocked. But, it did cause an anxiety to blossom within her chest.

When she had arrived late last night, she had bypassed the rest of the wedding party that was already here and gone straight up to her room. She had sent Harvey and Yasmin an apologetic message, saying that she was too tired and yucky from the flight and just wanted a shower and to go to bed.

That wasn’t the truth though. What had really happened was as she arrived at the villa, she was as the message said exhausted from the flight but she just couldn’t face it. She had been directed towards the patio, and the first thing she saw was Harry Styles, in a pair of shorts and a linen shirt dancing with one of Yasmin’s bridesmaids.

She was beautiful, far too beautiful and they both had big grins on their faces and that was enough for YN to decide that she needed another night, just one to be able to face him.

YN had that one night and yet she felt no better.

Instead of showering and relaxing, she showered and then clad in the villa-issued dressing gown, towel wrapped around her hair - YN laid on the plush bed in her room and stared at the ceiling. Telling herself over and over again that she was being silly and she needed to get over it, then she would remember something, a small snippet of Harry that would cause those feelings to just come rushing back.

Sleep hadn’t come easy, and she somehow felt worse this morning than after her flight. She had dragged herself up and out of bed, showered again because she thought it would help wake her up (it hadn’t) and got dressed for the day. She’d settled on a pair of linen shorts that stopped just above her knee and a flowy white top with small flowers on it, and short straps.

Thanks to Yasmin’s very detailed itinerary, YN knew that they would be meeting for breakfast imminently and yet she just couldn’t move. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, messing with a loose thread on the edge of her shirt.

She was being silly now, and it was frustrating her. Yet every time she tried to shake her nerves, it just didn’t work. She didn’t want to see him, to have to be with him and pretend that his eyes weren’t the ones that plagued her dreams. It was so silly, and yet to YN it felt like the end of the world.

YN groaned and dropped back on her bed, arms spread at her side. She stayed for a second before she heard the sound of her phone vibrate on the bedside table.

Sitting up, she reached over to grab it. Groaning once more when she saw the notifications pop through one after another.

Harvey: Oi

Harvey: Yas’ going to be sending search and rescue in a minute

Harvey: Get your arse down here

With a sigh, YN sent a very passive aggressive thumbs up in response and pushed herself up from the bed.

Somehow, miraculously, she put one foot in front of the other and made it downstairs.

“God,” Harvey dropped down at the table across from Harry with a thud, an espresso on each hand, “I’m exhausted and it’s only day one.”

“Oh, thanks mate,” Harry went to reach for one of the cups but Harvey pulled it closer to him.

“These are both mine,” He explained with a furrowed brow, “Get your own.”

Harry was gobsmacked. He didn’t even know what to say, he just laughed and shook his head.

“I didn’t even think you were that bad yesterday,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

“I wasn’t,” Harvey sighs, running a hand through his hair and taking a sip of espresso, “But between Yas and my sister I’m going to go into an early grave.”

Harry tried to ignore the way his heart lurched when Harvey mentioned YN. Instead, he tapped his thigh with his finger and tried to keep his face as still as possible.

“YN’s here?” He asked, praying that Harvey didn’t notice the way her name got caught in his throat.

“Yeah she arrived late last night,” Harvey explains, running a hand over his face.

“I didn’t know,” Harry shrugs, “I haven’t seen her.”

“Nobody has,” He shakes his head, “She got here, messaged me she was tired and was going to bed and nobody has heard a peep since. Yas is freaking out because she needs to know if her dress needs steaming and if it does it needs to go today and… argh.”

Harry watches as Harvey drops his head back in his chair, both hands coming to rest over his eyes. Harry tries really hard not to laugh, but it’s impossible not to and a small chuckle escapes his lips.

“Mate, it’ll be fine,” Harry offers in support.

“I know,” Harvey sighs again, “It’s just… I sent her message five minutes ago and she replied with a thumbs up but I’ve not heard anything else.”

“See,” Harry points at Harvey’s phone, “You’ve had a sign of life, she’ll be here. It’s YN, she’ll have spotted a bookcase and become so distracted that nothing else in the world will matter.”

“It’s just…” Harvey looks as though he was contemplating sharing his next remark, but he does anyway, “I’m just worried about her… she’s been really anxious about coming here and I don’t want it to have stressed her out.”

That immediately perks Harry’s interest, “Anxious? Why?”

“She, uh, struggles with,” Harvey waves his around at the people milling around them, “This… she thinks that because she’s not in the industry or something she doesn’t fit in.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry frowns, “Of course she fits in.”

“I know that and you know that,” Harvey recites and then shrugs, “It’s a bit harder trying to get her to realise that.”

Harry lets that settle with him. As much as he agreed that there was a part of YN that felt like she maybe didn’t fit in — he can’t help but think that there was maybe something else in it. Harry found himself looking away from Harvey, hoping that overnight his friend hadn’t turned into some kind of mind reader and could read into all his thoughts.

Then he heard it.

The sound came from just behind Harvey, at the double doors at the back of the villa that lead to the patio that they were sitting on. An unmistakable sound, a laugh that could make a smile grow on even the grumpiest of faces.

It was YN, walking down the steps. She was chatting and laughing with Yasmin, the two of them with the biggest smiles of their faces. It made Harry’s heart skip a beat. She wasn’t wearing or doing anything special, just a pair of shorts and a flowy shirt, her hair down but pinned back from her face. She looked slightly tired but he presumed that most of the wedding party were after the travel.

He looked away, especially when he realised there was no air in his lungs and Harvey had realised that he was staring intently at something.

Harvey turned, saw the two women walking down the steps and raised his arm to call them over.

“Well, well,” Harvey joked as YN slipped into the seat next to him, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hello to you too, Harvey,” YN just beamed.

“You’d get a nice hello if you hadn’t caused me to sprout grey hairs a few days before my wedding,” he retorts.

YN just rolled her eyes, a smile still on her face.

It was then she turned to look at Harry, and he watched as her smile dropped just the slightest. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else, but he saw it and he tried to ignore the way it made his heart plummet.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.”

A silence grew around them, thick and all encompassing. It happened again. Just like the first moment they met, at YN’s eighteenth birthday. His mouth became insanely dry, and his heart started to beat ten times faster in his chest. All he could hear was static, and all he could see was her. YN. Smile faltering just because he was there.

“YN?” It was Yasmin’s voice that interrupted them, causing the girl to flinch and look away from him, “After breakfast will you come and find me with your dress? They need to leave by this afternoon to be steamed in town before Friday.”

“Of course.”

Harry watched as Harvey leaned over, placing his hand on his bride’s thigh, “I thought we said no getting stressed about wedding stuff today.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to get stressed,” Yasmin responded, “You did.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, “We penciled out fun for today. The pool; maybe a walk. A couples of days to relax before the rest of the guests arrive tomorrow and we’re on high alert.”

“And we’ll get to that,” Yasmin nods, “But that doesn’t mean that everything can’t be perfect in the meantime.”

As the couple bickered back and forth, Harry watched YN. She was watching her brother and Yasmin with a smile on her face, yet there was something vacant about her eyes — almost as though watching them was hard for her somehow.

“I’m gonna..” YN pushed up from the table, “Go and get some breakfast.”

Without a second thought, Harry pushed up from the table too, “I’ll come with.”

YN didn’t say anything, and instead just gave him a small nod. They walked together back up the stairs of the villa and towards the kitchen. Harry kept a safe distance away, but all he wanted to do was reach out and touch the slip of her hip that was showing between her shorts and the way her shirt was sitting.

Harry noticed the espresso machine at the entrance to the kitchen and slowed, “Coffee?”

YN looked positively relieved at its mention, “Yes please.”

She lingered to the side, eyes seemingly trying to focus on anything and everything that wasn’t him making her a coffee.

“So,” Harry started, clearing his voice from the lump that had formed there, “How have you been?”

“Good,” It’s a short response, and Harry doesn’t like it, “You?”

“Busy… but good,” he nods, trying to focus on the coffee, “How’s Olive?”

“She’s good,” YN nods, “Wish that she could be here but kids don’t leave school for another week.”

Harry hums, “I forgot that she was a teacher… I bet she’s good at it.”

“She is,” he doesn’t miss the smile that crosses YN’s lips, “She’s insane and the kids love her… it’s the perfect mix.”

Once Harry had finished the coffees, he passed YN hers and she thanked him. They then made their way further into the kitchen, where a magical display was in front of them.

Maria, the villa’s caterer, had put on what Harry could only describe as a fantastic spread. Bread, cheese, meats, fruits, pastries. The whole spread was enticing, and Harry’s hunger grew tenfold.

“Oh god I want it all,” It seemed as though that was the same for YN.

Harry laughed, picked up two plates and passed her one. She placed her coffee to the side and looked like a woman on a mission.

He followed her around, watching as she put a blend of everything on offer on her plate, piling it up until he couldn’t see her plate anymore. He just laughed and followed suit.

“Keep going!” It was Maria that called out to them, “I like big appetites here.”

YN just giggled, continuing to place a medley of fruit on her plate. She went to pick up her plate but Harry shook his head.

“Grab the coffees,” he nodded to them, “I’ve got them.”

“Oh!” Maria gasped, “Such a gentleman… you’ve got yourself a good one there.”

“I…” Harry watches as YN hesitates, a myriad of emotions crossing her features before she finds the right words, “He’s just showing off. It’s all a front, Maria.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock, and then he couldn’t help the barking laugh that escaped them.

“I don’t believe that for one second!”

Harry followed YN out of the kitchen and towards the table where Yasmin and Harvey were still sat. Yasmin had moved so she was closer to her husband to be, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.

Harry placed YN’s plate down, and then his. YN hesitated slightly when she realised he’d placed hers down right next to where he was sitting. But, it was only for a fraction of second and then she dropped down in the seat.

Harvey, seeing the mountain of food on her plate reached forward and grabbed a grape. YN immediately smacked his hand away, but it was too late and he popped the grape in his mouth.

“Mine,” She pointed at herself, sending her older brother a glare.

“C’mon, you’ve got enough food for a small army there,” He reached over again but she was too quick for him this time, and smacked his hand away with more force.

“Yes and Maria said a healthy appetite is good — this is all mine,” she motioned to her plate, “If I don’t finish it all, you may have some.”

“Honestly, Harvey,” Yasmin shook her head, “You’re like a child… Maria’s put on a full spread in there go get your own.”

“Thank you Yasmin,” YN nodded, continuing to butter some of the bread she had picked up, “You may take what you want from my plate… just not the grapes because they’re my favourite.”

Yasmin reached over and grabbed a piece of melon, humming when the sweetness hit her tongue.

Harvey, on the other hand looked gobsmacked. He turned to Harry with his eyes wide and lips parted.

“Did you see that?”

“See what, mate?” Harry laughed, munching on one of the pastries he’d grabbed, “What your life is going to look like in the future?”

“Exactly that,” Harvey shook his head, “I’m going to be outnumbered.”

“You already are,” Harry laughed.

Harry swore he saw the corners of YN’s lips lift up at that.

Harvey and Yasmin went to get their own plates shortly after, leaving YN and Harry sitting there in silence whilst they munched on their breakfast.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence at all. It was just two people sharing space with each other in the Italian morning sunlight, with the sea breeze dancing through their hair.

Harry just let it settle between them, not forcing anything. Even though there were a thousand things he could’ve said, he just didn’t.

He just wished he didn’t regret it as much as he did.

“Black and white polka dots or navy and white stripes?” YN asked, holding two bikinis up at Yasmin who was lounged across her bed, already sporting a figuring hugging yellow swimsuit and matching cover up.

“Jesus, YN,” Yasmin’s eyes widened when she saw them, “Who are you trying to impress?”

“No one,” YN answered a little too quickly to be convincing.

Yasmin just raised an eyebrow at YN, but she didn’t push.

“The polka dots,” She responded, “The stripes will be better for the boat trip tomorrow.”

“You’re so right.”

After breakfast, everyone had split up to do their own things. YN had returned to her room to have a nap, which she was more than thankful for. After seeing Harry her nerves had dissipated slightly, and an overwhelming exhaustion at the whole situation had washed over her.

She had managed a good two and half hours before Yasmin all but bashed the door to her room down, ordering that she get her swimsuit on because they were going to the pool. Scared of creating a bridezilla, YN had just said yes.

Normally YN wouldn’t wear something so revealing, but she had to get something out of this trip for herself and if topping up her tan-lines was the only thing, she’d be dammed if she didn’t get them.

The bikini tied around her neck and back, the cups flushing perfectly to her boobs. The bottoms were high waisted, and hugged her curves perfectly. Just as Maria had said earlier, YN had an appetite and it meant that she wasn’t the slimmest in the world, but she had come to embrace her curves the older she’d gotten. They were a part of her, and she wouldn’t change them.

The cover up was a thin, black lace tie-up that sat around her hips. She tied her hair up in a mess on her head, just so it didn’t get drenched and placed her sunglasses on her nose. She then stood with her hands on her hips in front of Yasmin.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The pool itself matched the grandeur of the villa. It sat just beyond the patio, overlooking the cliff and the sea that stretched to the horizon. Some of the groomsmen and bridesmaids were already on loungers when they got there, but Yasmin and YN secured a spot underneath one of the umbrellas, shielding them from the early afternoon sun that was fierce and mighty.

Yasmin slipped into the pool first, whilst YN sat on her lounger applying a heathy sealing of suncream to her skin.

“Oi!” It was Harvey, popping his head up from where he’d been laid on the grass just to the side of the pool, “Suncream.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yas.” It was more of a warning than anything.

“Have you got ours?”

“Harry’s got it.”

It was then that YN saw Harry, sitting on a lounger a few away from them. Yasmin climbed out of the pool and made her way towards the lounger where she’d deposited her towel. Harry held out the suncream for her, and she accepted it with only a slight glare.

“Gimme a sec,” She turned to YN, “Just going to get Harv to do my back.”

YN just hummed, trying not to grow embarrassed at the fact that she was unsuccessfully trying to get her own back and was about to ask Yasmin to help her.

YN could feel Harry lingering at her side, and she tried and tried so hard not to look. He was wearing green swim shorts, low on his hips. He knew exactly what he was doing, the band of the shorts exposing the ferns resting on his toned stomach, highlighting the deep V that dipped in between his legs.

“Do you…” she hears him start before he clears his throat, “Do you need any help?”

“I’m alright thank you,” YN responds, her pitch increasing at the end.

She was struggling, but she didn’t want to admit that. She could only reach the top of her shoulders and the bottom of her back, the middle section was just completely unreachable. But, she didn’t want to say that to Harry.

“C’mon,” Harry tried again, “You’re missing your entire back, pretty much.”

Sighing, YN dropped her arms and held out her suncream to him. Harry looked at her, waiting for her to nod before taking the suncream off her. He dropped down on the sun lounger next to her. YN heard the cap go, before the sound of him squeezing the bottle. He rubbed his hands together before he placed them on her shoulders.

“Sorry if it’s cold.”

YN bit her bottom lip, “It’s fine.”

YN tried to stay focused on literally anything in front of her but she couldn’t do it. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hands started to work across her shoulders. His thumbs every now and then pressed into her muscles, and she almost whimpered. His hands worked across her shoulders, all the way down her back. They slipped under the tie of her bikini, his fingers almost brushing the cups of her bikini. Then his hands slipped lower, getting the bottom of her back.

YN gasped when his fingers brushed the plushy flesh of her hips, dangerously close to the tie in her bikini bottoms. She was frozen, completely. All of her senses had been taken over by the feeling of Harry’s hands on her, and then all of a sudden they weren’t.

Harry pulled away, jumping up from the sun lounger and passing her the suncream back.

“Uh…” he scratched the back of his neck, “Done.”

“Thanks,” before the word was even fully out of her lips, Harry was stalking off and making his way towards the villa, his steps quick and his head down. YN was slightly taken aback with how quick it had all happened.

Yasmin dropped down on the lounger next to her a second later, skin shiny with her own suncream. Her eyes were watching Harry, just like YN’s were.

“What got up his arse?”

YN shrugged, “I don’t know.”

The problem was, YN did know what was wrong with Harry, because it was the exact same thing that was wrong with her. It was the exact same reason that she pushed herself off the lounger and made her way towards the pool.

At first, she dropped herself down to the poolside and slipped her feet under the water. With it being an outdoor pool, the water wasn’t warm but thanks to the blaring Italian sun it wasn’t freezing either. After her feet became acclimatised to the water, YN slipped her whole body into the water, allowing herself to float.

Looking back, she should have said no.

She should have said no to Harry and waited for Yasmin to come back. She shouldn’t now know what it feels like to have Harry’s hands brushing across her body like that. She shouldn’t be able to wish that they were still there. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hour period yet in Positano, and YN’s chest felt even tighter than it was when she arrived.

YN hadn’t the slightest clue how was she was supposed to survive this week.

This crush was fine when they were miles away, when he was on an international stage and she was at her desk in her small office in central London. All YN worried about then was seeing his face whilst she scrolled through her phone.

But here, where she could walk around any corner and there he was going to be, standing in front of her — it was stressing her out more than words could explain.

“YN?” Yasmin called from where she had just slipped in the other side of the pool, “You alright?”

“Good,” YN nodded.

“You look like you’re going to throw up… please don’t throw up in the pool.”

YN shook her head lightly, “I’m not going to throw up.”

Just as YN said that, her eyes focused on a table on the patio. Sitting at the table where they had been a few hours earlier, sharing breakfast in each other’s company was Harry, laughing away to something one of the bridesmaids said. It was the same bridesmaid that YN had seen him dancing with the night prior. YN’s stomach turned. It twisted painfully when she saw her drop her hands to his shoulder, and then run it down his arm. He didn’t flinch, or push it off — he just let it happen.

She was pretty, insanely so. It was one of Yasmin’s friends from the industry, Evelyn. She was exactly the type of girl that YN imagined Harry would be with.

YN may not have felt sick before, but she definitely did now.

“Are you having the time of your life without me?”

YN was sitting at the small dressing table in her room, phone propped up against the mirror with a fierce concentration on her face as she attempted to pin her hair up. Olive, in a very similar position except for the fact she was cooking her dinner, was on facetime, wanting to know anything and everything about the trip so far.

“Its…” YN struggled to find the right word, “…nice.”

“Nice?” Olive deadpanned, her nose curling up slightly, “That’s all I get? Nice?”

“I don’t know what you want, Olive?” YN asked, slightly frustrated with her friend in a way that she definitely didn’t mean, “Sorry.”

“No it’s okay,” Olive responded, but YN could tell by her tone that she wasn’t fully convinced, “Something’s obviously happening.”

“It’s not… I’m…” YN shook her head, flinging one of the grips she had in her hand down to the desk, “I’m just… in my head.”

Olive hummed, “What’s he done?”

YN furrowed her eyebrows, “What’s who done?”

“Harry.”

YN froze in the middle of applying her lip gloss, her eyes settling on Olive who was staring at her with an expression that let her know she wasn’t going to get away with not saying anything this time.

“Nothing,” YN shook her head.

“Liar,” Olive retorted immediately, “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Olive groaned, “Right. I don’t get to be there and see the two of you pining after each other in person so please, I’m begging you to give me a verbal recount of the events that transpired today.”

YN fell silent, “… we do not pine after each other.”

“Yes you do! And I know you’ve been hiding something from me for a while, and I’ve given you the space but this is literally the perfect opportunity for you to make you move.”

“Make my move?” YN furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yes!” Olive exclaimed, “You’re in Italy, at a wedding — romance is literally in the air YN. You need to finally grab life by the balls and do something for yourself… or grab Harry by the balls, maybe he’d enjoy it.”

“Olive!” YN all-but screeched down the phone, “Please stop talking about balls.”

“Look… I don’t know what’s happened, or what’s going on right now with the two of you but he used to make you happy,” Olive sighs, “You’d come back from seeing him and Harvey so happy, YN, and now… you just get so sad whenever anybody mentions him.”

“I don’t,” YN shakes her head, “And nothing’s happened… I’m just… I think I’m just tired.”

Olive just hums, not convinced at all, “Well… I’m here if you need me. Now get your sexy bum down there and enjoy your nibbles and drinks.”

“Thanks, Ol.”

“Anytime, babes.”

YN watched her phone go black, and she sighed. She dropped back in the chair she was sitting in and ran her hands down her thighs, her palms having clammed up under Olive’s questioning.

YN knew that it was coming from a place of love, but it pained YN to not tell Olive the whole truth. She wanted to more than anything to tell Olive everything but how could she explain something that she hadn’t even full come to terms with and understand herself? It was completely impossible, and it stressed YN out more than she could admit.

All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and go to sleep, but there was a cocktail and nibbles party going on downstairs that she had to go to. Maybe she would go, show her face, enjoy one to many cocktails and divulge in some nibbles — and then she would go and curl up in her bed.

The dress she had chosen was a deep maroon colour. It plunged at her neckline, and had short sleeves that landed in the middle of her upper arm. It cinched at her waist and flowed out down to her ankle. She had paired it with a plain pair of sandals, not wanting to kill her feet too soon with heels.

She wasn’t trying to prove anything, she didn’t need to. But despite the mess that was currently in her brain, causing the anxiety to bubble deep in her chest — she at least wanted to feel confident in her appearance, so that could shield her from everything in her brain.

The cocktails and nibbles were being held on the patio. It had been transformed, with floral arrangements sitting on the table and lanterns hanging on strings above them. The whole thing felt so cosy and so beautiful, that YN couldn’t help but smile.

The party had seemingly already started by the time she arrived, with people milling around with colourful cocktails in their hands, or some with small plates full of whatever deliciousness Maria had cooked up.

Her first stop was for a cocktail, knowing that the evening was going to be a lot easier to handle once she had the buzz of alcohol in her system. The cocktail she had chosen was fruity, the kind of sweet that could make a person completely forget they were drinking alcohol until they woke up the next morning.

Her next stop had been the nibbles. When she saw Maria had made small half-sized bruschettas, she immediately put three on her small plate.

“Oh!” Mid bite into one the many mini bruschetta’s YN had piled onto her plate she heard a hybrid of a gasp/squeal next to her, “I love your dress!”

It was Evelyn, standing next to her with a small plate in her hand, with only one mini bruschettas on it. She was wearing a lacy camisole and long flowing skirt, dolled up to the nines. YN’s heart sank slightly just looking at her.

“Oh,” YN managed to slip out, “Thank you.”

“Where’s it from?”

YN hesitated, “I don’t know… I might have thrifted it.”

“Oh,” YN watched as her nose curled up ever so slightly, “I wish I could thrift things like that! I never find anything!”

YN just hummed, wanting nothing more than to shove the rest of her bruschetta in her mouth but she resisted.

“You’re Harvey’s sister right?”

YN furrowed her eyebrows slightly, “Yes?”

“Oh how sweet!” Her voice goes up in octave once more, “Harry said that his little sister was here but I didn’t realise how cute you were!”

Cute. CUTE.

That was it. That was the final straw for YN. Without a care she placed another small bruschetta onto her place, totalling to four small bruschettas and gave Evelyn the sweetest smile she could muster.

“Excuse me,” YN gave Evelyn the sweetest smile she could muster before making her way towards one of the empty tables on the patio.

YN had officially had enough interacting for the day. She felt socially wrung out, her head hurt slightly and all she wanted was to eat her bruschetta and drink her cocktail in peace.

She ended up just people watching. She watched as Harvey and Yasmin made their way around everybody, chatting and laughing and obviously enjoying their wedding celebration so far.

They looked happy. Truly happy. Without even meaning to, YN started to spiral. Well, it wasn’t a big spiral per se it was more her wondering if she’d ever get that. She’d watched Harvey and Yasmin fall so in love with each other over the years, becoming each other’s person. She wanted a person. She’d thought she’d found her person, or at least one of them. But, maybe she hadn’t.

“I’m happy for them, I am but I don’t know if I could do the one girl forever thing,” YN heard a voice say behind her, slightly boisterous from the obvious alcohol intake but not one that she recognised.

“C’mon man, you’ll find the one,” Another man spoke, and this time it was a recognisable voice. It was Harry. It wasn’t as loud as the other one, but it was still audible from YN’s seat.

Part of her wanted to turn around. They obviously didn’t know that she was there, or if they did they didn’t care that she could hear their entire conversation word for word.

“Coming from you!” the boisterous voice replied, “Got no plans to settle down either?”

“Nah,” the word turned YN’s stomach in an indescribable way, “I don’t think my life’s built for it, mate.”

“You could have your pick of anyone,” the voice replied, “You could choose any girl you fancied.”

“Yeah,” Harry voice was quieter this time, as though it felt unsure, “Not on the cards for me, mate.”

That was enough for YN. She’d heard enough, and from the way that her eyes were watering she wanted to get as far away as she could before they fell. Pushing back from her chair, it made a clattering sound against the patio but she didn’t care. All she scared about was going back up to her room.

She clutched her glass close to her, and made sure that her plate of bruschetta was safe before climbing the steps into the villa. Just as she got to the door, Harvey walked out, almost knocking her bruschetta out of her hands.

“Hey,” He held his hands out, almost as though if the bruschetta did fall he was going to be there to catch it. He took one look at YN’s teary eyes and his expression hardened, “You okay? What happened?”

“Nothing,” YN shook her head, blinking rapidly in hopes that it would stop the tears from falling, “I’m fine.”

Harvey just gave her a look, “You’re not. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Harv just drop it!” Her words came out harsher than she meant, “I’m fine. Go enjoy yourself, I’m just going to go up to bed.”

“No, come on,” He pointed to the patio, “It’s still early… Yas said that she wanted to talk to you about something anyway.”

“I’ll catch her in the morning,” YN gave him a smile, “I think it’s just jet lag… I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nudged her arm lightly, “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? I know that I’ve maybe not been the best these last couple of years but…”

“I’m fine I promise,” YN interrupted him, “I’ll see you in the morning, Harv.”

He just nodded. YN took that as her opportunity to slip away, making her way towards the staircase without bumping into anybody else.

Somehow, she managed to get all the way to her room before she let any tears fall. But, when they came they were hot and they were fast. She placed her drink and her plate down on the side, and then leant her hands against it, hoping that it would at least centre her in some way.

She was stupid. So, so stupid for thinking that she could handle this. For thinking that her heart could handle seeing him in this way after everything that happened. She couldn’t, and apart of her had always known that.

She just needed to stay as far away from Harry as she could. She needed to create a distance between them, one that had needed to be put in place for a long time.

Her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Harry watched YN walk away.

He had just watched her walk away.

As Harry sat on the balcony looking over the sea, legs spread out on the table in front of him — it was all he could think about. When Ryan had been talking to him, way too drunk for it being that early in the evening, Harry had pretty much zoned out. He’d been polite, responded to his questions and that was it. Harry knew Ryan, but definitely not enough to start divulging in his deepest and darkest secrets — so he hadn’t.

If he’d have known that YN was sitting in front of her, he’d have chosen different words.

All he had to do was take quick scan. He hadn’t seen her come down so he’d just assume she wasn’t outside yet, but he was wrong.

There was some truth into what Harry had said to Ryan, but there was also more to the story. He would have explained that it’s complicated, that there’s more to the story than just finding someone to settle down with, that real feelings often complicate matters.

He just hated that he’d upset her.

There was so much unspoken between them, so much unsaid and yet neither one of them seemed to be able to find the words. So they danced around it, they avoided it and they just pretended that nothing was happening, which it wasn’t. But, Harry just didn’t think that they could carry on the way they were without something changing.

As he stared out at the still water, the moon’s reflection showing him the ripples of the waves in the distance, he decided that something did have to change. Both of them were not going to be able to enjoy the weekend unless they spoke about it.

The problem was, Harry didn’t think that YN wanted to talk about it.

He couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t an easy thing. There were so many levels, so many reasons as to why ignoring it would be better for everyone involved and yet Harry didn’t want that. He wanted them to lay everything out on the table and get everything off their chests.

This wasn’t going to end once the weekend was finished. They were going to be in each other’s lives, well, forever. They could avoid each other, but they both cared about Harvey, and therefore they were going to both be at important events for Harvey, together.

There was just something about being at the wedding that just made Harry want to sort everything out. It wasn’t just Harvey and Yasmin’s life that were going to change, everyone’s were. Dynamics were going to change, it was inevitable.

Harry was so deep in thought, in his own spiral that he hadn’t even heard the door open beside him. Not until he noticed Harvey dropping down in the chair next to him.

“You alright, H?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “Just enjoying the quiet.”

“It’s so fucking peaceful out here,” Harvey sighed, extending his legs out in front of him just as Harry had, “Perfect place to get married.”

Harry smiled, “Anybody could tell you that… how come you’re out here anyway? I thought you and Yas would in pre-wedding bliss, planning the future.”

“She’s in with YN,” Harvey said after a few seconds or so.

“YN?” Harry asked, slightly too quick but he didn’t have the capacity to care, “She okay?”

“Yeah,” Harvey nods, and Harry could tell by his tone that he was telling the truth.

“Is Yas okay?”

“Yeah, they’re both okay, H,” Harvey nods, “I just… YN said something to me earlier and… I think she just needs family around her right now. I thought Yas would be better than me… I just… I don’t know.”

Harry nodded, “I’m sure she would’ve appreciated you checking on her.”

Harvey shrugged, “I don’t know if I might be part of the problem.”

Harry’s heart started to beat quicker in his chest. They were both dancing around something, as Harry seemed to be with both siblings, and yet neither of them wanted to say anything.

“You know what YN’s like,” Harry tries, praying that his voice came off strong enough.

“I know,” Harry watches as he rubs a hand over his face, “She just gets in her own head.”

That was something they had in common. It was so easy for everyone to get in their heads the harder things became, to ignore the problems in front of them or avoid it.

As Harry sat there in silence, sharing the space with one of his best friends in the entire world he realised something. He realised that if they didn’t talk, if they didn’t let everything that they’ve been holding in out — it wasn’t just them would feel the consequences.

Harvey was already feeling them. He didn’t know exactly what it was, and maybe he didn’t know the truth about Harry’s involvement. But, he could tell that there was something there.

Tomorrow.

Harry was going to talk to YN tomorrow. He had a full night to think about what he was going to say, and staring out at the sea whilst he did it seemed like a good idea to him.

The roar of the stadium was a physical thing, a wave of sound that vibrated through the concrete and into the very marrow of your bones. You’d felt it a thousand times from the stage, a different kind of energy, a different kind of love. But this was something else. This was raw, primal, and utterly centered on twenty-two men chasing a ball. You were tucked away in the family box, feeling like a fraud in a sea of jerseys and painted faces, all thanks to a persistent, and frankly, terrifyingly enthusiastic, young woman named Rebecca Barnes.

Her grip on your arm was like a vice, her eyes wide with a star-struck fervor that was both endearing and slightly alarming. “Oh my God, oh my God, he’s looking this way! Did you see that? He just winked! I think he winked at you!”

You followed her gaze to the pitch, where her brother, Bucky, was indeed jogging back into position, a stray lock of dark hair plastered to his forehead, his focus absolute. He hadn’t winked at the box; you were certain of it. He was too locked in, a predator on the hunt. But you couldn’t bring yourself to crush Becca’s spirit. She was the reason you were here, after all.

It had started with a simple, direct message on Instagram. A string of emojis, a gushing declaration of love for your latest album, and a plea for a signed poster. You had a soft spot for earnest fans, and her profile, a collage of your album art and her brother’s football stats, was a clear indicator of her two main obsessions. You’d sent the poster, and a short, friendly note. A week later, you were the subject of a near-daily barrage of messages from her, culminating in a surprisingly persuasive argument for why you should attend a match.

"It’s not just a game, it’s a cultural experience! And my brother is the best player on the team, I swear. You’ll get to see a real athlete in his element. Please? For me? For the signed poster?"

The request had been so absurdly earnest, and you were so desperately bored of the endless cycle of studio sessions and promotional interviews, that you’d said yes. And now, here you were, watching the man himself, James Buchanan Barnes, or “Bucky” as everyone called him, orchestrate the game with a quiet, devastating intensity.

He wasn’t a flashy player. There were no showboating tricks or flamboyant dives. His game was built on grace and power, a deceptively languid stride that exploded into breathtaking speed. He’d receive a pass, control it with a single, effortless touch, and then send it screaming across the pitch to a teammate with laser-guided precision. He was the fulcrum, the quiet engine that made the entire machine work. It was captivating. And you absolutely hated how captivating you found it.

The media had been having a field day since the first grainy photos surfaced of you leaving a charity gala together three months ago. You’d been seated at the same table, a stroke of luck for the gossip columns, and a single, perfectly timed photograph of him leaning in to hear you over the din of the crowd had ignited a wildfire of speculation. "Sunshine Girl and Winter Soldier!", "Barnes’s New Flame?". The rumor mill had been churning ever since, and your publicist was having a coronary. The constant use of your nicknames were a lot now and you’d done your best to quell the speculation, issuing a brief, diplomatic statement about a chance encounter and a shared acquaintance. He’d done the same, a clipped, dismissive reply to a reporter’s question that you’d seen on a sports highlights reel. You’d scoffed at his curtness, even as a tiny, traitorous part of you felt a prickle of… something. Annoyance, you’d told yourself. Pure professional annoyance. That night at the gala, you’d exchanged perhaps five words, polite nothings about the food and the acoustics of the hall. It had been nothing. Absolutely nothing. And yet, you’d found yourself scrolling through photos of him later that night, cursing your own curiosity.

The match ended in a decisive victory for his team, Barnes scoring the final, stunning goal with a shot so powerful it seemed to bend the air around it. As the final whistle blew, Becca, who had been practically vibrating with excitement, looked at you with pleading eyes. “You have to come to the afterparty! Please? It’s at the hotel where theyre staying. Everyone will be there, and Bucky will be so happy to see you.”

You opened your mouth to politely decline, to cite the need for an early night, but the words died on your lips. You saw him then, jogging over to a section of the stands where some children were waving. He signed a jersey, his face breaking into a genuine, unguarded smile that softened the hard lines of his jaw. It was a disarming sight, a flash of kindness that felt entirely at odds with the taciturn, intimidating figure you’d been building in your head.

Becca followed your gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “He’s not usually like that, you know. With the press, I mean. He loves seeing the fans, mostly the young ones.  He’s always so… closed off. But ever since that gala, he’s been different. Quieter. He doesn’t talk about it, but I can tell. He asked me about you, you know. Casual, like he didn’t really care. But I know my brother.” She paused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been a long time since I saw him that captivated by someone. He’s not the type to have flings. He’s so careful, so private. It’s not like he’s checking out women left and right. I’m almost sure it’s been a really long time since he went out with anyone. You should’ve seen him that night at the gala. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck. “It was just a conversation, Becca. Barely even that.”

“Sure,” she said, her tone dripping with amused skepticism. “Just a conversation. It’s been just a conversation the, what? Twenty times you have seen each other in just three months? That’s why he’s been acting like a grumpy bear for three months, right? Come on. One drink. For me?”

“Fine,” you heard yourself say. “One drink.”

The private club was a haze of dark wood, low lighting, and thrumming bass. The atmosphere was raucous, a celebration spilling over with champagne and triumphant back-slapping. You were a fish out of water, a creature of spotlights and silent recording booths, not this boisterous, testosterone-fueled environment. Becca was immediately swept away by a group of friends, leaving you to fend for yourself.

You were nursing a glass of the pink wine Becca loves talking about, trying to find a corner to disappear into, when a large, warm presence materialized at your back. “You came.”

His voice was a low rumble, laced with the barest hint of surprise. You turned. Bucky Barnes, no longer in his kit but in a simple, dark henley and jeans, looked even more formidable up close. He smelled of soap and expensive cologne and a faint, clean musk that was entirely his own.

“Your sister is very persuasive,” you replied, your voice cooler than you intended. “She’s also very observant.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “That she is. She’s been talking about you for months. She claims you’re a big deal.”

The statement was blunt, almost an accusation. You bristled. “It’s not a competition, Barnes. I’m just a person who makes music.”

“So I’ve heard.” He took a sip from the bottle of beer in his hand, his gaze never leaving yours. It was unnerving, this directness. “You’re good. I listened to your album. The new one.”

The admission caught you completely off guard. You’d assumed he was just humoring his sister, that your career was an abstract concept to him, a distant world he had no interest in. “You did?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, his lips twitching. “I have ears. And Becca has a very loud speaker system. It was hard to avoid. Has been non-stop at the apartment since last week you released it.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “But I didn’t want to avoid it. The song about the city at night. That one stayed with me.”

You remembered the song. It was a deeply personal one, written during a period of intense loneliness, about the feeling of being surrounded by millions of people and yet completely, utterly alone. The fact that he had not only heard it but connected with it sent a strange thrill through you. “That’s… actually really kind of you to say. Thank you.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy gesture that was so at odds with his public persona. “I mean it.” He gestured with his beer bottle towards a quieter corner. “Want to get out of this chaos?”

You should have said no. You should have cited your impending departure, your need for a quiet night. But the press of bodies and the relentless chatter were suffocating, and the idea of a moment’s respite with someone who, despite your best efforts, you found increasingly intriguing, was too tempting. You followed him to a small, secluded balcony overlooking the city skyline. The cool night air was a balm on your heated skin.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning against the railing. “For the rescue.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stood a respectful distance away, but his presence was immense, filling the small space. “Becca got a bit carried away, I’m guessing. She’s a force of nature.”

“She’s wonderful,” you said, and you meant it. “She reminds me of myself a little, when I was her age. All that passion and energy.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying the city lights. “We lost our mom a few years ago. I had to step up, be the parent and the brother and I try to be the brother mosto f the time. She was only thirteen and… sometimes I think she clings to things, to people, because it’s easier than being alone. She’s nineteen now but I still see that little girl, you know?”

The confession was unexpected, a crack in his carefully constructed armor. It made you see him in a new light, not just as a sports star or a reluctant acquaintance, but as a man who had shouldered a terrible burden and tried to protect the person he loved most. The way he’d been at the gala, the way he’d looked at you across the table, suddenly made a different kind of sense. He wasn’t just an aloof athlete; he was a man who carried weight, who chose his connections carefully.

“That’s why you took her to the game?” you asked softly. “Because she wanted to go?”

He shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “No. I didn’t take her. She avoids that most of the time but she wanted you there, said she wanted to see if you were actually a real person because she has only seen you in the parties.” He laughed, a low, gravelly sound that did something strange to your stomach. “She just has a way of getting what she wants. She’s a lot like you, I think. You didn’t want to come, did you?”

“No,” you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty. “But I’m glad I did.”

He turned to face you then, and the air between them grew thick, charged. His gaze traveled over your face, pausing on your lips before meeting your eyes again. “The press is having a field day, you know. Has been since that gala.”

“Tell me about it,” you scoffed. “My publicist is convinced I’m going to get eaten alive by the tabloids. She nearly had a heart attack when those photos came out.”

“They’re saying we’re a couple,” he stated, a hint of something unreadable in his voice. “Again.”

“They’re saying a lot of things,” you countered, trying to match his dismissive tone. “It’s just gossip. It’ll blow over.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, but his voice was quiet. “It will.” He took a step closer, and you were suddenly acutely aware of every inch of space between you, or the lack thereof. He was close enough that you could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the flecks of lighter blue in his irises. “But what if I don’t want it to?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. This was a terrible idea. He was a public figure, just like you. Getting involved would be a PR nightmare, a tabloid frenzy. But the look in his eyes, that potent, focused intensity that you’d first noticed at the gala, was making your brain short-circuit. He wasn’t looking at you like you were a conquest, a notch on his belt. He was looking at you like he’d been waiting, like this moment had been building for months.

“You’re a public figure,” you managed, your voice a little breathless. “We both are. This is insane. People will talk.”

“Most things worth having are,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch of his fingertips on your skin was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. “The press, the speculation, the whole circus… it doesn’t matter. Not if you don’t want it to. And I don’t. I’ve been thinking about you since that night at the gala. Couldn’t get you out of my head.

He was so close now, his scent enveloping you, the heat of his body a palpable force. Your logic was screaming at you to pull away, to laugh it off, to retreat to the safety of your carefully constructed world. But the rest of you, the part that was tired of being alone, of the constant performance, was whispering something else entirely. The memory of how he’d looked at you across that crowded room, the way he’d leaned in, the brief, electric brush of his fingers against yours as he’d passed you a glass of champagne—it had all been simmering beneath the surface for months.

“James…” you started, but the protest was weak, a mere whisper.

“That’s my name,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Say it again, please.”

And then his mouth was on yours. The kiss wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was demanding, possessive, a claim. It was the culmination of months of denial, of stolen glances and suppressed curiosity. His lips were firm and warm, tasting of beer and something uniquely him. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. A shudder ran through him at your touch, and he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, and he kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only thing that could sate a hunger he’d been carrying for far too long.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing as ragged as your own. “We should probably go inside,” he muttered, but he made no move to let you go. “Before someone sees. I don’t want to share this. Not yet.”

“Probably,” you agreed, but you were still clutching his shirt, your body humming with a need you couldn’t name.

He didn’t take you inside. He took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, and led you away from the balcony, down a quiet hallway, and into a small, private room that was clearly reserved for him. It was a simple space, a leather couch and a table, a far cry from the opulence of the club at the hotel. . His grip was firm, possessive, his thumb tracing idle circles on the inside of your wrist as he pulled you along. The private room was a small, simple space, but he didn’t stop there. He guided you through another door, one you hadn’t noticed, and suddenly you were in a different world entirely.

He pushed it open, revealing a bedroom—his bedroom, you realized with a jolt. It was surprisingly minimal, all dark wood and crisp white linens, a king-sized bed dominating the space. A single, soft lamp cast a warm glow over the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the world outside ceased to exist. The noise, the lights, the pressure—it all melted away. The only thing that remained was the heat of his gaze, the rapid beat of his heart against your palm as you traced the hard line of his jaw.

“You’re a menace,” you breathed, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “Leading me to your bedroom like this.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he whispered, his voice husky as he leaned in to kiss your neck. “But I’ll take it. Coming from you. You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this. About you. I’ve been going out of my mind. Three months of watching you on every screen, hearing your voice on the radio, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

His mouth was on your pulse point, a hot, wet sensation that made your knees buckle. You could feel the sharp edge of his teeth, the soothing flick of his tongue, and it sent a sharp bolt of pure, unadulterated want straight to your core. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, a soft gasp escaping you as he found a spot that made your vision blur.

“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your skin, his words a warm puff of breath that raised goosebumps on your arms. “I don’t think I’ve been able to think clearly since you walked onto that balcony. Since the gala, really. You ruined me.”

He pulled back, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your face, your body. He was searching for permission, for a sign that you wanted this as much as he did. You answered by pulling him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, a promise whispered against his lips.

His hands moved from your hair, tracing a path down your spine, the heat of his palms searing through the thin fabric of your dress. He found the zipper at your back, his fingers fumbling for a moment before he let out a frustrated growl against your lips. “This is a very complicated dress,” he mumbled, his accent thickening with his frustration, a fact that sent a surprising thrill through you.

“It wasn’t supposed to be easy,” you whispered, your voice laced with a giddy, breathless laughter. “But it’s gonna be worth it, James.”

He finally managed to undo the zipper, a low sound of triumph rumbling in his chest as the fabric loosened. The dress slithered down your shoulders, pooling around your feet in a whisper of silk. He took a step back, his gaze dropping, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of you in just your lace underwear.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice reverent. “You’re trying to kill me, honey. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He reached for you again, his hands possessive, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. He unhooked your bra with surprising dexterity, his thumb ghosting over your hardened nipple, making you gasp. He lowered his head, his hot mouth closing around the peak, his tongue swirling and teasing until you were a trembling mess in his arms. The scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin was a delicious friction, a contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. He lavished attention on both breasts, his hands cupping and kneading, his mouth worshiping, and you could feel the evidence of his own desire pressing insistently against your thigh.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for, only knowing you needed more. “I need you.”

He answered your plea by sweeping you off your feet, carrying you the few steps to the bed and laying you down with a surprising gentleness. He loomed over you, a dark silhouette against the dim light, and the sight of him, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a raw hunger, took your breath away. The white sheets were cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body hovering above you.

He shed his shirt in a single, fluid movement, revealing a canvas of taut muscle and pale skin, his body honed to a perfect edge of athletic power. A trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans, and your fingers itched to touch him, to trace the lines of his body. You reached up, your hands gliding over his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles jump beneath your touch. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment, as if your touch alone was enough to undo him.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice strained, “how long I’ve wanted to feel your hands on me. I’ve replayed that night at the gala a hundred times, wondering what it would be like if I’d just had the courage to ask for your number. Wondering what you’d feel like beneath me.”

He lowered himself, his lips tracing a path down your stomach, leaving a trail of searing kisses. He paused at your navel, his tongue dipping in, and you shuddered beneath him, your fingers threading through his hair. He worked his way lower, his mouth hot and demanding, his stubble leaving a delicious burn on your sensitive skin. He reached the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking into the delicate fabric and pulling them down, his movements slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. He discarded them carelessly, his focus entirely on the expanse of skin now bared before him.

He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing your legs apart, and the sight of him there, his dark hair contrasting with your pale skin, was almost too much to bear. He looked up at you, his eyes hooded and dark with desire. “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he admitted, his voice a low, rough growl. “About tasting you. About hearing you fall apart because of me.”

And then his mouth was on you, and coherent thought became impossible. His tongue was a revelation, skilled and relentless, finding every sensitive spot with devastating precision. He licked a broad, flat stripe up your center, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. The sensation was electric, a sharp bolt of pleasure that made your hips buck against his face. He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through your body.

He was methodical, almost reverent, his mouth working you with a focus that bordered on obsession. He alternated between broad, languid licks that had you writhing and quick, targeted flicks of his tongue that made you gasp his name. He slid one thick finger inside you, then another, curling them just right, finding that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He pumped them slowly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, then faster as your moans grew louder, more desperate.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. “I want to see your face when you come.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze as he continued his assault on your senses. The sight of him between your thighs, his lips slick with your arousal, his eyes burning with a possessive hunger, was enough to push you over the edge. Your climax hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, your back arching off the bed as a cry tore from your throat. He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing its relentless rhythm, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you were a trembling, gasping mess beneath him.

When the waves finally subsided, he crawled back up your body, his skin slick with sweat, his eyes hooded with a deep, possessive satisfaction. He kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips, an intimacy that was both shocking and utterly perfect. He was hard against your thigh, the evidence of his own desire impossible to ignore, straining against the denim of his jeans.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice raw with need. “Tell me, and it’s yours. Anything.”

“I want you,” you managed, your voice still breathless. “I want all of you. Please, Bucky.”

He rolled off the bed, his movements quick and purposeful. He crossed to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and retrieving a foil packet. He held it up, his eyes meeting yours, a question in his gaze. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, approving smile.

He returned to the edge of the bed, his fingers working the button of his jeans with deliberate slowness. He pushed them down, along with his boxer briefs, and you finally saw all of him. He was beautiful, every inch of him, his cock thick and straining, the tip glistening with evidence of his arousal. The sight of him made your mouth water, made you ache with the need to feel him inside you.

He tore the foil packet open with his teeth, a gesture that was unexpectedly primal, and rolled the condom on with practiced ease. He wasn’t shy about it, not fumbling or awkward. He handled it with the same confidence he brought to everything else, his eyes never leaving yours. He was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it, and the knowledge that what he wanted was you sent a thrill of pure, unadulterated power through your body.

He crawled onto the bed, covering your body with his, the heat of him searing against your skin. He positioned himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, and paused, his eyes searching yours.

“Look at me,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to see your eyes when I’m inside you. I want to remember this. Every fucking second.”

You held his gaze as he pushed into you, a slow, deliberate thrust that stole your breath. He was big, stretching you in a way that was almost overwhelming, but the fullness, the completeness of it, was intoxicating. He stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.

“You feel amazing,” he groaned, his voice a low, guttural sound. “So perfect. Like you were made for this. For me. Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about this for months. You have no idea.”

He began to move, a rhythm that was both powerful and controlled, a testament to his athletic grace. Each thrust was a deep, deliberate stroke, hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. He was a man possessed, his focus absolute, his every movement designed to bring you both to the edge and beyond. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, sliding up to cup your breasts, his touch possessive and reverent all at once.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and raw. “So tight. So perfect. I could stay inside you forever, you know that? Just like this.”

He shifted his angle, and a new wave of pleasure built within you, coiling tight and fast. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, your nails raking across his skin as you felt yourself soaring. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, more urgent.

“That’s it,” he urged, his voice a husky growl. “Let go, baby. I want to feel you come undone for me. I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.”

He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in a circular motion that made you gasp. The dual sensation—his thick length filling you, his thumb working your sensitive nub—was too much, too good. You felt the pressure building, a coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly.

“Bucky, I’m going to—” you gasped, the words dissolving into a moan.

“That’s it,” he commanded, his hips never slowing. “Come for me. Let go. I’ve got you, honey.”

His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, and you knew he was close too. The thought of him losing control because of you, because of the way your body felt wrapped around him, sent you hurtling over the edge. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision going white as you cried out his name, your body clenching around him in a series of rhythmic, pulsing contractions.

The sensation of you coming undone around him was too much for him to bear. He thrust into you one last time, a deep, grinding stroke, and you felt him shudder, a low, ragged cry escaping his lips as he spilled himself inside you, buried as deep as he could go. His hips continued to twitch, small, involuntary thrusts as he rode out his own climax, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, his weight a warm, comforting presence, his heart hammering against your chest in a frantic rhythm that matched your own. He pressed soft, lazy kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of your skin. His hands roamed your body, gentle now, soothing, as if he was memorizing every curve, every plane.

Finally, he propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. His eyes were soft, almost reverent, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a slow, satisfied smile. “Well,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That was better than the game and we know that was really amazing, I did great there.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the tension. “Humble,” you teased, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “Very humble. You’re a jerk.” You say, knowing he’s joking.

“It’s not a competition,” he said, echoing your earlier words, his smile widening. “But if it was, I think I just won.” He paused, his expression softening. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know. I didn’t think it would actually happen. I didn’t think you’d ever want me.”

You traced the furrow between his brows, the worry lines that had settled there, and felt a surge of affection so powerful it nearly stole your breath. “I didn’t think you’d ever want me either. You seemed so… uninterested at the gala. Like I was just another person in the room.”

He laughed, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Uninterested? I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I was terrified you’d notice. I spent the whole night trying to find an excuse to talk to you, and when I finally did, I said something stupid about the food. I’ve been kicking myself for three months.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your own face. “The paps are going to have a field day when they find out I was in your private room for an hour.”

“Let them,” he said, the earlier anxiety gone, replaced by a newfound certainty. He kissed the tip of your nose. “Let them talk. It’s just noise. You and me, we’re something else. Something real.” He paused, his expression growing serious. “We’re gonna be here way more than an hour, honey.I think Becca’s going to lose her mind. She’s been shipping us since that gala.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t remind me. She’s really been going non-stop, saying that youre great all the time and not a dipshit like most football players.”

He laughed, a full, genuine sound that you could feel vibrating through his whole body. “Let her. She’s just that enthusiastic. She’d probably be a good wedding planner. Has a lot of energy.”

“And a lot of opinions,” you added, laughing along with him. The sound of your laughter mingled in the dimly lit room, a perfect, private harmony.

He didn’t move right away. He stayed above you, his body a warm, solid weight, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. He kissed you again, softer this time, a slow, languid kiss that held no urgency, just a deep, quiet contentment. His hand slid down your side, over your hip, cupping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. He was still inside you, softening but still present, and the intimacy of it made your heart ache.

“I don’t want this to be just tonight,” he murmured against your lips. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen. I want to see you again. I want to take you on a real date, somewhere without cameras and screaming fans. I want to get to know you, the real you, not the version of you that the world sees.”

You looked up at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes, and felt something shift deep in your chest. This wasn’t just a hookup. This wasn’t a one-night stand. This was a beginning, a tentative, fragile beginning to something that could be so much more.

“I’d like that,” you said softly. “I’d like that a lot.”

He smiled, a real smile, one that reached his eyes and made him look years younger, carefree in a way you hadn’t seen before. He kissed you again, and you could feel the promise in it, the hope of something new.

Later, he rolled off of you, his body leaving yours with a reluctance that was palpable. He disposed of the condom in the small bin beside the bed, his movements unhurried, and then returned to you, pulling you into his arms. He tucked you against his side, your head on his chest, his hand stroking your hair. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby, and you felt yourself drifting, wrapped in warmth and the scent of him.

“I’ll drive you home,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “If you want. Or you can stay. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I keep them for Becca, but you can use one. Whatever you want.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, at the man who had been a reluctant, frustrating presence in your life for months, now looking at you like you were the only person in the world. The fame, the scrutiny, the endless performance—it all faded away. There was only him, and the promise of more. “Okay,” you said, your voice a quiet whisper. “Yeah. I’d like to stay. I’d like to wake up with you.”

He smiled, that devastating, unguarded smile, and pulled you closer. “Good. Because I wasn’t really planning on letting you go anyway.”

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, the soft glow of the lamp casting dancing shadows on the ceiling, you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that this was just the beginning. The months of denial, the forced indifference, the careful distance... it all crumbled away. There was only him, and the weight of his arms, and the knowledge that whatever came next, you’d face it together.