Its All Fanfics💕 & Beautiful Men

When you didn’t turn around or greet him, he got closer to you. His arms snaked around your waist so he could hug you from behind, his nose briefly inhaling the familiar scent of you at the back of your neck.

“Hello?” He questioned this time, whilst you continued to chop vegetables.

Your eyes darted to your phone and you had to hold back any emotion, which was difficult when your heart was melting at the sight of him pouting. Garrett’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you went without acknowledging him.

“Baby.” He said a little more urgently this time.

Was that 20 seconds up?

Garrett huffed, unwrapping his hands from around your waist but still keeping you close against him. One hand reached for you to drop the pepper and the other reached to safely put the knife down.

Within a second he had you turned around so he could see your face. “What’s going on?”

His eyes tried to catch yours. You knew you would cave the moment you looked at him, which you did a moment later because you’d had enough of this trend already.

Garrett was frowning when you looked up at him. He looked worried, which only turned into confusion when he noticed you were trying to hold back a smile.

“I’m sorry.” You let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s for a TikTok.”

You turned to point at your recording phone.

Garrett’s whole body visibly softened and the crease between his furrowed eyebrows disappeared. He leaned down to rest his forehead against your shoulder and you brought your hands up to gently stroke through his damp curls.

“You scared me. I thought you were mad at me because I’d done something.”

“No, baby.” You smiled sadly, hating that you’d actually caused him this much panic or stress. “I’m sorry.”

Garrett lifted his head so he could look at you.

“It’s okay. Just don’t ever shut me out, okay? If you are actually mad at me, just talk to me. Please.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Video comments:

deandilaurentis: You got him good L/N

↪️ garrettgraham: Don’t encourage her… I don’t need any more emotional damage

alliecat: Aweeee he’s just a baby

randomgirl1: I would die just a chance to hold Garrett Graham like this

↪️ randomgirl2: Girl same

Ranking his hugs and kisses like a critic

You handed your phone to Hannah, who was already laughing at the outcome of this dumb trend.

You bit your lip, a nervous energy swelling inside of you. Hannah encouraged you with a nod, following you but also keeping herself hidden.

You walked up to Garrett, who was standing at Malone's bar waiting to be served. You sauntered up beside him and hugged him as best you could from the side.

"Oh, hey." Garrett's body melted against yours and he brought his arm instantly around your shoulders, pulling your body close so he could give you a kiss on the top of your head.

You pulled away after about five seconds.

"6.5. Felt like I was more into it than he was." You said, before walking away and leaving Garrett standing there none-the-wiser.

It was a bit later in the night and you were dancing with Hannah.

When she pulled out her phone and started to record you, anyone else would have thought she was just being a good girl-friend and capturing photos of you. Little did they know, she was actually filming you in preparation for your boyfriend approaching you from behind.

You threw your arms up in the air to the beat of the music.

Garrett made romance look so effortless as he slipped his head between your arms, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you close against his front.

Your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his warm hands against your stomach.

Your own hands reached behind you at an odd angle and around the back of Garrett's neck, blushing at the intimacy of it all. You were in the middle of Malone's for fuck sake not a club.

"And cut!" Hannah shouted.

If she hadn't said anything you probably would have forgotten all about this stupid trend you've been trying to do all night. Your eyes opened and you pulled out of Garrett's hold, turning around to face him.

He did not look happy that you'd just escaped him for the second time this evening.

"8.5. Getting better. More passion required." You said, before moving on.

"What the..." Garrett muttered to himself.

Dean swung his arm around Garrett's shoulders then, his other hand coming to pat him a couple times on the chest. "Is she trying to give you blue balls, dude?"

The final straw for Garrett is when you're speaking to some random guy and he's clinging onto every word you say.

The clench of his jaw must have been really obvious, because Hannah pulled out her phone to record just before Garrett stormed his way over to you.

You tried to keep a composed face as you Garrett came up behind the guy who was talking to you about literally nothing interesting.

"Hey man," Garrett tapped the guys shoulder, trying his best to look unbothered, "Can I just cut in here for a minute?" He gestured towards you.

"Oh yeah, of course G."

Garrett gave the guy a look, because only his close friends were allowed to call him 'G' and he had never once seen this guy in his life before.

Before you had the chance to say hello, Garrett's arms pulled on your waist and the back of your neck, towards him, until his lips met yours.

The kiss was messy and hot.

You stopped being shocked two seconds into the kiss and threw your hands into the hair on the back of your boyfriends neck, pulling strands the way you knew he liked.

Garrett kept kissing you, not letting either of you have more than half a second between kisses.

You whimpered when Garrett pulled you even closer into him, your boobs pressing against his chest. Even though you were both still clothed, it was completely overwhelming.

He pulled away with a satisfied smirk when he noticed how hot and flushed you looked. He could tell there wasn't a single thought behind your eyes.

"Was that enough passion for a 10?" He asked.

Your brain had to slowly compute what he had asked, but you gave him a knowing smile when you realised he had caught on to the trend you have been testing on him all night.

"Fuck yeah, that was a 10."

Video comments:

hannahwells: my video skills are unmatched

↪️ yourinstagram: thank you for your help as always wellsy <33

randomgirl1: Garrett Graham the God that you are

randomgirl2: The way he kissed her like there was nobody else in the room smh

itsjohnlogan: Get a room

↪️ garrettgraham: We did.

POV: Distance is temporary

Garrett had been gone for three days now.

He had left on the Friday and it was now Monday. An entire weekend without him had sucked. There had been no one there to make you breakfast in the morning, or pick you up from class or hold you tight when you fall to sleep.

You'd been making a short video documenting the time without him.

It started with you and Garrett in his room, laying on his bed together and laughing over something silly.

"I'm going to miss you." You whispered against his chest.

"I know."

"Did you just Star Wars me?" You chuckled. Garrett's chest rose and fell from laughing too.

"Yes. It's romantic."

"The most romantic, actually." You agreed.

Then the video cut to you waving him goodbye on the team bus, with him throwing you a bunch of kisses through the window.

Another video cut to you watching Garrett at the away game on your laptop, cheering when he scored a goal. When he tapped his glove over his heart, you knew that was his way of saying that the goal had been for you.

Then the video cut to you and Garrett on face-time.

"Aren't you going out with the guys?" You asked.

"In a bit." He yawned as he stretched out on the bed. "Are you at mine?"

"Mhm." You showed him a bit more of the background around you to confirm that you were in his room.

"Fuck I wish I was there too."

Your eyes softened and you couldn't contain the smile that his words brought out of you. "Wish you were here too. But you're not... so go and celebrate your win instead."

"I will. I just want to talk to you first."

Then the video cut to a POV from one of the guys' phone, filming Garrett at the party to celebrate their win.

"This is a party, Graham!" Logan shouted.

Garrett was too focused on texting you to even notice Logan's voice, let alone the camera filming him.

Finally the video cut to you slightly pacing the small length of Garrett's bedside, anticipating him walking through his bedroom door any moment.

When the door creaked open you didn't waste a moment to go over and jump on him for an all-encompassing hug. Garrett chuckled as you koala-beared yourself around him, stuffing you face into his neck to burrow yourself away. His bag fell to the floor with a thump and he walked further into his room so he could shut the door behind him.

Garrett's arms shifted beneath your body to hike you higher up his body.

"Nice to see you too."

Video comments:

itsjohnlogan: He genuinely didn't hear a word I said. He was locked-in on your texts

↪️ yourinstagram: aweee :(((

alliecat: MY FAVE COUPLE

↪️ hannahwells: so true bestie

randomgirl1: when is it my turn /gen

randomgirl2: i'm so sick of my FYP constantly showing me this couples relationship... (*scrolls through entirety of yoursinstagram feed*)

garrettgraham: <3

He's a man written by a woman

The idea of the video was sent to you by Sabrina, who said it was the most Garrett Graham-coded thing ever.

It relied on you montaging together loads of moments from the beginning of your relationship until now - but moments that specifically showed that Garrett Graham was a man written by a woman. If you know, you know.

The first few clips were of Garrett carrying your bags around.

"How many books does one person need?" Garrett's muscles flexed as he lifted the two bags of books out of the trunk of his car.

"Did you really just ask me that." You laughed, filming him pretending to do some bicep curls with the bags.

"I can't even hold your hand now."

"We're literally walking 20 metres from your car to your house."

"I agree - It's outrageous."

The next clip was you holding your phone up in front of the bathroom mirror. You had just taken some photos with him, because you liked the lighting in here and you were always looking for an excuse to have more photos together.

You quickly pressed record when you noticed Garrett fiddling with your necklace, frowning when he saw that the small letter 'G' was at the back of your neck rather than the front. He moved it around, carefully.

"There. Much better." He kissed your cheek.

It was clips like that where Garrett had been paying such close attention to you that he never even noticed you filming.

Your favourite video clip was barely visible, because you'd taken it at night.

Garrett and you were tucked well underneath his duvet.

"Stop."

You were still attempting to shove your camera in his face rather than listen to him. "Hold still."

"No. You'll film me and send it to the guys and I will forever lead a sad and regretful life." He continued to swat your arms away.

"Baby, please! You look so cute."

"Cute? I'm not cute."

"Your hair is literally scraped back, with a bright pink elastic, into a tiny ponytail right now." You tried to reason with him. That sentence alone should allow you to film without any restrictions.

Garrett groaned and lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You curled up next to him and brought the camera to hover above both of you so you could show off his hair styled.

You giggled again.

It was only when you went to upload the video and subsequently watched it back, that you noticed Garrett's whole demeanour soften when you laughed and he stopped pretending like this moment was the bane of his existence.

Video comments:

hannahwells: he's so book boyfriend coded

↪️ alliecat: agreed

↪️ sabrinaaa: agreed

↪️ itsgraceivers: agreed

↪️ garrettgraham: What does this even mean?

deandilaurentis: Setting the bar WAY to high G

↪️ itsjohnlogan: Preach

Interviewing him

It felt like Christmas day when your mini-microphone arrived in the mail.

After setting it up, you immediately went to try it out on your boyfriend.

Garrett was grabbing a snack from the fridge, shirtless and grey sweatpants - because he knew they were your weakness and he was a masochist.

Your phone was recording him as you spoke into the microphone behind the camera, "How does it feel dating the funniest girl alive?"

You pointed the tiny microphone over to Garrett, who looked at you like you'd grown a third eye.

"What?" He smiled, shutting the fridge with his leg and a bunch of things to make a sandwich in his hands.

"How does it feel dating the funniest girl alive?" You asked again.

Garrett shook his head over your antics, before giving in - because honestly who even was he if he wasn't giving you anything you wanted?

"Honestly, it’s a lot of pressure. I have to laugh at least 65% of the time just to keep her ego in check."

You scoffed behind the camera. The video caught the beginning of Garrett laughing out loud, but you walked off in a huff to avoid giving him the satisfaction of winning this conversation.

Video comments:

alliecat: Was this the day that you ignored Garrett for the entire day and he followed you around like a lost puppy because he genuienly thought you were upset?

↪️ yourinstagram: yes

↪️ garrettgraham: Still trying to get her to love me again...

his happy trail skims at the lower of your stomach with each wind atop you, fuzzy hairs rubbing against your skin with the obscenely close distance he has above you. with the closeness of it all, he has his face buried in the crook of your neck; lips slightly parted on your collarbone as he sears sporadic, timely kisses just below.

yours is somewhat similar, head tipped back into the pillow, chin occasionally nudging and bumping at the meat of his opposing shoulder with each pant you choke out. you hold him tight and dear, arms enveloped around his back with fingers hooked into his skin, nails just shy of making visible marks either side of his spine. 

Clark's great with you, in every sense of the word. you knew that if you were to say something, to announce it — he'd hear you and act upon it. you knew that if you told him you were starting to feel too much, he'd stop. though you weren't sure if that's what you wanted, for it to stop. 

your pants and gasps grow silent in that way they often do when he's fucking you this good, your sounds of utter bliss becoming unsystematic in the time in which they're choked out. and it's as your body holds out on lewd and vocal response that you feel your eyes well — tears brimming quickly and thickly. 

he's so lost in it that he doesn't realise, doesn't notice the slight salty smell blooming in your eyes or hear the difference in your hearts rhythm. he's selfishly consumed by the warm wrapping of you cunt around him and the feel of your skin against his that he's grown unaware. 

and it's only when he feels you clamp suddenly around him and hears you hiccup a stifled sob, that he pulls his face from the side of your throat. he peers himself up and his eyes flicker over your face; movement quick and attentive so as to assess you sooner. 

his winds halt, and it's then you tighten your thighs at the lower of his hips. like you're wordlessly telling him to resume, directionally trying to nudge him into you, even. though he's far, far stronger than you so that doesn't happen. instead, he lifts himself off you ever so slightly, keen to see more of you for a moment.

"too much?" he whispers his ask, voice sort of regretful — like he knew himself to be the reason for your tears.

your arms tighten around him and you reach up to kiss his lips. kissing him again, you pull back and shake your head; motion small and sure. 

"positive?" his eyes soften a smidgen, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. 

his gaze drifts to the little trail of wet running off the side of your face, and it's then he retracts his hand from behind your head to rid the evidential mark of something overwhelming. he's careful as he swipes away the bead of wet, thumb moving in a gentle caress to absorb the tear.

you nod against him and reach up to kiss him once more. one hand from his mid back trails downwards, palm gliding down his skin until you reach the top of his ass. your clasped hold pushes on him, like you're silently directing him to continue and wind into you again. 

and while your pushes and nudges are tempting, he knows he can never fully continue until he knows the reasoning behind your tears. he'd feel wrong to resume while you're so clearly wracked with reluctant emotion.

but you know him well, you can piece together what the expression on his face means. so you reassure him, rather than answer strings of questions.

"it's just really good," you assure.

he smiles shyly a moment. his forehead lowers to yours, weight pressed firm to you as he nuzzles the tip of his nose into yours just below his. 

"you're sure?" he hums, speaking soft against you.

you nod slightly and his head moves with yours. "positive," you hum, and further your pandering tries on the top of his ass. 

"you'd tell me if you weren't?" he confirms, swallowing thickly as he eases his hips into you again. 

you choke out a gasp when you feel him fully inside again, the entirety of his well-endowed, kryptonian cock filling you to the brim. 

"of course."

the only way he can continue now, is if he can see your face. if he can see your eyes and the faces you make as he repeatedly pushes into you. 

he can't enjoy himself if he's not sure that you are too.

If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be in a relationship with a world-famous popstar, you’d laugh at them. Loudly, wheezing, trying to catch your breath, and possibly rolling on the floor. But love always appears in the least expected moments.

You’d been out of the university, trying to get a hang of the proper adult life, still unsure in your shoes, with so little experience and making more mistakes than you’d like. Drowning in the system of paying bills and taxes and being scared every time you had to call your doctor to make an appointment, you were happy you were somehow living. With many tried jobs and internships you could add to your CV, you’d always ended up on Instagram sharing your silly life, not really thinking someone would care enough to start following you.

There had been just glimpses of your life - what you ate, what you wore, what job application was declined, what jerks you went on dates with. But slowly it moved into little vlogs and more fun things. You wouldn’t dare to call yourself an influencer, though you had a share of people who were loyal to you.

And then, somewhere on the way you met Harry. In the most typical human aching and boring way because life couldn’t get less (more) exciting. You’d gone to get a coffee in your favourite cafe, the place that usually had more empty chairs than there were people and comfortable silence. But that time, the tables had to be full, the chairs taken, the air smelled of coffee more than usual, and the only free place was at the corner table you always went for.

“Is the seat taken?” You nodded towards the wooden chair with a flowery cushion that faced away from the cafe and instead at a handsome stranger with a face partly covered by his sunglasses.

“No it’s not. Feel free to join me,” He pointed kindly to the chair with open palm, inviting you to sit down with him.

The hustle of the cafe wrapped around you yet felt far away from the tucked away corner you’d found yourself in and life behind the window didn’t seem to want to stop even when you did.

“It’s quite busy here today,” You mumbled from behind the rim of your mug and immediately cringed at yourself. Your nose scrunched up and eyes closed in embarrassment. Why did you even start a small talk?

“Oh it is, innit?” He smiled widely at you when he heard you speak up to him and pushed his glasses up in his hair, finally revealing his face. “I’m Harry, by the way,”

You couldn’t help yourself but stare at him. He was handsome as hell, as if he jumped straight out of your fantasies, with brown hair that fought for curls at the nape of his neck and dimples that made your cheeks warm up. And his eyes? You felt like drowning in the forest green. You were sure you knew this face from somewhere, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

He was dressed casually. In a pair of washed out blue jeans and a dark sweater its sleeves he had rolled up, he gave you a perfect show of his tattoos you felt like you could die for.

“You good? You look like you saw a ghost,” Harry laughed at your expression before he took a sip of his own hot drink.

“No, no, just…. you,” You blurted out with red cheeks.

And somehow this honest answer and your shy giddiness made Harry get your number within minutes and ask you out for dinner the day after. He felt crazy himself doing this, reckless, he didn’t even know you, but he very much trusted his gut feeling that told him there could be something good happening.

You went on dates every other day. Harry was on his break from his music career and had a lot of free time he was happy to fill up with moments with you.

He was unsure of bringing up the fame and lifestyle that came with his life in the conversation, especially since you didn’t recognise him at first and his life could be very demanding at times. You were a sweet pretty girl, just figuring everything out and he didn’t want to make it harder for you.

When he nervously mumbled “I’m a famous singer” at your second date, you only giggled at his shy admission and answered with a simple “I know. And I’m still not gonna change my mind about you”. It warmed his heart and made him fall for you probably even more.

Your relationship got into the public eye really quickly though, just about a month after you both became a boyfriend and a girlfriend.

Harry insisted on taking you on a vacation to Italy to celebrate the new job you landed. He was so proud of you. What he didn’t expect though was seeing pictures of the two of you holding hands after he grabbed his phone the first thing in the morning, with you still snuggled on his chest and the fresh morning air of Tuscany basking in through the open windows.

To his surprise, people took his new romantic relationship very well. He was really worried about how the public would take the fact that you were ten years younger than him. There was some hate, there always is, but many girls all over the web social media were supporting you and hyping you up for living their dream life. Because who wouldn’t want to have Harry Styles as their boyfriend?

Followers on your Instagram grew rapidly. People were better detectives than you were when you were searching up who Harry was later that day you met him in the cafe. You didn’t even bother making your profile private because people already knew who you were and you liked sharing content online.

And Harry supported your little hobby. He was your biggest fan. He liked and commented on everything, even though he was way out of place with his words. In the end, he was still a part of a different generation.

Your posts gained a large number of likes you couldn’t even imagine when you started posting and demanding comments for more of Harry. You gave your followers just glimpses at first. A photo of flowers Harry bought for you with his hand in the frame. A photo of your outfit in the reflection of a window with him in the background. A quick video of your breakfast where he shamelessly stole a toast from your plate and people could hear the quiet giggle if they focused on the sound.

But over time, there were posts where his face appeared, or his body, and people lost their minds. His fan accounts were full of the photos and you and Harry giggled together at the captions written in uppercase in the bed.

You were sitting at the kitchen island in Harry’s house, sipping on a coffee he put so much effort into making and even drew a little heart at the top with steamed milk. You spent more time at his place than your own, but neither of you minded it at all. His wardrobe was filled with your clothes and your toothbrush had its own place in the ensuite bathroom.

His house was closer to your workplace, and much bigger and nicer. It was easier to crash in your boyfriend’s bed than drive twenty more minutes to your apartment and spend the night alone.

Harry was over the moon about having you close most of the time. He hadn’t shared a bed with someone in ages so when you started sleeping over, getting out of the bed in the morning was the hardest task of the day for you because even in his sleep he didn’t want to let go of you.

He moved around the kitchen with ease. Dressed in just a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and one of his graphic tees, he was fixing breakfast for the two of you. Sunlight shone through the curtains, hitting Harry’s profile just right, the smell of eggs and toast lingered in the air and a quiet tune of jazz echoed from the living room. Your favourite type of morning.

“Would you mind if I made a video right now?” You grinned at him.

When Harry was in the shower that morning, you spent some time scrolling on TikTok. An app that Harry claimed was “making your brain mushy and stealing his girl”. He still couldn’t understand how you could spend so many hours on your phone just mindlessly scrolling, but after some time he realised his protests did barely any job and got used to ‘sharing you’. He secretly watched the video with you when he couldn’t sleep, though he would never admit that to you. He had his face buried in your neck or chest but his eyes were open as he watched your thumb scroll.

Your for you page was full of a ‘current boyfriend’ trend, where people called their boyfriends like that and recorded their reaction. And knowing Harry had no idea what that was, you had to try.

“Sure, love. No problem. What kind of video?” He hummed as he stirred eggs in the pan and looked at you over his shoulder, catching the spark of mischief in your eyes immediately.

“Just some talking,” You shrugged innocently and hopped down from the barstool before padding closer to him to set your phone up. You tamed your messy hair in the camera's reflection and straightened up your (Harry’s) hoodie to look more presentable in case you were going to share it online. Harry was behind you, swaying his hips and humming to himself, right in the frame of the video.

“Good morning,” You started recording, quickly thinking about what to say next. You weren’t usually posting videos where you talked.

“I’m here with my current boyfriend,” Your voice wobbled as you tried not to laugh, especially when you caught Harry’s expression on the screen. “He’s making us breakfast right now,”

A spatula fell out of his grip on the stove with a loud thud and his mouth hung wide open in pure shock at your words. He stood there for a moment, motionless, his eyes ticking between you and your propped up phone before he walked up behind you.

“Your current boyfriend? Current? What does it mean, baby?” He grabbed you tightly by your hips and pulled you into his chest, looking down at you thanks to the big height difference, the rolling camera completely vanishing from his mind.

“Uh I mean, aren’t you my current boyfriend?” You mumbled quietly, biting your lip to stiffen the laugh, and leaned with your back into his chest. You had to tilt your head back to see his expression.

“I guess?” His brows furrowed as he thought about it. From that angle, he looked like a grumpy kitten. His fingers dug even deeper in your hips, pulling you impossibly close, before he looked back at your phone.

“Anyways… what I wanted to say-“ You pretended to continue in your video, but Harry cut you off with another thought of his own.

“Are you planning on having another boyfriend?” Harry turned you around in his arms to face you, his expression changing from confused to worried.

“No, no, of course not!”

“You know I’m learning all the neologisms for you, and drinking the green thing, and doing skincare! I’ve been very good at that lately, see?” He pouted at you, pointing with his index finger at his face where the results of the skincare you started doing together before bed were really showing off.

“Harry, it’s just a trend. Just a silly video. Saw it on TikTok today.” You couldn't stand it any longer. He looked really sad, scared you were gonna exchange him for someone else.

“Like a prank?”

“Yeah, like a prank. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously.” You cradled his face in your palms, your thumbs running over his cheeks in soothing circles.

“Don’t do this ever again,” He huffed, still obviously sulking.

“I won’t. I promise,”

Harry wrapped his tattooed arms around your smaller frame tightly, pulling you up in the air, squeezing you as much as possible without hurting you.

“I’m uninstalling this fiendish app from your phone right after breakfast, sweetheart. I’m serious.“

You laughed loudly. You kicked your feet, trying to get back on the floor, but Harry’s grip on you only tightened and he buried his face in your neck, pressing a soft kiss there because he just couldn’t help himself.

“Current boyfriend, future husband? Yes, definitely. But otherwise we’re having a serious conversation, my love.” He murmured when he set you down on the floor. His eyebrows were raised, as if this was a challenge.

“I like your version better,” Pulling him down by the collar of his shirt, you pressed a small kiss on the centre of his lips, leaving a big ‘mwuah’ sound behind, hoping this would get him smiling. 

“Are you gonna post it?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?” You looked at your phone that was still recording.

“I mean my reaction was quite funny,” He said proudly with a small smile, as if he almost didn’t have a mental breakdown mere seconds ago.

“You looked like you were going to faint, I was seriously scared for a second,” You shook your head at him and reached for your device. Both of your faces were now in the frame, Harry kept holding you close and was pressing soft kisses everywhere his lips could reach. You really understood all the comments now.

“Post it, you little brat,”

ticket one You're the picture-perfect popular pretty girl—all style, smiles, and social status. Bucky is the typical campus dirtbag—loud music, attitude, and bad decisions. You can't stand him, and he fucking hates your guts. That is, until one house party changes everything. When Bucky catches you headbanging to classic rock instead of pop, instead of hating your guts, he ended up being inside your guts. You’re desperate to keep your arrangement quiet for the sake of your reputation, but Bucky is growing tired of being your dirty little secret.

ticket two Once your situationship with “dirtbag Barnes” becomes more public, everyone around you only seems to widen the gap—filling both your heads with the wrong ideas until communication completely falls apart. And if things weren’t messy before… well, sugar, you’re both going down swinging.

you like the way we kiss in the dark? [prequel] You're not afraid of all the attention. You're not afraid of running wild. But why are you so afraid of falling in love with the campus' dirtbag, Bucky Barnes?

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Work had been hectic this week and all you wanted to do that weekend was chill out at your boyfriend’s place and watch a movie while you both traded off giving each other head. Except, Harry sprung on you Friday that he had to attend a party Saturday night, some unavoidable work event that his manager informed him of at the last minute. You could’ve sat this party out, stayed at his place and ate all his fancy imported snacks by yourself, but, selfishly, you wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend before being dragged back into the office on Monday. But now, you’ve been stuck at a stupid party at some gaudy high rise for several hours, arms crossed tightly across your chest, your mouth quirked to the side in annoyance while Harry laughed with a group of people you didn’t know, debating the validity of the most recent celebrity gossip you couldn’t bring yourself to care about.

The first time you asked if you could go home, barely an hour into the night, leaning in close so no one else could hear, Harry chuckled, kissing the top of your head while he whispered, “Soon, my love, just a little while longer.”

Your definition of soon apparently didn’t align with Harry’s because the second time you asked, almost twenty minutes later, not even whispering this time, he once again said, “Soon, don’t worry. Do you want a refill?”

That’s when the attitude started. “No, I want to go home.”

Harry just shook his head, wandering off to get more drinks, assuming the alcohol would temper your increasingly bad mood. Instead, you don’t touch the drink, leaving it on the table, condensation dripping down the sides, despite Harry’s insistence to “use a coaster, love.”

It didn’t help that you were mind-numbingly horny, yet another thing Harry had put off, stating he’d rather put it off until you got home. The longer the night continued, the longer you went without the taste of Harry’s cock in your mouth. Was it really so wrong for a girl to want to suck on her boyfriend’s dick? But Harry was more concerned about getting to the party on time, about making a good impression, so he declined your offer, promising you could blow him later that night, after the party was over.

So, when there’s a lull in the conversation, you take the opportunity. Running your finger up and down Harry’s forearm, dragging your nail over the art imbedded into his skin, your eyelids fluttered in the exact way you've practiced, your lip jutting out just so as you ask in your most sickly sweet voice, “Can we go soon?”

Someone next to Harry snickered, and a couple people raised their eyebrows at your brash question. Harry gave you an incredulous look, his annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. “We’ll leave soon, I promise, princess.” The nickname is a tell, a warning to keep you in line. If he had pulled it out the second time you asked, you probably would’ve complied, but it was too late for that now.

Dropping the act, you remove your hand from him. “You said that three hours ago.” Behind you, someone was failing to cover up their laughter.

“And I said we’re not leaving yet.” The tension between you two was seeping into nearby conversations, tempted by the brewing drama.

“Fine, you can suck your own dick then! God forbid a woman wants to pleasure her man.” As you stand up and head towards the front door, a murmured chorus of chuckles and snorts trailed behind you, your outburst capturing the attention of half the party, it seemed. You didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about it, too sexually frustrated to stop, even when you heard someone call out your name.

Stomping down the hallway, you made your way to the elevators, tapping the call button with such ferocity, as if the elevator would reach the 28th floor faster the more you clicked it. Music from the party pumped through the walls while you waited, growing louder then softening again when someone else left the party, the door clicking shut behind them. You keep your gaze fixed to the numbers above the elevator, tracking its gradual progress, even as someone sidled up next to you. From the vanilla scent mixed with warm sandalwood, you knew it was Harry. His silence is enough for you to know how upset he is, though you refuse to acknowledge him, and he’s content to do the same.

When the elevator dinged, opening in front of you, you stormed right in, claiming the far corner for yourself, crossing your arms and legs as a protective barrier. Harry entered behind you, and through the mirrored walls, you watched as he pressed the garage button, a tick in his jaw. Just as he looked over at you, you diverted your gaze quickly, finding the patterned tile on the floor much more interesting than your annoying boyfriend.

“Are you proud of the way you acted back there?” Harry asked once the door closed, his voice low and restrained. “Do you feel good about causing a scene in front of everybody?”

All you offered in response is a shrug, rolling your lips into your mouth as you kept up your silent pouting.

“Do you even know who was at that party?”

“I didn’t know anyone at that party so, no.”

“Max Martin, the music producer-”

Sarcasm dripped from your words as you rolled your eyes. “Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.”

“-who has worked with people like Britney Spears, Ariana Grande, Taylor Swift-”

“And now you’re bringing up your ex, great.”

Harry let out a mirthless laugh. “What the hell is your problem tonight?”

“I think I was pretty clear about what I wanted back there.”

Finally, the elevator stopped its descent, opening up into the parking garage and you’re quick to exit. Harry’s long legs meant you didn’t get far before he’s beside you, grabbing onto your upper arm and pulling you towards the Audi he had rented for the night. You don’t even fight the way he manhandled you, relieved to be returning home at last.

Still the polite gentleman, Harry opened the passenger door for you, muttering between clenched teeth, “Get in.” Shrugging off his grip, you ducked down into the car, settling in the seat. Before you could grab the seatbelt, Harry snatched your hand, reaching across you to grab the other one, holding both your wrists in just one of his hands.

“What the fuck, Harry?” you cried, trying to wriggle your hands free but his strength overpowered your agility.

Single-handedly, Harry undoes his belt, tugging it loose from his pants. Wrapping it around your wrists, he then felt around the car ceiling, pulling down the grab handle so he could loop the belt through it. He gives your hands a couple of tugs, making sure the belt is secure before letting go. You put up less and less of a fight as you realized what he was doing, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation when he unzipped his pants. Now, you would get what you had been wanting all night.

Harry’s cock is only partially erect, the head of him blush pink when he pulled it out, licking his palm before he started rubbing himself. He groaned through his strokes, huffing out a breath as he grew in his own hand.

Eagerly, you opened your mouth, your tongue lolling out and glistening with your saliva. Straining against your restraints, you tried to dip your shoulder and lean out the car in a weak attempt to get closer to his crotch. The air of the parking garage dried out your tongue as you waited, looking up at Harry with pinched eyebrows as he kept stroking himself, slowly retracting your tongue back into your mouth.

“Oh, is princess upset she’s not getting her way?” Harry mocked you, shaking his head back and forth as he smiled down at you darkly, his hand passing lazily over his now fully hard dick. “You think you deserve my cock after how you acted back there?”

Consequences? For your actions?

Desperately, you wrestled with the belt wrapped around your wrists, uselessly trying to loosen it. “C’mon, Harry, please,” you whined, “I only wanted to make you feel good.”

“By causing a scene? By embarrassing me in front of everyone?” His grasp on himself tightened as he described your ill behavior, his dick deepening from pink to red.

“Why is it embarrassing?” you argued. “Most men would love to have someone begging to suck on their dick.” A drop of precome slipped out of his slit, temptingly delicious, a peek of what you’d been fantasizing about all night. Harry collected it into his palm as he swiped over his tip, smearing it over him, wasting it. You stamped your feet against the car floorboards. “Please, Harry, I want your come so bad.”

He breathed out a short laugh. “Oh I’ll give it to you, don’t worry.” Leaning his head back, he released a sigh, biting his lip as his strokes speed up. His cock remained firmly erect as he let himself go, wetting his palm some more before he grabbed his cock and started fondling himself again, his balls clenching at his touch. A growl rumbled in his chest and his hand grew sloppier as he rubbed over himself.

It’s only when he started to pant through his nose that you realized just how close he was, how quickly he was trying to reach the end, speedrunning through his pleasure like it was a nuisance. You were insulted that he’d rather race through his ejaculation than let you lavish him, slathering him in your spit, worshipping the ridged vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. If he let you have your way, you would’ve taken your time but now you’re forced to watch him twitch closer to his rushed release.

“Harry, please, I wanna taste you, please let me, I’ll be good, I swear,” you babbled. “Please!”

His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you back against the seat. “Stop talking,” he ordered, his hips thrusting into his hand as he neared his climax.

In a last stitch effort, you complied, silently opening your mouth, letting your tongue droop out. He said he’d give you his come, and you figured if he wasn’t going to let you suck his dick, he’d at least let you swallow his release. Surely, you’d been good enough for a little taste.

After a few more flicks of his wrist, Harry whimpered as his cock spurted, leaking semen onto your dress with each squeeze.

“Hey, what the fuck?!”

He ignored your cries, continuing to stroke his cock until nothing more came out, depositing his load over your body with a relieved sigh. The semen seeped into your dress, staining the black fabric. Harry released a wavering breath before tucking himself back into his pants, tugging the zipper back up.

“Do you know how much this dress cost?” you chastised him.

“I mean, I bought it so, yeah I do.” Harry checked the belt and the red lines splotched across your wrists, making sure they weren’t pinching your skin too tightly.

“Yeah, well you can also pay the dry cleaning bill! I can’t believe you just jizzed all over a silk dress!”

A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes before he stood back up, reaching back for the door. “Ok, you seem comfy. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“What?!” you shrieked, making Harry pause when he went to shut the door.

With a shrug, Harry pointed back towards the elevators. “I’m going to go back to the party. See if I can still meet Max, maybe grab his number.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?!”

“Think of it as a time out,” Harry clicked his tongue, letting his eyes travel across your ruined dress. “You can think about your behavior while I’m upstairs.”

“Hey, wai-” you called out, but the door slammed shut anyway, prohibiting the rest of your complaint from reaching Harry’s ears. But that doesn’t stop your screams. “Are you serious? You’re leaving me in here?” The car beeped, the locks clicking shut. “Did you just lock me in? I can’t even use my hands, you fucking jerk!” Harry keeps marching over to the elevators, oblivious to your protests. “I’ll get you back for this, Harry Styles!” you continued to yell, your throat getting scratchy with the excessive use. “I will make you pay for this, I swear to God!”

Once Harry’s inside the elevator, he finally looked back at you, waving his hand condescendingly as the doors slid shut, leaving you in his car, covered in his semen, waiting for his return.

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He took a step in your direction and his shadows launched themselves toward you. They curled around your ankles and arms, making you gasp in a surprise. Azriel watched your shoulder relax when you realized it was him. It made him weak in ways he didn’t care to admit.

You turned around and smiled at him. It reached your eyes – and it made him long for something that was already right at his fingertips.

And yes. You were utterly divine.

He felt small tug in his chest, because how had he come to deserve that look in your eyes, when he never deserved to be seen by you at all? He felt an overwhelming need to touch you. To make sure it was real. Because sometimes it felt too good to be true.

So he forgot about Rhys for a moment and walked toward you.

Only when he was close — feeling your warmth, hearing your steady breathing — did his hands reach for your waist.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said. Your hand reached for his cheek without hesitation, stroking his skin gently. Your thumb slid beneath his eye. His shadows shuddered, and he thought he would give you the world if you only asked.

You waited for him to speak but he only leaned into you, resting his forehead against your collarbone. He breathed your scent. Vanilla and sugar. You quivered a little because you were ticklish.

“Are you okay?” you ask, worry lingering in your voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with that important commissioner from another court?”

“It can wait.”

It was a lie, of course. It couldn’t really wait, and Rhys would have his head if he didn’t show up in his study in a moment. And he was going be late and his was n e v e r late.

But he didn’t seem to care right now. Not when he had you this close and he was breathing you. Not when he could feel softness of your body against him.

“Okay. Seriously” you tried again after a moment of silence. “Is everything okay?”

He sighted. You were always sweet with him and somehow it almost felt illegal.

“It’s okay now,” he replied eventually, burying his head further into the place where your neck met your shoulder. You laughed softly, tightening your arms around him.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew he didn’t. And when those thoughts began creeping in, your arms cradled him closer, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking. You seemed to possess a rare talent for reading him.

“I love you,” you said, as it was the easiest thing in the world. Loving him.

Your arms tightened around him even more, and he heard your short breath as you tried to press his whole body to yours.

“I love you this much,” you breathed out, trying to squeeze him.

You were impossible. You were cute and sweet and entirely too much. Azriel couldn’t help himself and he gripped your hip deliberately. You squeaked as if you were betrayed. He chuckled low, straightening slightly, his hand never leaving your waist.

“Traitor,” you huffed in mock seriousness. But your eyes betrayed you. They always betrayed you.

“I thought you were feeling sad but you just wanted to irritate me.”

You didn’t really look irritated at all.

In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the table, hands braced on either side of you. He nudged your knees with his thigh, and you opened them so he could stand between them.

Your body felt warm. It always did when he was close. Azriel softened when he saw your cheeks turning pink.

He reached for your hair, hooking a finger under the ribbon that held it back and gently pulling it free. Your hair fell over your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Divine,” he murmured.

Your cheeks flushed deeper.

Azriel ducked to capture your lips, but you stopped him with your hand against his mouth.

 “No kissing unless you tell me what’s going on.”

You sounded firm, though your breath hitched when his hand returned to your hip. He loved the way your body responded to him. It was not cold and calculated. It was warm and very much alive.

“Nothing,” he said, using his other hand to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed.

“I just saw you standing there and couldn’t help myself” he said truthfully, his voice low and husky. “You look really pretty in afternoon light, you know?”

He cradled your cheek. You leaned into his scarred hand as if it were the safest place in the world, even that his hands have done a lot of ugly things. His first instinct was to pull back but he didn’t because even if his insecurities still lingered, it was easier now — with you — to silence them.

He was learning to accept what you were willing to give.

His thumb stroked your cheek – your eyelids fluttered and you tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his scarred palm.

Azriel’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The Shadowmaster unraveled before you – because of you. He was completely at your mercy. And he didn’t even know if you were aware of it.

“You really should go to the meeting” you mumbled against his hand. Shadows stired against his body.

“It doesn’t seem as appealing as this.”

You opened your eyes.

“Rhys is going to be pissed,” you said.

But Azriel didn’t seem to mind when he leaned on. His nose brushed the side of your throat first – barely there but he could feel you shiver under his touch. He smiled dangerously.

“Always so responsive” he murmured with lips against your skin and you felt your body flushing.

“Az-” you warned him, though it didn’t sound much as a warning to him. Not when he pressed and felt your pulse jumping beneath his lips. And that was the permission he needed.

His lips pressed just below your ear.

Not rushed, not demanding. Soft and slow.

His kiss lingered.

Your hand found his arm for balance.

“Az-“ you tried again but his mouth moved lower with another kiss. Warmer and firmer this time.

He felt the tremor that run through you.

He couldn’t help smiling into your neck. His voice dropped against your soft skin.

“You react like this every time.”

You tried to respond and failed. Your breath left you in a quiet sigh.

His lips found the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder and he took his sweet time kissing, pausing, letting his breath warm your skin before pressing another slow kiss there.

Your head tipped back instinctively, exposing more of your throat.

His hand tightened at your waist and a low, quiet sound left him.

You sighed again and just as Azriel leaned in to kiss your pulse once more, someone cleared his throat loudly.

Your eyes flew open. Over Azriel’s shoulder, you met Rhys’s violet gaze. He stood in the doorway, looking half amused, half irritated. You gasped loudly, feeling your cheeks go warm. Azriel stiffened but he didn’t turn. His breath still hovered over your throat and shoulders.

Rhys scoffed and you felt embarrassingly warm.

“Right!” you squeaked out, trying to push Azriel off of you but at the same moment, you realized in horror, that his lips found another point on your shoulder to linger. You almost gasped again. You wiggled against Azriel’s warm body and tried to free yourself from him.

“Az, please. The meeting.”

Azriel sighed into you and it was almost worse than kissing because you could feel his breath on your whole neck. You felt like fainting.

“Yes, Az,” Rhys said very calmly. “The meeting.”

“Go away,” Azriel said flatly and you made a mortified little sound and tried again to push away.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“The meeting. Now” Rhys’ tone shifted. It was less teasing, more command.

Azriel’s jaw ticked.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled towards Rhys and he tried really hard not to tease you.

“I’m not,” Azriel said instead. Rhys rolled his eyes.

“You have a minute,” The High Lord commanded and left the doorframe.

Azriel rested his forehead briefly against your temple.

“I will be back,” he said quietly.

You smiled softly, still warm and a little bit embarrassed, as you brushed your fingertips along the collar of his shirt.

“I know.”

He lingered. His hazel eyes pinning yours.

“Az, please,” you gave out a breathy laugh. “Rhys is going to kill you.”

You tried again to push away. But he still lingered just one second too long. Then he pressed one final, deliberate kiss to your neck — slower than necessary.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Outside the door, Rhys repeated laudly:

“Azriel.”

Az appeared at the door with the expression of a male who has been deeply wronged.

Rhys took one look at him — slightly disheveled, shadows restless, eyes dark – then glanced at you, still seated on the table, flushed and luminous.

Rhys’ lips curved slowly.

Azriel’s wings shifted in warning.

Rhys lifted his hands. “Relax. I’m not commenting.”

Azriel ignored him.

Rhys leaned closer as they stepped into the corridor.

“You could at least attempt subtlety.”

Azriel didnt’t miss a beat. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

Rhys laughed loudly despite himself as they disappeared down the hall.

Inside the library, you touched the side of your neck where Azriel’s mouth had been.

Still warm an still tingling.

He remembers talking with Niall at a party, the two of them idly standing on one side of the kitchen as they looked at you on the other. He remembers the way his heart rate picked up when he watched you yell at a guy with no hesitation when he tried to talk to you.

“Oh my god, she’s crazy,” Niall breathed out, shaking his head before he took a sip of his drink. “Who just screams at someone like that?”

“I know, right? Isn’t she so hot?” Harry responded, his mouth agape as he stared at you. Niall almost choked on his drink, whipping his head around to look at his best friend.

“What-“ Niall cut himself off with another shake of his head, deciding to nod even question it.

Harry made it his mission that night to talk to you, and he did. You got his name and number, and by the next morning you’d already found his whole family’s FaceBook accounts. You learnt that his hometown was Holmes Chapel and he had an older sister called Gemma, and that Harry was blonde when he was little. It also didn’t take you very long to find his all of his ex girlfriends’ accounts. A lot of them still had photos up with him and that made your blood boil.

When you told him on your first date that you already knew so much about him even though you’d only ever had one conversation, he was terrified. But it turned him on. He really liked it. A lot.

Soon, the two of you were dating. He’d learned to appreciate your crazy, sometimes off-putting behaviour. He found it endearing, how you always wanted to know exactly where he was and what he was doing.

You

harry why did you turn your location off

harry

harry

baby

are you with another girl

harry

i’ll castrate you right now if you don’t answer me

i swear to god harry

Harry

Baby it’s 4pm?? I’m at practise, I’m not cheating on you

And my location is still on, I haven’t touched it

You

oh sorry ❤️

enjoy practise! i’m waiting outside your dorm

“Dude, aren’t you scared of her? I’m terrified,” He remembers Zayn asking when he saw the texts you were sending Harry.

“Oh, me too. I’m really turned on though,” Harry sighed, putting his phone away and then looking at Zayn who had an expression that could only convey pure confusion on his face. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not,” Zayn shook his head.

Anyway, it’s safe to say Harry loves you despite your slightly crazy nature.

Tonight he brought you to a party that one of his friends threw. The house is absolutely packed with drunk teenagers with their sweaty bodies pressed together like they don’t know what personal space is. The air is filled with smoke, both cigarette and marijuana and it’s starting to give you a headache.

You’re currently sat on a couch beside Harry, your cheek resting on his bicep as you fiddle with his free hand. His other one holds a beer bottle that he takes leisurely sips from as he talks with his friends. You mindlessly twist his rings and trace the creases on his palm as you try to keep yourself occupied, but ultimately it doesn’t work.

You’re bored.

Without even really thinking about it, you pinch Harry’s forearm. Not too hard, but hard enough to get a reaction out of him.

“Ow!” He yelps, his body flinching a bit as he turns his head to look down at you, brows slightly furrowed with a look in confusion on his face. His friends turn to look at you too .“What was that for?”

“You’ve been talking for so long,” you murmur, using those puppy eyes that you know always get him. “I’m bored.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to pinch me. That hurt,” he tells you, shaking his head.

You shrug your shoulders a little bit. “Can we go outside?” You ask.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says with a sigh, finishing his beer and putting the empty bottle on the coffee table before standing up. He grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you behind him through the crowd of people towards the front door.

You stay close behind him and keep a tight grip on his hand, not wanting to accidentally let go and get sucked into the crowd of strangers.

Just as you’re about to reach the front door, a short brunette girl accidentally bumps into Harry. You watch a smile appear on her face as she looks up at Harry.

“Harry, hi!” She greets him, going in for a hug.

“Stephanie, how are you?” Harry asks, unaware of the way your eyes narrow at the girl.

“I’m good, I’m good!” She responds, nodding her hair. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty—“

“Are you fucking her?” You ask Harry out of the blue, your eyes now holding that tiny little flame that appears every now and then. “Is that who she is? A girl you’re fucking?”

“Baby, what?” Harry asks, shaking his head. “No, this is—“

“You know what? No,” you shake your head, crossing your arms. “I don’t wanna know about the girls you’re fucking. Clearly you don’t know how to be in a relationship.”

You turn away and immediately storm off. Harry tries to follow after you, but a group of drunk guys suddenly appear, blocking his path as they laugh and yell. He folds his lips into a line and runs a hand through his hair, looking back at Stephanie to give her an apologetic look.

Harry’s friends watch from the couch you just left. They’re not really surprised at the way you reacted, since it’s definitely not the first time they’ve seen it.

“Isn’t that.. kind of toxic?” Liam asks Louis as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know,” Louis sighs in response, shrugging his shoulders as he glances from Liam and then back to Harry. “Never seen him happier, though.”

It’s true. Harry’s never been happier than he is when he’s with you.

His girlfriends in the past were good, sure. You could say that. They were nice and friendly, but the relationship always lacked something. They didn’t know him well enough, and he didn’t know them. There was no spice. It wasn’t exciting.

But with you.. God, do you keep him on his toes.

You know him better than he knows himself. And that’s a first for him. Something he really likes. You make him feel wanted, whether that’s by getting insanely jealous over a girl who was doing nothing at a party, or just by cuddling with him at the end of the night.

Either way, he loves it. He loves you.

About fifteen minutes after the Stephanie incident, Harry found you sat on the steps of the back porch, your knees pulled to your chest with a small pout on your face.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, but it doesn’t do much to block out the loud music of the party inside. He glances around the porch for a moment, making sure there’s no one out there with you before he sits down beside you.

He leaves a couple of centimetres between you two, but he’s still close enough that you can feel his body heat close to yours. He stays quiet for about a minute and neither of you move before finally, he speaks.

“That was Stephanie,” he tells you, his voice holding that soft tone that’s only ever reserved for you. “She’s one of Gemma’s friends. I’ve known her since I was like ten or something.”

You stay quiet, unmoving.

“I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he gently reassures you. “I hope you know I’d never do that to you. You mean too much to me to just throw it away for somebody else.”

Still, you don’t move. Stubborn is another word people would use to describe you.

“You didn’t need to yell at her, though,” Harry tells you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “She didn’t do anything, she was just saying hi. You acted a little crazy in there.”

“Crazy?” Your brows pinch together as you finally speak, turning your head to look at Harry. “I’m not crazy. When have I ever acted crazy?”

Harry lets out a soft breath, trying to figure out a way to keep this conversation going without you lashing out at him again. He lifts his hand from your knee and gently drapes it over your shoulders, pulling you closely into his side.

“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry. That was mean,” he tells you before he lightly presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I just meant that you didn’t have to yell at her. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She was hitting on you,” you murmur.

“She wasn’t, sweetheart,” Harry says softly. “She was just saying hi. If she was hitting on me, I wouldn’t have spoken to her.”

You feel your shoulders relax a little bit when you hear his words.

If there’s one thing you know for sure about Harry, it’s that he’s extremely loyal. You’ve watched him turn down girl after girl at parties and social gatherings. He would never do anything to jeopardise your relationship. He also knows what you would do to him if you ever really thought there was even a possibility him being with someone else.

“I know,” you mutter under your breath. “I was being silly.”

“Just a little bit,” Harry agrees with a soft chuckle, followed by another forehead kiss. “You’re my girl, okay? I don’t want anybody else but you.”

You nod a little bit, keeping yourself tucked into his side. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder as you stay cuddled up in his arms.

“Are we good?” He asks, gently tilting your head up to look at him.

“Yeah,” you murmur, nodding slightly again. “We’re good.”

He smiles softly and bends his head down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmurs against them.

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A light smile grazed your hazy features as the memories from the night before came rushing back, vivid and dangerous and entirely too tempting for early morning thoughts. The way Steve kissed. Slow at first, hesitant, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast. And then the way that hesitation vanished, replaced by something darker, more confident. The way his hands had held you like he already knew exactly where you belonged.

God.

You were getting warm just thinking about it.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, your breath catching as the sensation lingered longer than it had any right to. There was something almost dizzying about knowing that Captain America, the man the world worshipped for his restraint and honor, had kissed you like he wanted to forget everything else existed.

A part of you felt relieved.

Relieved that you had finally said it out loud. That you both had. That the tension that had been poisoning every shared space for weeks had finally snapped instead of suffocating you slowly. You had spent so long wondering if you were imagining it, if you were projecting something that wasn’t really there.

You weren’t.

Turning around fully in his arms, you didn’t care if you woke the super soldier next to you. If anything, you wanted him awake. Wanted him aware. Wanted him to feel the same certainty thrumming through your chest.

You pressed soft kisses over his bare, muscular chest, your lips lingering against warm skin, your hands braced on either side of him. His heartbeat was steady beneath your mouth, strong and grounding. You kissed along the faint trail of hair there, letting yourself enjoy the way his body reacted even before his mind fully caught up.

Steve let out a low, husky groan, his abs tensing beneath every kiss. His arm tightened reflexively around you, his fingers flexing against your back. “what are you doing?” he teased you.

This time it came way easier. His teasing sounded natural, unguarded, like he wasn’t afraid of the words landing wrong anymore.

“oh nothing,” you said with a cheeky grin as you shifted, kneeling between his bare thighs. You continued to lick and kiss along his chest, slowly, deliberately, tracing your way down until you reached the very prominent v line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back against the pillow. For a moment, he let himself get lost in it. His hands slid into your hair, not pulling, just holding, his thumbs brushing along your scalp like he was grounding himself there. His breathing grew uneven, his chest rising and falling faster as his hips shifted almost unconsciously toward you.

For a few seconds, the good soldier vanished.

There was only the man, heat and want and the intoxicating realization that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

Then he caught himself.

Steve let out a steady breath, controlled but strained, before his hands moved up under your arms and he pulled you up his body suddenly. You let out a surprised squeal when he flipped the two of you around like it was nothing, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he braced himself over you.

He was over you now, eyes dark, jaw tight, breathing still a little rough. “none of that.”

You pouted up at him, deliberately exaggerated, your hands resting on his shoulders. “why not?” you whined.

His expression softened immediately, like your voice had flipped some internal switch. “because i want to take you out on a real date before i get you back in my bed like that again,” Steve said.

There it was.

The good boy was back.

You smiled despite yourself, something warm and fond blooming in your chest. “wasn’t good of me to do that last night shoulda waited,” he added, guilt creeping into his tone like he thought he’d crossed some invisible line.

“Well captain I personally had a great time, morals aside,” you teased, leaning up just enough to kiss the tip of his nose.

He let out a low groan at the nickname, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “not making this easy for me doll,” he said softly. “just so beautiful.”

Your heart stuttered at the sincerity in his voice.

“well guess what?” you said.

“hm,” he hummed, his nose brushing yours.

“I love you.”

You needed to say it again. Needed him to hear it when you were fully awake, when there was no doubt or haze to blame it on. You needed him to know that you meant it just as much in the quiet morning light as you had the night before.

His eyes softened instantly.

“I love you too baby,” he said, leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, his lips moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. For a second, he forgot himself again, deepening it just a little, his hand sliding to your waist, his thumb brushing bare skin beneath your shirt.

Then he pulled back, breath uneven, resting his forehead against yours like he was physically stopping himself from going further.

The next week was torture.

Not because Steve pulled away.

But because he didn’t.

The torture starts quietly.

That’s the worst part.

It’s not dramatic or obvious or explosive. It’s subtle. Domestic. Soft in ways that get under your skin and stay there, burrowing deeper every single day until you feel like you might actually lose your fucking mind.

It begins the morning after.

You are standing in the kitchen, hair still messy, wearing one of Steve’s shirts that he insists is too thin to be appropriate but does not say anything about because he likes the way it hangs off your shoulder. You are halfway through making breakfast when you hear movement behind you.

Steve steps up without a word.

He does not grab you. Does not crowd you. He simply reaches past you to grab a mug, his chest brushing your back for half a second too long. His hand steadies the counter near your hip instead of touching you.

That restraint makes your stomach flip.

“I’ll get it,” you say automatically, reaching for the pan when it started to sizzle.

“I’ve got it,” he replies easily, already taking over, already flipping the eggs like this is his kitchen and his place and his life you are standing in.

You watch him for a second, confused by the calm competence of it.

Then he says it.

“Hey,” Steve adds casually. “Why don’t you sit. I’ll finish up.”

You blink. “You’re… cooking?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“And you’re not doing the whole ‘I can’t relax unless I’m useful’ thing.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I am being useful.”

You laugh, but it sounds breathless. “I live here. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he says gently. “I want to.”

That should not do what it does to you.

But it does.

Later that night, after dinner, you are rinsing plates when Steve steps in behind you again.

“I’ll wash,” he says.

You turn slowly. “What.”

He reaches for the sponge. “You cooked.”

“So?”

“So I’ll wash the dishes.”

You stare at him like he has just spoken an alien language.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“No man has ever offered to wash dishes in my presence without being asked.”

He pauses, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Something crosses his face then. Not pride. Not smugness. Something quieter. Something like sadness.

“Well,” he says, rolling his sleeves up, “that’s bullshit.”

You stand there watching him scrub plates like it is the most natural thing in the world, forearms flexing, jaw relaxed, humming faintly under his breath.

Your brain short circuits.

Why are my clothes still on.

You don’t say it out loud.

But it sits there. Loud. Persistent. Pulsing.

The next day, you’re at work when your phone buzzes.

Steve.

Just a text.

“Hope your day’s going okay. Don’t forget to eat, you skip lunch when you get busy.”

You stare at the screen.

Heat curls low in your belly.

He didn’t need anything. He did not ask a question. He just thought of you and reached out.

You text back.

“You checking up on me, Captain?”

His response comes almost immediately.

“Always.”

You have to put your phone down.

Your coworkers notice you’re flushed. Distracted. Smiling at nothing.

They don’t know that a man who looks like he could bench press a tank is absolutely wrecking you with basic human decency.

That night, you try to fuck him.

You plan it.

You are sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching something you are not actually paying attention to. Steve is beside you, close but not touching, like he is constantly aware of boundaries in a way no one ever has been.

You shift closer.

Then closer again.

Then you climb into his lap without a word.

Steve freezes.

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “Steve.”

His hands come up instantly. Not grabbing. Holding. Firm but controlled. “Hey.”

You kiss him.

It’s not slow.

It’s hungry and messy and desperate. You kiss him like you have been thinking about it all day, because you have. His mouth opens instinctively, responding before his brain catches up.

For a moment, he is lost.

You feel it. The way his grip tightens. The way his breath stutters. The way he kisses you back like he might forget every promise he made himself.

Then he pulls back.

Not abruptly. Reluctantly.

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

“I want you,” he says quietly.

Your stomach flips. “Then why are we stopping.”

“Because,” he says, voice rough, “I meant what I said. I’m taking you out.”

You groan softly, frustrated. “Steve, this is torture.”

He smiles faintly. “You have no idea.”

You lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Why are my clothes still on.”

That makes him laugh. Low. Warm. Dangerous.

The next day, he comes over with a box.

“Ikea,” he says.

You squint. “What.”

“You mentioned your nightstand wobbles.”

You didn’t remember mentioning that.

He did.

He spends the afternoon on your floor, cross legged, screwdriver in hand, focused and patient and irritatingly good at following instructions. He asks you to hand him things. Says thank you every time.

You sit on the bed watching him, absolutely feral.

His hair falls into his eyes. His shirt rides up when he leans forward. His hands are steady and capable and gentle even with cheap particle board furniture.

You imagine those hands on you.

You shift.

Steve looks up. “You okay?”

“Fantastic,” you lie.

He smiles and goes back to work.

When he finishes, he stands, wipes his hands on his jeans, and looks at you like he just built a house.

“There,” he says. “Sturdy.”

You swallow. “You’re trying to kill me.”

He tilts his head. “What.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Nothing.”

He kisses your forehead instead of your mouth.

And somehow that is worse.

The torture escalates. It’s no longer subtle. It’s intentional. It’s devastating. And the worst part is that Steve still has no idea what he is doing to you.

It starts with communication.

Actual communication. Not vague. Not inconsistent. Not hot and cold.

Consistent.

He calls you when he says he will. If he’s running late, he tells you. If a mission changes, he explains. If he’s tired, he says so. If he misses you, he doesn’t dress it up or hide it behind humor.

You are sitting on your couch one evening, scrolling aimlessly, when your phone rings.

Steve.

You answer immediately.

“Hey,” you say, trying not to sound breathless even though your heart jumps every time.

“Hey,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You close your eyes.

“That’s it?” you ask.

“That’s it,” he says. “Didn’t want anything. Just thought about you.”

Your thighs tense.

You have never had a man call you without an agenda. Without wanting something from you. Without trying to steer the conversation somewhere physical.

Steve just listens.

Asks about your day.

Remembers details.

“You said your meeting was today,” he says. “How did it go.”

You blink. “I forgot I even told you that.”

“I didn’t,” he replies easily.

After you hang up, you stare at the wall for a full minute.

Why am I this turned on.

It gets worse.

You come home one night exhausted, shoes kicked off by the door, bag dropped wherever it lands. Steve is already there, sitting at your table, reading something on his phone.

He looks up immediately.

“You look wiped,” he says.

“I am,” you admit.

He stands. “Sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounded like an order.”

He smiles. “Please.”

You sit.

He brings you water. Then food. Nothing fancy. Just something warm and filling.

He sits across from you but does not eat.

“You’re not hungry?” you ask.

“I am,” he says. “But you are more important.”

Your chest tightens.

This isn’t fair.

This is not fair at all.

Later that week, you try again.

Harder.

You corner him in the kitchen. You press him back against the counter. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and your head spins. Your hands slide under his shirt, mapping muscle you already know too well.

Steve groans. He kisses you back. Deep. Hungry. His control slips. You feel it in the way his hands grip your hips, in the way his breath stutters against your mouth.

For a moment, he is gone. Then he pulls away again.

His hands stay on you. Firm. Steady.

“God,” he murmurs. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Then stop fighting it,” you say softly.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Then what are you doing.”

“I’m choosing you,” he says. “All of you. Not just this.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

No one has ever said that to you.

You want to scream.

You want to rip his clothes off.

Instead, you step back, frustrated and flustered.

“You’re a menace,” you tell him.

He smiles gently. “You knew that.”

The date looms closer.

And Steve gets worse.

He confirms plans. Actual plans. Time. Place. Details.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. “Wear something comfortable. We’ll walk a bit.”

You scoff. “That’s all I get.”

“That’s all you get,” he confirms.

You spend the next two days spiraling.

You can’t sleep. You replay every interaction. Every look. Every small touch he denies himself.

You vent to Natasha and Wanda.

“He washed my dishes,” you say like it’s a crime.

They stare at you.

“He built my furniture,” you continue. “From Ikea.”

Wanda crosses her arms over herself biting her cheek to hide a smile.

“He texts me to remind me to eat,” you add. “He asks before touching me. He calls just to talk.” you say rubbing your hands down your face. “And his dick is huge.”

Silence.

Then Natasha says, “Oh my God, you’re doomed.”

You are.

The night before the date, Steve comes over briefly. Just to drop something off. A jacket. Because he checked the weather and it might be cold.

He does not come in.

He stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

You look at him. Really look at him.

His hair is grown out just enough. His beard is trimmed but still rough. He is wearing dark colors again.

Everything you like.

Everything he knows you like.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you accuse.

He smiles, slow and soft. “Doing what.”

“Being like this.”

“Like what.”

“Perfect.”

His expression changes then. Serious. Intent.

“I’m not perfect,” he says. “I’m just trying to be good to you.”

Your throat tightens.

You lean forward and kiss him. Soft. Brief. Controlled.

He doesn’t deepen it.

He just rests his forehead against yours for a second.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers.

You watch him walk away, heart pounding, body aching, mind screaming the same thought over and over.

And tomorrow is going to ruin you.

The date starts quietly. Which somehow makes it worse.

Steve shows up right on time, like he said he would. Seven sharp. No rushing. No knocking twice. Just a calm, steady presence at your door that already has your heart racing before you even open it.

When you do, he stops. Actually stops.

Not dramatically. Not like he’s trying to make a point. Just enough that you notice his breath hitch before he recovers.

“You look…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right word.

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve faced aliens. Use your words.”

He smiles, soft and a little stunned. “Beautiful. Wonderful. Prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

That should not hit the way it does.

You grab your jacket and step out, locking the door behind you. He waits. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t crowd you. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you like he has nowhere else he would rather be.

He opens the car door for you.

You pause. “You know I can do that myself.”

“I know,” he says easily. “I still want to.”

That familiar heat curls low in your stomach again.

The place he takes you is small. Intimate. Warm. Nothing flashy. No Stark level extravagance. Just good food and quiet music and lighting soft enough that you can actually see each other.

You relax into it faster than you expect.

Conversation flows easily at first. Safe topics. Funny stories. Shared memories from when you met six years ago and long nights and the strange limbo of living in a world that constantly feels like it might end.

Then he asks you about your work.

Not in passing. Not politely. Not as a filler conversation topic.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes intent. “Tell me what you’re working on now.”

Your face lights up instantly. Excited to be able to talk about your new project.

He notices. That alone nearly does him in.

“Well,” you start, already smiling, “okay. So you know how we’ve been mapping exoplanet atmospheres using spectral analysis.”

He nods. “I know the words you just said.”

You laugh. “That’s fair. Basically, we’re looking at light patterns to figure out what gases are present around planets we can’t physically see.”

“Which tells you what.”

You’re on the edge of your seat, his tone showing how deeply interested he is in what you’re saying.

“Whether they could support life,” you say quickly. “Or at least conditions similar to it. But what I’m excited about is that we’re starting to refine the noise reduction algorithms. Which means clearer data. Which means we can stop guessing so much.”

He watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You’re excited,” he says softly.

“Always,” you admit. “I get to wake up and think about things that are older than time itself. That’s insane.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he says fondly.

You grin. “Thank you.”

You launch back in without hesitation.

“And now they’re talking about bumping me up to lead on the next project. Bigger funding. Bigger team. More responsibility.”

His eyes widen. “That’s huge.”

“It is,” you say, practically vibrating. “And I’m terrified.”

“Why.”

“Because it means I have to fight harder to keep it mine.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean.”

You take a breath. “Everyone keeps assuming I’ll fold into Stark Industries eventually. Or jump into Avengers research. Like that’s the obvious path.”

“And it’s not.”

“No,” you say firmly. “I love my dad. I respect what he built. What you all do. But I don’t want my work to exist in his shadow. I want my name attached to something because I earned it.”

Steve’s chest tightens.

You don’t notice.

“I want to discover something because I chased it,” you continue. “Not because someone handed me a lab and a budget and said ‘here, be brilliant.’”

“You’re already brilliant,” he says quietly.

You wave him off. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he says. “You want it to be yours.”

“Yes.”

You talk faster now. Freer. You ramble. You sketch diagrams in the air with your hands. You explain concepts he absolutely does not understand. You offer to take him to your office to show him some of your work.

He asks questions. Simple ones. Thoughtful ones.

“So when you say expansion,” he says, “that’s the universe literally stretching.”

“Yes,” you say eagerly. “Exactly. And we still don’t know why it’s accelerating. That’s the part that drives me insane.”

His mouth curves into a smile. “I like it when you get like this.”

“Like what.”

“Like you forget the rest of the world exists.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’ve never had someone actually want to hear this stuff.”

“That’s insane,” he says. “You light up.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t redirect. Doesn’t try to impress you. Not like other men would.

He just lets you be brilliant.

And it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy.

Because you’re not trying to be cute.

You just are.

Your eyes are bright. Your hands animated. Your passion raw and unfiltered. You talk about dark matter and probability and models and failures like they are personal challenges instead of abstract concepts.

You talk about mistakes you’ve made. Equations that didn’t work. Data that disappointed you.

“I love it,” you say softly. “Even the frustration. Especially the frustration, that’s when I work my hardest.”

Steve swallows. “You’re incredible,” he says.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I just really love what I do.”

“I know,” he replies. “That’s what makes it incredible.”

When the night winds down, he walks you home.

Slowly.

Like he’s not in any rush to end this.

At your door, he hesitates.

“I had a really good time,” he says.

You smile. “Me too.”

He leans in.

Just enough. Then stops.

“Can I kiss you.”

Your breath catches.

“Yes,” you

The kiss is soft. Controlled. Bief.

He pulls back like it physically pains him.

“Good night,” he says.

You watch him walk away, heart pounding, mind racing, body aching.

And the only thought in your head is this.

How is a man who respects me this much also driving me completely insane.

You’re trying really hard not to let your sexual frustration take over your entire life.

You really are.

But the kiss Steve left you with last night wasn’t enough. Not even close. It lingered like a bruise you kept pressing on, a memory that replayed itself every time you tried to focus on literally anything else. His mouth. His restraint. The way he stopped himself like it physically hurt.

You can’t stop yourself from wondering why he didn’t just take you right then and there.

Why he let you stand there shaking and needy and aching while he walked away like the strongest man in the world wasn’t barely holding himself together.

So on your lunch break, you venture down to Soho.

You don’t tell yourself it is a bad idea.

You tell yourself it is just shopping. You love to shop.

You find the lingerie almost immediately. Deep blue. Rich. Dangerous. The kind of blue that looks expensive and intentional and sinful. Lace so delicate it feels like a secret against your skin.

You smirk when you realize the color matches Steve’s suit.

That feels important.

It’s late by the time you finally leave your office and get home. You shower quickly, heat steaming the bathroom, hands lingering just a little too long where you wish his had been. You slide into the lingerie slowly, deliberately, admiring the way it hugs you, the way it makes you feel powerful and reckless all at once.

Over it, you pull on a silky slip dress. Modest enough. Innocent enough. Something that passes easily to anyone who does not know what is underneath.

But up close.

Up close, it is something else entirely.

You step into your black Louboutins, the heels sharp and unapologetic, and head toward the elevator. Each click against the floor feels like a countdown. Your heart pounds harder the higher the elevator climbs.

When the doors finally open on Steve’s floor, you step out with an air of confidence you don’t entirely feel but refuse to surrender.

“Stevie?” you call softly as you walk inside his apartment. You move toward the couch and sit down, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately. You fix your hair like you aren’t vibrating under your skin. “Baby?” you call again.

Footsteps sound from down the hall.

Steve appears in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping down his chest, sliding along muscle and disappearing into the fabric. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, his skin flushed from heat.

And fuck.

You couldn’t be happier you’re wearing that lingerie under your dress.

Because you came here with a plan.

He looks at you, concern crossing his face instantly. His eyes trail over you, slow and thorough, like he’s checking for injuries, like his body is already cataloging you out of instinct.

That concern turns you on more than anything else could have.

“You okay angel?” he asks, stepping closer, sitting down beside you on the couch.

His legs widen.

He must have forgotten he is only wearing a towel.

Or maybe he doesn’t care.

Your gaze drops anyway. Thick thighs. Solid. Powerful. Your mouth waters even though you can see almost nothing.

“So good Stevie.”

The words come out softer than you intend.

He exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. His hand rests on his knee. Close. Too close.

You lean in closer, your hand sliding up his damp thigh, fingers brushing the edge of the towel. The heat from his skin radiates through your palm, and you feel your core clench with need. "I missed you," you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you push him back against the couch cushions. Your lips crash into his, tongue demanding entry, tasting the faint mint from his shower. He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, but you take charge, straddling his lap in one fluid motion.

The towel loosens under your weight, and you feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric. You grind down slowly, savoring the way he twitches beneath you. "Fuck, Steve," you whisper against his lips, nipping at his bottom one before sucking it into your mouth. Your hands roam his chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipples, making him hiss.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darkening as they drop to the silky slip dress clinging to your curves. "What are you wearing under there, angel?" His voice is rough, fingers toying with the hem, inching it up your thighs.

You smirk, grabbing his wrist to stop him for a moment, asserting your control. "Something for you to discover." But even as you say it, his free hand cups your ass, squeezing firmly, and a shiver runs through you. You rock your hips harder, feeling the dampness between your legs soak through the lace.

Steve's restraint snaps when you lift the dress just enough to reveal the deep blue lace peeking out, matching the suit he wore earlier that day. His eyes widen, pupils blowing with feral hunger. "Jesus Christ," he growls, flipping you onto your back in an instant, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. The shift is so quick, your breath catches, and that initial spark of dominance you held flickers out, replaced by a rush of submission that makes your pussy throb.

"You did this on purpose," he says, voice laced with possession as he yanks the slip dress up over your head, tossing it aside. The lingerie hugs your body perfectly, the deep blue lace sheer enough to show your hardened nipples and the outline of your slick folds. He stares, chest heaving, before leaning down to capture your mouth in a brutal kiss, tongue fucking into you without mercy.

You moan, arching up, but he holds you down, his towel finally slipping away to reveal his thick cock standing rigid against his abs, pre-cum beading at the tip. The sight makes you whimper, and you strain against his grip, wanting to touch him. Instead, you turn your head, sinking your teeth into his shoulder in the first bite, hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. He grunts, the sound vibrating through you, and thrusts his hips forward, his cock sliding along your lace-covered pussy.

"Naughty girl," he murmurs, releasing your wrists to trail his hand down your body. His fingers hook into the lace panties, ripping them aside with a sharp tug. The cool air hits your exposed wetness, and you gasp as he presses two fingers inside you without warning, curling them to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. You buck against his hand, but he pins your hip with his other arm, controlling the pace.

The heavy makeout resumes, his lips bruising yours, teeth clashing as you kiss like you're starving. You bite his lower lip this time, the second mark of your teeth on him, drawing a low rumble from his throat. He retaliates by wrapping his hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make your head spin, the feeling sending sparks straight to your clit. "Breathe for me," he commands softly, loosening slightly before tightening again, his fingers still pumping in and out of your dripping pussy.

You nod frantically, your control fully surrendered now, body melting under his touch. "Please, Steve," you beg, voice hoarse. He smirks, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to your mouth, making you suck them clean while he lines up his cock at your entrance.

With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, bare and deep, stretching your walls around his girth. You cry out, nails digging into his back as he starts a relentless rhythm, hips snapping forward. The lingerie top is still on, lace rubbing against your sensitive nipples with each movement, heightening everything.

He spanks your ass lightly once, then twice, the sting blooming into heat that makes you clench around him. "That's it, take my cock," he growls, hand returning to your throat cutting off your air just enough to make stars dance in your eyes before releasing. You bite his neck in response, teeth grazing his pulse point as he fucks you harder.

Sweat slicks your bodies, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts. He angles his hips to grind against your clit with every plunge, building that coil in your belly tighter and tighter. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. The room fills with the wet sounds of skin slapping skin, your moans mixing with his grunts.

"Gonna cum inside you," he warns, voice strained, his soft dom side shining through in the way he watches your face, ensuring you're with him. You nod, lost in the haze, and when he pinches your nipple through the lace while choking you lightly one last time, you shatter. Your pussy spasms around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Steve follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your insides with hot cum, rope after rope painting your walls. He collapses onto you, both panting, his lips finding yours for a softer kiss now, the feral edge sated but the heat lingering.

"My perfect angel," he whispers, nuzzling your neck where your bites mark him, a satisfied smile on his face.

Steve lifts you off the couch effortlessly, his arms cradling you like you weigh nothing, cock still semi-hard and slick with your combined release as it slips from your pussy. A trickle of his cum leaks down your thigh, warm and sticky, and he notices, his eyes flashing with renewed hunger. "Not done with you yet, angel," he murmurs, voice husky from exertion, carrying you toward the kitchen. The cool tile floor contrasts with the heat of his body pressed against yours, the remnants of your lingerie bra the only thing left on you now, lace damp and clinging.

He sets you down on the edge of the kitchen island, the marble cold against your heated skin, making you gasp. Steve drops to his knees between your spread legs, hands gripping your thighs to pull you closer. "Look at that," he says, thumb brushing through the mess of cum seeping from your swollen folds. "My cum dripping out of your pretty pussy. Gonna clean you up first." His tone is gentle but commanding, that soft dom edge making your core flutter.

Before you can respond, his mouth descends, tongue flat and broad as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting the salty mix of his seed and your arousal. You moan, head falling back, fingers threading into his damp hair. He groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your nerves, and laps deeper, sucking his own cum back into his mouth before swallowing with a satisfied hum. It's filthy, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet kitchen, his lips smacking as he devours you, tongue plunging inside to scoop out more.

Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the pressure, and he pins you down with one hand on your stomach, the other sliding up to fist your hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs sharply, forcing your head to tilt back, exposing your throat as he eats you out relentlessly. The pull sends a delicious sting across your scalp, and you love it, whining his name, legs trembling around his shoulders. "That's my girl," he praises between licks, his free hand kneading your ass, fingers digging in. "So responsive, taking everything I give you."

He works your clit with firm sucks and flicks, building that pressure again until you're grinding against his face, his chin glistening with the mess. Your release hits hard, pussy clenching as you flood his mouth, and he drinks it down, not stopping until you're shuddering, oversensitive and boneless.

Rising up, Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on yours, dark with desire. His cock is fully hard again, super soldier stamina kicking in, thick and veined, ready for more. He pulls you forward by the hair once more, gentler this time but still firm, guiding you to lie back on the island. The marble chills your spine, but his body heat warms you as he steps between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slickness.

"Open up," he says softly, and when you part your lips, he spits into your mouth, the warm glob landing on your tongue. You swallow eagerly, the act making you feel claimed, dirty in the best way. He thrusts in then, bare and deep, filling you completely in one go. You cry out, walls stretching around him, still sensitive from before. He sets a steady pace, hips rolling to hit deep, the island rocking slightly under the force.

His hand moves to your face, thumb pressing against your tongue as he fucks you, pushing it down to make you drool. Saliva spills from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin onto your chest, mixing with the sweat beading on your skin. You suck on his thumb messily, eyes watering, loving the way he controls even this, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent.

"Fuck, angel, I love losing control with you," he growls, voice rough and sexy, laced with raw need as he pounds into you, the slap of his balls against your ass loud and obscene. "You make me want to ruin you, take you apart until you're begging. No holding back, just us." As Captain America, he’d spent so long being the perfect soldier, always in control. But here, with her, letting go like this... it's freeing. Finally free to just feel, to fuck without the weight of the world. The thought races through his mind, fueling his rhythm, making him drive deeper.

You clench around him, the words and his thumb pushing you toward the edge again, drool slicking your lips as you moan around it. He spanks your thigh lightly, the sting adding to the chaos, before pulling out just enough to flip you over, but he pauses, breath ragged, cock twitching against your entrance. "Not yet," he whispers, nuzzling your ear. "Think you can handle the shower next? I want to bend you over under the water, make you scream my name again." His hand strokes your side possessively, setting the stage for more, his stamina far from spent.

Steve scoops you up from the kitchen island, your body limp and buzzing from the aftershocks, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. “Love you Stevie.” You smile lazily.

His cock, still buried halfway inside you from the last thrust, slides out with a wet pop, more of his cum leaking down your inner thighs to mix with the slickness there. “Love you more Angel.” he kisses your forehead. He doesn't bother cleaning up, just carries you through the apartment, the trail of mess smearing against his abs as he walks. The shower in his bathroom is spacious, all sleek tiles and rain-head fixture, and he kicks the door open, turning he turns the shower on before setting you down gently under the spray.

Hot water cascades over both of you the moment he twists the knob, steam rising fast as it soaks his skin and yours. The lace bra clings transparently now, nipples pebbled and visible through the wet fabric, but Steve doesn't remove it yet, his hands roaming your curves instead. “Bend over for me, angel,” he commands softly, voice cutting through the rush of water, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to guide you forward. You brace your palms on the tiled wall, ass arching back toward him, the position exposing everything, your pussy still swollen and dripping his release.

He steps up behind you, broad chest flush against your back, the heat of him overwhelming even in the steam. Water streams down his face as he gathers your hair in a fist, pulling your head back just enough to expose your neck. The tug makes you gasp, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs. “Good girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before he nips at the lobe. His free hand slides down your side, over your hip, to spread your cheeks, thumb circling your entrance teasingly. “So full of me already, but I need to fuck you again. Can't get enough.”

Without warning, he spits down onto your pussy from above, the warm saliva mixing with the water and his lingering cum, making everything slicker. You moan, pushing back, and he lines up his cock, thick and throbbing, pressing the head against your hole. He thrusts in slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretching you open, the water making the slide obscene and easy. Once buried to the hilt, he groans low, hips snapping forward in a building rhythm, the slap of wet skin louder than the shower.

His grip tightens in your hair, pulling harder to arch your back further, forcing you to take him deeper. Each pull sends sparks of pleasure-pain down your spine, and you love it, crying out his name as he pounds into you. Water splashes everywhere, rivulets running down your body, over your breasts, dripping from your chin. Steve reaches around with his other hand, fingers finding your clit to rub firm circles, the pressure making your knees buckle. He holds you steady, body caging yours, dominating every movement.

“Open,” he says roughly, and when you turn your head as much as the hair pull allows, he leans in, spitting directly into your waiting mouth. You swallow it down, the filthy act combined with his cock hitting that spot inside you making your walls flutter. Drool escapes your lips from the intensity, mixing with the water streaming over your face, and he chuckles darkly, thumb pushing into your mouth now to hook against your cheek, stretching it as he fucks you harder. “Look at you, drooling for me like a needy little thing. My perfect angel.”

The words send you spiraling, and you bite down on his thumb lightly, not hard enough to hurt but enough to mark, drawing a hiss from him that turns into a growl of approval. He spanks your ass then, the wet smack echoing, skin blooming red under his palm before the water washes it away. Another spank follows, lighter but stinging just right, and you clench around him, so close. His hand leaves your hair to wrap around your throat from behind, applying that controlled pressure, making your vision spotty with pleasure as oxygen dips.

He chokes you gently while thrusting relentlessly, cock dragging against your G-spot with every plunge, the mess of cum and water squelching around him. “Cum for me again,” he demands, voice strained, his own release building. You do, shattering with a scream that bounces off the tiles, pussy milking him as waves crash over you. Steve follows seconds later, burying deep and flooding you with hot spurts, his groan muffled against your shoulder as he bites down there, marking you back.

He doesn't pull out right away, staying connected as the water rinses some of the evidence away, but not all, his cum starting to leak out around his softening length. Releasing your throat, he turns you slowly in his arms, kissing you deeply under the spray, tongues tangling in a softer but still hungry makeout. “You're incredible,” he whispers against your lips, hands cupping your face. “But I'm not done. Bedroom next? I want you on top, riding me until we both can't move.” His eyes gleam with that endless stamina, promising more rounds in the night ahead.

"Jesus Christ, Bucky," you breathed, sinking your nails into the fluttering delts of his shoulders as he pounded his hips into yours. Bucky held the headboard hostage under a white knuckled grip, his abuse of the bed evident by the repetitive sound of the wood striking the apartment wall. He hung his head, and his lips were forcefully parted by a shaky groan.

"You feel so good," he whispered, his voice strained as the muscles in his face tightened. "You're so good."

"Bucky, God—" you whimpered. "Please, don't stop—I'm so… close—"

You felt your stomach tighten, and your naked abdomen visibly constricted as your core squeezed his thrusting cock. Bucky’s pace stuttered at the sensation, a choked "Fuck—shit—" falling from his mouth as his eyes shot open. You thought you saw flash of distress cross his features as he slapped one of his large hands down on your stomach to steady his movements. His body seemed to crumple in on itself as he hunched over, heavy, knitted brows stacked on top of squeezed-shut eyes, and he pistoned his hips into your just enough more times to feel the fluttery sensation of your finish before he quickly removed himself.

You laid out on the bed, spread and satisfied as you slowly managed to catch your breath.

"Buck," you whispered, blurry eyes looking down the expanse of your shiny chest to see his back to you at the edge of the bed, still hunched over. You attempted to sit up, but your core wheezed in disapproval, sending you flat-backed back down onto the mess of sheets. "Bucky?" you asked again, exhaling slowly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just—" he began, but he seemed to bite his words, "—just give me a second."

"Okay," you murmured, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the dots to clear from your eyes.

A few minutes of only the sound of your own weighted breathing stretched on before the mattress eventually shifted, and you watched Bucky's large frame crawl back to the top of the bed.

"You're sure you're okay?" you asked as he settled beside you. The cool metal of his artificial fingers bit into your side as he pulled you closer to him before he lounged the metallic arm lazily across your stomach.

"I'm fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The warmth of his breath engulfed your shoulder as he peppered soft kisses to your flushed skin in an attempt to reassure you. "I promise."

"You'd tell me if there wasn't something wrong, right?"

A mechanism in his arm whirled, and Bucky hesitated.

"Of course," he finally murmured. "What's my secret is your secret, too."

You nodded, momentarily satisfied by his answer.

"Good," you murmured, overlapping his metal forearm where it rested on your belly and sleepily tracing the grooves.

It should have been a red flag, but you decided to put the situation on the backburner. Maybe he was just having a bad day—maybe it was a cramp or even just a sudden sense of discomfort that had put him off.

Or maybe you were just overthinking it.

You hoped that sentiment would help you sleep that night, and it did. That was, until the following evening.

Perched at the end of the bed, work pants down to your ankles, and his face buried between your thighs, you were, once again, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your sheets were held hostage within your own bloodless knuckles as you leaned back on shaking arms, feeling as though you were about to see the light of God with how his tongue was working beneath your panties.

"Oh my God, Buck—" you moaned, a particularly sharp thrust of his tongue sending one of your arms out of commission as it collapsed. The change in stability had you wrapping a leg around his neck to steady yourself, and you felt a deep chuckle vibrate the entirety of your quivering frame. “You smug little—"

Your voice was cut off by a dirty suck, and that was the last of your second arm. You tangled your free hands into his grown out hair as you hips began to match the rhythm of his mouth, rising and falling from the mattress despite how terribly your core ached from the previous night's antics. Your clit nudged the notch of his nose, and the friction was almost enough to send you over the edge as your whole body twitched.

"Bucky, please, wait—I'm going to make a fucking mess—" you begged, raking your nails across his scalp and giving his forehead a push of warning. However, he didn't let up, his grip on your ass unrelenting as he only insisted you tighter against his face. He nuzzled his nose deep within your folds as his tongue worked your button raw. You felt your legs quake around his shoulders as you bit your wrist and came all over his face with a pathetic, stuttering whimper.

Words were difficult as you slowly came down from your high, a wheeze leaving your chest.

"Shit, Barnes," you huffed, your ears ringing as your hips twitched against the slowing movements of his tongue. You slid your fingers through his hair in a more soothing manner as he finally emerged from between your thighs, his idiotic grin glistening in the dim lamp light. "Don't look so proud."

"Why not?" he asked, placing a sticky kiss over the top of your mound before using the edge of the mattress to hoist himself up from his knees. "I can't be proud of pleasing my woman?"

"You can be pleased," you said, core crying out for help as you managed to sit up, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants, "but I know what would please you more," you murmured, taking him by the belt and tugging him between your legs. You flicked your eyes up to his. "Let me please you, Bucky."

And yet, despite your infamously persuasive doe eyes, he seemed to completely shut down at the request.

"I can do it," he quickly said, taking your wandering hand by the wrist before you could even think about touching the zipper to his trousers. "Don't worry about it."

You narrowed your eyes at his sudden discomfort, cocking your head as you did your best to mask your disappointment.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "I think you might like it if I—"

"I don't want to make you do that," he said, tugging your prying fingers away from his fly. "You don't have to."

"But I want to, Bucky," you said, a confused chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. "I promise it doesn't make me uncomfortable."

"I just—I don't want you to think that you need to return the favor," he said as he strategically stepped away. His intentional distancing only caused your confusion to swell.

"I'm offering to help you, Bucky—to make you feel good. I don't—" you said, moving to stand and following him only for your weakened legs to insist you back onto the bed. You swallowed, looking up from your shaking muscles to where he had retreated to the bathroom doorway. "What's going on? I've never heard of a guy giving up the opportunity to get blown."

Bucky took the comment as an accusation, and his response was sharp.

"I just don't want you to, alright?" he snapped, his voice easily filling the room. Caught off guard by his serrated tone, you snapped your jaw shut and quickly looked down at your feet as embarrassment burned your cheeks.

After a moment of silence, he audibly exhaled like he was about to say something, but instead he simply closed the bathroom door. The cruel chorus of the inner fan extinguished any chance you had at potentially hearing what he was hiding.

"Shit," you grumbled into the suddenly cold room. You managed to finally get to your feet in the style of a newborn deer and grasped your ruined panties from around your ankles. You tossed them into the hamper and found a clean pair, muttering to yourself as you began cleaning up for bed.

By the time Bucky came out of the bathroom, you were already in bed, lights out, pretending to be asleep.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that.

After fumbling around in the dark and attempting to keep his heavy footsteps quiet, the other side of the mattress dipped. You were briefly exposed to the cool air as the sheets lifted before a warm body settled itself behind you, heating the underside of the covers like a built-in sauna.

By his stuttering breath, you could tell Bucky wanted to say something. You could feel him ghost his hand over the curves of your side, but his hesitation was brief as he finally clamped his metal hand over your waist and tugged you back against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, breath hot on your ear. But you shook your head, repositioning yourself as he hiked one of his big, burly legs over your pair of already overlapping ones.

"Don't be sorry," you said. "I pushed you, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't—" he began, but sighed. "It isn't you," he mumbled, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "It's nothing you did—nothing you ever do. I don't want you to ever think that," he said. "It's all me."

You let those cryptic words hang in the air and felt the corners of your mouth sink deep into your face when you realized you didn't feel any relief after being declared innocent.

"You..." you began, inhaling sharply as you overlapped his metal hand on your stomach and squeezed. "You would... tell me if there was something wrong, right? If there was something bothering you, or something that made you uncomfortable—"

"Nothing's wrong," he promised, but the hollow words traveled in one of your ears and out the other. Your head lulled, and you hoped he couldn't sense your disbelief in his attempt to reassure you. "Nothing made me uncomfortable, I just..."

The pregnant pause that followed did not aid his credibility.

"I get it, Bucky," you eventually found yourself saying, cutting off his silence. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

His sigh of relief seemed artificial, as if it's purpose was to soothe you more than himself.

"Thank you," he murmured, offering you a kiss to the junction of your jaw, to your neck, and to your shoulder.

You tried to let it go.

You really did.

But God it bothered you.

And, with a more observative eye in the following countless bedroom encounters, with all your proceeding attempts at a blowjob continuing to be rejected, and with the notable lack of even the sight of his dick, you found yourself realizing you had never witnessed Bucky finishing.

Sure, he claimed to, but you never found evidence of such an act.

And you looked—you looked desperately and disgustingly.

But no, the mess of the deed was entirely your own; Not one speck of semen to be found.

You weren't sure if it was his clear dissatisfaction with you or the presence of an unyielding secret between the two of you that hurt the most.

"Men are disgusting," Yelena grumbled.

Ava hummed in agreement as she took a swig of her drink.

"I do not know how you two do it," she murmured, waving between you and Ava. "How do you live with such a creature? They are more like pet than partner," she said, sipping from her glass of hard liquor. "You clean up after them, you cook for them, you keep them entertained; What do they do for you, eh? Get you off?"

"Not even that sometimes," Ava mumbled into her glass.

"When me and Kate are together," Yelena went on, setting her cup down on the counter of the bar and raising her hands, "we are equal; do you see?" she asked, demonstrating. "I make Mac & Cheese one evening, she makes spaghetti next evening," she said, raising both her hands in a staggered fashion—one after the other. "When she cleans table, I clean dishes. When I get her off, she gets me—"

"We get it, Yelena," you grumbled. "Being gay is more fun."

"What's got your panties in a twist tonight?" Ava asked, noticing your sluggish attitude. "Trouble in paradise with Congressman Barnes?"

Your eyes followed the circular motion of your drink as it swirled in your glass, subtly bobbing your head from side to side as you decided how to answer the question.

"When you have sex with Walker, Ava," you began, meeting her eyes, "he cums, doesn't he?"

Ava coughed in surprise. "Jesus," she muttered, throwing back the rest of her drink and immediately gesturing for another as she glanced down in your direction. "Where did all that filth come from?"

You glared at her. "Just answer the question."

"Well," she said, sitting up a bit straighter. "He does—a lot," she murmured, tapping her fingers repetitively across the bartop. "He's actually very selfish about it now that you mention it."

"And you guys just hook up, right? It's nothing serious?"

She nodded, and her and Yelena's brows cocked simultaneously.

"What's this about? 'Barnes not satisfying you?"

You frowned, laying your head in your folded arms as your frustration began to overcome your confusion.

"No," you murmured. "It's the other way around."

Ava scoffed, and thanked the bartender for the beverage as he passed.

"That is joke, no?" Yelena asked. "What man would not be satisfied by you? You are very beautiful woman," she said, a teasing smile tugging at her painted lips. "I would know this."

"I have literally never seen him cum before," you said, voice breathy with exasperation as you glanced at them. You felt a worry line dig itself between your bunched brows. "I finally noticed it when he wouldn't let me suck him off, and I haven't been able to get—"

"Woah, wait a second," Ava cut in, face contorting in confusion. "Bucky wouldn't let you blow him?" she asked, appalled. "What kind of idiot is he? Did you bite his balls off the last time you gave him one?"

"And that's just the cherry on top," you groaned, slapping a hand to your face as you shook your head. "I haven't even done it to him before—he doesn't even know if I'm good at it!" you grumbled. "That's why I'm so fucking confused. He totally shut down the first time I offered, and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen his dick since."

"When was that?"

You felt your entire body sag as you sighed.

"Over a month ago."

Ava's entire face cringed, and Yelena shuddered.

"As in—no sex... or anything?" Ava asked.

You shook your head.

"Every time I initiate something, he gets me off with his mouth and then disappears into the bathroom where I assume he jacks himself off, but I can't even tell for sure because he turns the goddamn fan on. As far as I know he physically can't ejaculate."

The vulgar term earned you a strange look from the group of men a few seats down the bar.

"Maybe he cannot," Yelena agreed. "Man would be very embarrassed over inability to reproduce, no?"

You watched Ava slowly nod as she considered the idea.

"Yelena's probably right; he might be embarrassed," she said, throwing one leg over the other. "I know John would be. In fact, I'm pretty sure he would avoid sex all together if he couldn't—" She hesitated, "—perform up to normal standards."

You dug your palm into your forehead, closed your eyes as you tried to banish the guilt swelling in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck," you grumbled, dragging your hand down your face as you shook your head. "How do I tell him he doesn't have to be embarrassed? I don't care if he can't cum, I just..." You felt your voice break. "I just want him," you said, looking away. "I miss him."

Ava and Yelena exchanged a look at your deflated posture, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder, rubbing reassuring circles into a knot of tense muscles.

"Talk to him,” Yelena decided, leaning over the bar to better meet the low level of your eyes. "Bucky likes information straight; He does not like to dance around problems."

Ava nodded alongside the advice, gently squeezing the nape of your neck before pulling away.

"I have to agree. You're just going to have to face it head on," she said, taking another long swig of her drink.

"And if he doesn't respond well?"

The two women shared a look, but before the more sober of the two could answer, Yelena cut in, alcohol on her breath. "You come to Kate's place, and we celebrate freedom with strap!"

You managed to swallow your drink before you had the chance to choke on it, and Ava erupted into a mess of muffled laughter as the three of you received yet another glare from the men further down the bar.

Deciding to trust your friends and take their advice to heart, the next time you found yourself being undressed by Bucky, you probed the point of sensitivity.

"Bucky," you whispered against his lips, inhaling his exhale. Your lashes fluttered as you failed to capture the attention of his distracted eyes, his mouth continuing its tirade of affection across your jaw.

Hands under your shirt, roaming greedily across the naked skin underneath, Bucky pressed long, impassionating kiss to your neck. His teeth skimmed the junction of your throat, and his lips wandered lower, planting themselves across your chest as his hand tugged at the collar of your shirt.

"Bucky," you murmured as the suction of his lips relented from your sternum, "I wanted to talk to you about something," you tried, watching as he shifted to take the familiar position between your legs. Without thinking, you snapped your knees together, shyly meeting his eyes as he raised a brow.

"You talk, I continue," he said simply, grasping your legs and insisting them back open. He peppered the inside of your knees with sweet kisses, his hands smoothing themselves down your naked thighs as he melted into the sheets of the mattress.

"But this is about us—" you tried to argue only for your breath to hitch as he nipped at your inner thigh, "and I want you to actually listen."

"Do I need to prove to you that I can double task?" Bucky asked, but his threat was lost behind the booming beat of your heart against your eardrums. Your head fell back onto the pillow as you felt his fingers toy with your clothed slit, prodding over your twitching hole. "Because I will," he said, and you didn't miss the smirk on his lips as he pulled your ruined panties aside. And before you knew it, his fingers and tongue had teamed up against you, two digits sinking inside while his tongue prepped your clit.

"Jesus—" you gasped, arching into his tongue as you buried your hand into his hair. "Please, Buck, I need to—"

He only hummed in response, and the feeling caused your entire body to quake.

"I need—" you tried again, but your mouth fell open as he curled his fingers. Your grip tightened in his hair, pressing his face more insistently against your pussy as he forced a third finger inside and picked up his already brutal pace.

"What do you need?" he asked, your legs twitching at the sensation of his hot breath on your exposed slit. "Tell me."

"I need to talk—"

But he licked a long strip from your hole to your clit, shutting down that train of thought real quick. Your hips moved at their own accord, and you began desperately humping his fingers as your peak approached beneath the affectionate abuse of his thumb on your clit and his wet face against the inner fat of your thigh.

"God, fine!" you cried. "I need you, Bucky, please!" you whimpered, pulling at the root of his hair until the pressure elicited a grunt from him, and your entire body finally spasmed around his fingers.

He gently dipped his fingers in and out as you gasped for breath, and he pressed an all too sweet kiss to your twitching clit. You managed to get ahold of your exercised lungs, and you released a long, shaky exhale, the horny fog slowly clearing from your mind as you came down from your high.

Fuck, you needed to get a grip.

"'You alright?" he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to your kneecap as he pulled himself up to lay beside you. With you jaw hanging open, you continued to inhale ragged breaths, and your eyes slowly followed his movements until he settled on his back beside you, metal arm resting behind his head—pinned—and that familiar bulge pressing into the fly of his pants.

"Yeah," you breathed, flicking your gaze up to meet his. You could tell he almost immediately noticed the impish glint in your eyes.

"What are you planning?" he asked, offering you a lopsided smile as he cocked his head.

You moved before you could convince yourself otherwise, and, with your core stronger than ever, you threw your leg over his lap, successfully straddling him. The rough texture of his pants rubbed lusciously into your naked, sensitive clit, and the cool metal of the embedded zipper caused your body to arch into the sensation.

Bucky yelped at the sudden weight on the pressure in his pants, and his hands immediately grasped your waist. He desperately tried to bury his hips further into the bed in a poor attempt to flee.

"Hold on a second—" he grunted, every muscle in his face tensing in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I told you we needed to talk," you said, "and you weren't listening."

"Well, I'm listening now!" he barked, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his fingers dug into your flesh, metal arm whirling.

You pressed your hips into his, relishing the groan Bucky couldn't manage to swallow as the tendons in his neck popped and his head fell back into the pillows. His cock twitched beneath you, pulsing with every roll of your hips.

"Please," Bucky pleaded, face scrunched and his hands flexing at your sides. "You don't understand—"

He twitched beneath you as you settled a hand on the tight muscles of his abdomen and grasped his shoulder to anchor yourself. You bit your lip and dragged your clit over the metal of his belt.

"Relax, Buck," you murmured into his ear, watching his nostrils flare with a restrained exhale as squeezed his eyes shut and audibly swallowed. "I know what's going on," you murmured, ghosting your lips over his flushed pulse point, "and it's okay, Bucky."

The information seemed to make him sputter.

"You..." he began, but his breath caught as you ground your hips down against him. "You know?"

"Yes," you murmured. "Now relax," you repeated, pulling away and planting a kiss on the center of his forehead, "and let me take care of you."

You maintained eye contact with him as you slipped your hand from his shoulder and followed the grooves of his swathed chest down to the buckle fastening his pants. Your eager fingers easily worked the mechanism open, and you pulled the belt free.

Almost instantaneously, panic flashed over his face at the relief of pressure, and before you knew it his metal hand had encompassed your wrist, stalling your movements. And, as had happened before, disappointment flooded your face, and you were sure Bucky saw it as you looked up from where his hand had clasped yours.

Upon meeting those usually so assured, fearless eyes, your lips pursed tightly to keep yourself from getting visibly upset, you realized the expression on his face was not one of embarrassment; Cheeks that should have been beet red were unusually pale, and the sheene of sensual sweat on his normally heat-flustered body had gone sickly cold.

He was afraid.

"Bucky," you whispered, realizing it had been your actions that had caused him to react in such a distressed way. "I'm sorry—"

"No," he quickly said, once again pausing your squirming as you moved to get off of him. "No—I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't be normal for you, I just—"

He looked away, every worry line on his face digging deep enough to do damage. You watched his jaw flex.

"I need to explain to you what you're getting into because I just—" he tried, pivoting his chin back forward but failing to meet your eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded out of instinct, but paused, and a significant silence stretched between the two of you.

"Bucky."

"...Yeah?"

"How would your anejaculation cause me bodily harm?"

Another pregnant pause, and you watched his face contort in confusion, eyes finally looking up.

"Anejaculation?" he asked. "What the hell is that?"

"It's when a guy can't ejaculate," you said slowly. "That's... not what you have?"

He blinked, and a sharp, uncontrollable chuckle rumbled through his body before he was entirely taken over by unrestrained laughter. You felt your face flush red at his hysterics, and you had to reach out and grab his jumping delt to stabilize yourself on his lap.

"Ane—" he tried but was immediately cut off by another impromptu chuckle. You hit his chest, and he finally managed to gather himself. "No, sweetheart, that's not what I have," he said, "but you're sweet for thinking it's that simple."

"Don't flatter me," you grunted, crossing your arms. "You haven't shown me your dick in weeks, and you refuse to tell me why. What was I supposed to think?"

He failed to keep that shit eating grin from tugging at his lips.

"Maybe I didn't want to have sex?"

You moved to hit him again, but he caught your hand this time. Bucky pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist before molding your palm around the curve of his cheek, overlapping it with his own.

"Don't be a smartass," you warned him, your face softening as he closed his eyes and leaned into the heat of your hand. "Buck, why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

He was clearly still reluctant to elaborate; that worry line nestled itself back between his brows as he absently swiped his thumb over the skin of your hip.

"I—" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I just don't want you to see me differently," he said, briefly meeting your eyes with a vulnerability you're not sure you'd ever seen from him before. "I like how you look at me now."

"Bucky," you whispered, leaning closer to encourage his fleeting eyes to look at you again. "I won't," you said firmly, "I promise, Buck. I won't look at you any differently than how I am now no matter what you tell me, I promise."

His eyes almost crossed as he stared at you, and they fell into a loose triangle pattern before he finally inhaled and slowly nodded.

"When I was with Hydra," he said, lowering his voice as he swallowed, "they injected me with an experimental serum. It was meant to be a replica of the one they gave Steve," he said, gesturing weakly to nothing in particular. "Most of their attempts at remaking it failed, so they made sure that if it did happen to work on a subject that its effects would undoubtedly be passed on to their offspring."

You stroked his cheek, slowly nodding along with the information.

"The serum makes my orgasms really overwhelming," he murmured, cheeks flushing. "It's... a lot, and it's always a mess, and I didn't want to..." He trailed off, and cringed as his eyes flicked up to you, "... fill you up... because... well... it can be uncomfortable."

You were quiet for a moment, and felt his chest rise and fall shakily beneath you.

"So... you don't have a problem ejaculating?" you asked. His chuckle was fragmented by lingering emotion, but he shook his head, squeezing your waist.

"No, I don't have a problem ejaculating," he confirmed. "The opposite really."

"And you kept this from me because you thought I couldn't... what? Handle your load?"

His entire face reddened, and he groaned at your filthy phrasing, shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant," he grumbled. "I was just... afraid you'd think it was gross and weird—think I am weird."

His nostrils flared, and he shifted under your focused attention. You noted his distressed expression as he awaited your reaction.

"Well now you've got me curious," you murmured, biting your teasing smile, and he finally let out a genuine sigh of relief. His demeanor softened as he chuckled again, and his hands squeezed your waist. "And I feel the sudden urge to prove you wrong," you murmured, tracing a finger across the fabric between his pecs.

"Jesus," he breathed as you leaned down and pressed another innocent kiss to his pulse, feeling it flutter beneath your lips. "What did I do to deserve you?" he whispered, every muscle in his body tightening as you resumed the gentle rocking of your hips.

"Not sure," you murmured, playfully biting the lobe of his ear. "You tell me, Barnes."

His hands hadn't eased their grip on your hips, not allowing you much leeway with your movements as you did your best to help him relax into your warm embrace.

"I must've prayed," he murmured, breathless as you slowly undid each button of his dress shirt, steam practically radiating off the revealed skin underneath. With the fabric fully undone, you slid your hands along the gummy sides of his lower torso and pressed your palms into his lower back, insisting his hips closer to yours. He inhaled through gritted teeth as the bulge in his pants slotted itself against your naked core, and you hummed, reaching back around to his front and grasping the waist of his pants in an attempt to lift them again.

"Pardon me for being blunt," you found yourself murmuring as his cock pulsed against you, "but you said the point of your super orgasm was to guarantee a baby, right?" you asked, reassuringly squeezing his side. Bucky's glittering gaze appeared almost far away as he stared up at you, but he managed a frantic nod as his nostrils flared with wilting restraint.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes."

"Well," you murmured, barely able to contain a pleasurable hum as Bucky's hips inadvertently twitched, "do you think your serum can beat my IUD?"

The question finally seemed to snap the last of his restraint.

Before you knew it, you were being hoisted off of his lap, a squeal of surprise flying from your mouth as your stomach flipped, and your back hit the cushioned landing of the mattress. You blinked and had to scrub the surprise off your face as you looked over your parted knees to see Bucky looming over you, the holy sound of his pants zipper practically making you ascend.

"Only one way to find out," he grunted, and the tent of his pants fell flat as he finally let you lay eyes on his dick after weeks of separation. And oh how you missed the stunning sight; Already spouting with precum, his fully erect organ stared you down like it was making a promise.

Oh fuck.

You closed your legs out of instinct, but Bucky wasn't having your shy behavior. As he pumped himself to full height, he grasped both of your knees with his other big, broad hand and insisted your legs back open, revealing how pathetically wet you had became at just the simple sight of him.

He quirked a brow.

"Excited?"

"Shut your mouth, Barnes."

He grinned and settled himself over you, planting a stabilizing hand in the sheets beside your head as his heat filled the space between your chests. You found yourself panting beneath him, and your entire body flinched as he stroked the tip of his cock just above your twitching hole. You reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders as you mewled, head falling back at the sensation.

"Please, Bucky," you begged. "Please, I need you so bad—It's been so fucking long."

He let out a chuckle of amusement at your desperation, and gently teased his tip into your entrance a few times, the obscene suctioning sounds making you bite your tongue before he finally thrusted into your messy, swollen hole. You dug your fingertips deep into his traps, and your breath hitched as he sunk himself all the way inside, exhaling a hot breath over your chest.

"I forgot how good you feel," he murmured. "Too good."

You simply shook your head and raised your hips until they kissed his. He grunted, quickly pressing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to pin you down and stop your impatient movements before beginning long, slow thrusts into you. The coarse hair around his pelvis nuzzled against your stomach as he locked his hips into yours with every motion. His gentle, methodical pace enabled you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock, and eventually you even began to feel it's eager pulsing, already prepared to empty its seed inside your clamped walls.

As Bucky's pace began to quicken at the approaching ultimatum, you found yourself looking at him through hazy vision, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. That line between his brows was still prominently present, and his eyes were closed as he concentrated on restraining himself, his pace beginning to consciously falter. You watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple and noticed the way his arm was trembling beside your face.

He was still thinking—still worrying.

"I'm not going to last," he grunted, that tension in his face briefly wavering as he couldn't help but grind his hips into yours. You gasped, feeling the throbbing tip of his cock kiss your cervix.

"Good," you whispered. "Good, Bucky, that's good," you tried to reassure him, but he was shaking his head, his thrusts growing more shallow. You whined in complaint, hooking a leg around his hips to prevent his early exit.

"I can't do it—" he whispered.

"Yes, you can," you said. "You can—please! I want it—I need it so bad, Buck, please."

He bumped his hips back into yours, and you quickly trailed yours hands down his back until you could grip his ass, insisting him to pick up his hesitant pace.

"Jesus," he moaned into your ear, heavy headed as he rested his forehead on the bed. His lips ghosted your ear, and he mouthed your name. "It's—I can't—fuck," he groaned. "Where do you want it?"

You moaned at the question.

"Inside," you begged. "I want it inside, Bucky, please—"

An obscene noise left his lips at your request, and he began pounding into you, unraveling before your eyes. The wet slapping of skin filled the room as his hips crashed against yours, every hit of his pace pushing the burning tip of his dick harder against the entrance to your awaiting womb. You arched into his hand as he desperately palmed at your clit, and the simultaneous overstimulating pleasures had a stuttered cry falling from your loose jaw as your climax washed over you.

But Bucky wasn't finished.

"Are you sure?" he managed to ask you as you felt the muscles in his lower back tighten under the grip of your fingertips.

Barely coherent, a single word fell from your parted lips: "Yes."

"I shouldn't—" he tried, but the force of his remaining, stuttering thrusts indicated he was past the point of no return. He squeezed his eyes closed, and every muscle in his body seized as he made one last desperate attempt to pull out. Your second leg not only kept him buried inside you but pushed him deeper as he managed a panicked whine before you felt his hips jerk.

"Fuck," he bit, wrapping his arms around you as his pulsating dick fully emptied its load inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as the warmth spread deep within your stomach, and your walls devotedly clamped around his rocking cock, committed to keeping every speck of his finish within your pussy.

His seed burned your insides, and the victory felt glorious.

His heavy breaths fanned your neck, and the weight of his exhausted, ruined body rested on top of you. You gently gathered his overstimulated frame into your arms as his hips twitched, twining your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

A warm smile slowly pulled at your lips as you pressed a kiss beneath his jaw, and a breathless giggle left your lips as he slowly drew his cock out.

"I think those Hydra people overestimated—"

Every muscle in Bucky’s body convulsed, and he rammed his dick back inside, a choked sound leaving his parted lips as his cock spasmed and dumped another load inside of you. The fluid squelched as he desperately humped at your hole, hips sticking to yours with every push of his inconsistent pattern.

"Jesus," was all you managed to mouth as the warmth inside you mushroomed, spreading through your belly as he worked his seed further inside—making sure it would take.

His hips ground leisurely against yours, brushing your clit as he seemed to relax again only for you to feel his ass clench and his heavy balls contract before he fucked his hips up into yours once more. The breath was knocked from your exhausted lungs, and you could only whimper as he insisted his dick as far inside as it could possibly go, sealing off any chance of escape for his load as he poured into you once more.

Bucky sunk his teeth into your shoulder as his back hunched, a choked groan falling from his fallen, glistening lips. You vaguely felt a shudder overwhelm the entirety of his body.

"Fuck," he whispered into your skin, his eyes fluttering as he finally managed to open them. "Shit," he murmured, struggling to sit up from your ruined body as he cringed and slowly withdrew his wrecking ball of a dick.

You weren't sure you could move—you had never felt so heavy.

Vision still murky, your eyes weakly fell to look down your stammering chest at his blurry figure kneeling limply amidst your parted knees. Bucky's chin had fallen to rest on his collarbone, and his eyes were trained on what you were sure was a mess between your legs.

"Never mind," you found yourself mumbling, "they definitely didn't overestimate."

"Are you okay?" he asked, wincing as you huffed out an exhausted breath.

"Where does all that shit even come from?" you grunted, attempting to sit up only to immediately fall back down, stars clouding your vision. You zeroed in on the head of his dick from your fixed position, and your face contorted in exasperation. "And it's still fucking leaking!"

"Please, stop," Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face as he crawled up beside you. He rested on an elbow and met your drooping gaze. "Are you okay?"

You stared up at the ceiling.

"I feel defeated," you murmured, turning your head to look at him. "I couldn't handle it, which means you were fucking right."

Your playful disappointment had him cracking a smile, and he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and your neck.

"'Think your IUD feels the same?"

You rolled your eyes and grinned, reaching up and poking his nose.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you murmured, enjoying the confirming glint in his eyes. "We'll see; you might have a little super soldier running around in a year."

You followed his eyes to where he stared at your stomach, gently tickling the shiny, exposed skin.

"We'd have to get married then," he mumbled catching your attention. A fluttery sensation erupted in your belly.

"Maybe," you murmured, "on one condition."

He raised a brow.

"And what's that?"

You grinned and were unable to keep your eyes from flicking down to his still drooling dick.

"You have to do that in my mouth."

In your shared bedroom, you were perched at your vanity chair in nothing but lace panties, legs crossed neatly, arms lifted slightly as you kept your freshly painted nails suspended in the air to let them dry. The bottle of polish sat open beside you, the faint chemical scent mingling with your perfume, and the lamplight glowing warm on your bare skin.

The moment you finished your last nail, you glanced up into the mirror, only to find Bucky staring.

His eyes dragged over you, lingering shamelessly on your body before meeting your eyes in the reflection.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted his cuff.

You arched an eyebrow. “I’m literally sitting still and not touching anything,” you said, although you were checking out his reflection, too. 

Bucky looked incredible in a suit. Ergo, your thoughts were definitely just as sinful as his.

“Exactly,” he said as he walked toward you like a lion approaching his mate. “You’re sittin’ there lookin’ like that… and I’m supposed to remember how to behave in front of my colleagues tonight?”

You held your hands out carefully, showing him your perfect little red nails, though all Bucky could think was how good they’d feel leaving scratches down his back later. “I can’t smudge these, honey,” you pouted adorably, “please don’t distract me.”

Still, he chose to ignore you.

He slipped behind your chair, his reflection towering over yours, and let his hands settle on your bare shoulders possessively. His thumbs brushed lazily across your skin, tracing slow circles that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Buck,” you warned, though your voice had already gone softer than you meant it to.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, bending to press a kiss to the curve where your neck met your shoulder. “Just appreciating my wife.”

His metal hand drifted lower, following the line of your collarbone, until his palm lay against your chest. He didn’t even squeeze. They just rested there, teasing, knowing the textural difference between his metal and human hands was something that… turned you on.

That bastard. 

You tried not to move.

“Bucky,” you said again, firmer this time, eyes fluttering shut for one second. “My nails.”

“Your nails look perfect,” he praised, lips brushing your jawline. “So does the rest of you.”

His metal hand slid down your side, fingers tracing your waist before curving around your hip, drawing you subtly back against him. He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.

You let out a shaky laugh. “We’re going to be late.”

“We’re always late,” he said, kissing the corner of your neck. “No one’s surprised anymore.”

“Congressman Barnes,” you tried again, hopelessly flustered, “behave.”

He chuckled, hands drifting a little bolder, and you could tell he had absolutely no intention of behaving at all.

You tried to keep your breathing steady while his hands wandered, like he was mapping every inch of your skin. His lips traced a lazy path along your shoulders, and you could feel the smile he wore when your breath caught.

“Alright,” you breathed out with a small chuckle, “if you’re going to keep touching me, you can at least be helpful.”

He hummed, mouth brushing trailing kisses down your arm as he playfully grabbed at you in all the best ways. “Pretty sure I’m bein’ very helpful right now.”

“Honey, my nails are still drying.” you reminded, tilting your chin toward the bed. “Please put my bra on for me.”

He froze just long enough for you to feel the shift in his attention.

He looked over at the lace bra that matched the panties you wore, then back to your bare chest in the mirror, his fingers tightening just a little where they cupped you.

“You really wanna hide these?” he asked, thumbs brushing across your breasts, making your breath hitch. “Feels like a crime.”

You swallowed, heat curling straight down you. Still, you managed to be a little snarky. “Would you rather Senator Brandt see me like this?”

Ugh. Brandt. 

Last time you attended one of Bucky’s work functions, he got very drunk and tried to convince you to go home with him. He didn’t cross any physical boundaries with you, and you had managed to take care of yourself that night, but when Bucky found out, he very nearly broke his jaw. Instead, he only gave him a black eye. 

He got off with a warning, to stop resorting to physical altercations, and was told to behave. 

But you know your husband always found it hard to do so. 

With that, finally, begrudgingly, he reached for the bra.

He picked it up like he’d rather drop it to the floor and forget about the charity auction entirely. Then he came back behind you, eyes still dark on your reflection as he slid the straps up your arms.

His fingers dragging along the curve of your shoulders before guiding the cups into place, and even with fabric between you now, you could feel the hunger in his touch, the way his palms lingered just a second too long.

Then the band brushed your back… and stopped.

He angled the clasp.

Missed.

He tried again, teeth clicking.

The strap twisted.

Could he not… put a bra on?

You could feel the stubborn frustration building in him. He hated losing to anything— especially while touching you.

He pulled the band tighter, his chest pressed almost flush to your back now as his metal hand worked one strap and his flesh hand fumbled with the other.

You bit your lip, fighting a laugh.

Because fuck, he was so close to getting it right, then again and again…. He failed. 

“Everything okay back there?” you asked, teasing.

He growled under his breath, his palm splaying across your stomach to hold you in place as he tried again.

Your husband was an expert with his fingers. In fact, he was devastatingly sinful when he wanted to be. You would know.

But apparently… not at this.

As you laughed at his sloppy attempts, you remembered the first time Bucky had gone head-to-head with your bra.

—

The very first night you ever slept together, everything had been slow at first. After all, he was finally crossing a line you both had been circling for months.

You remembered the way he’d kissed you like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

You’d been lying back against the pillows, heart racing, his body hovering over yours. His fingers had slid beneath the band of your bra, pausing just long enough for his eyes to meet yours.

You nodded.

And then, within five seconds, Click.

He used two hands, but he was smooth, quick, and clean.

The clasp had opened like it was designed for him.

The straps had slipped away as the fabric fell.

He hadn’t gloated or smirked then.

He just let a deep breath out like your body was a prayer he’d never learned but somehow already knew by heart.

And afterward you’d thought: Of course he’s good with his hands.

—

Then, you remembered your wedding night.

You were both laughing, giddy, breathless, drunk on happiness more than the reception wine, still half-dressed and stumbling through the doorway of your honeymoon suite.

His tie was gone. Your shoes were discarded somewhere near the door. He’d kissed you against the wall like he couldn’t wait another second to be close to you, to finally celebrate being husband and wife and hopelessly in love.

You remembered the way his metal hand had cupped your cheeks while his flesh one traced down your spine… pausing at the clasp of your lingerie.

You barely had time to register the movement before—

Snap.

One-handed, in three seconds

It was effortless.

He pulled back just enough to grin against your lips.

“Still got it,” he’d said, voice smug and unbearably fond.

You’d laughed, breathless, and whispered back, “I married a show-off.”

—

And then, you remembered last night.

You’d been straddling him on the couch, your skirt bunched around your hips, his tie loosened and his hair mussed from your fingers. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back as he kissed you just a little deeper.

His metal palm ghosted beneath the band of your bra, cool against your skin.

He didn’t even hesitate.

There was a precise flick of his wrist, a quick curl of his fingers—

Snap.

The clasp practically melted for him

He pulled back, chest rising as he muttered under his breath with boyish triumph, “Ha. Sub two seconds.”

You’d snorted, half turned on, half amused, and shoved him back onto the cushions with a grin. You stood up, guiding him to the bedroom as your bra fell to the ground. “Get over here, Congressman.”

He let out a wicked laugh.

—

The memories faded, and you were yanked right back into the present by the sound of Bucky muttering under his breath as the clasp slipped out of his fingers again.

He tugged the band tighter, trying to guide the hooks together.

They slid. Missed.

The strap twisted halfway up your shoulder.

He froze.

You bit your lip so hard you almost ruined your lipstick.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You blinked innocently at the mirror. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t laugh.”

You almost obeyed.

But then he tried again, with that same intense concentration he used when testifying before a committee, and the bra just… refused to cooperate.

A tiny laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Sweetheart,” you said with faux sympathy, “do you need me to call tech support?”

He looked at you through the mirror. “I can do it.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, far too entertained, “sure you can, big guy. You only took it off in, what, sub two seconds last night?”

“That was different,” he grumbled, fingers fumbling again.

“How?” you teased. He tugged too sharply, and the band snapped against your back.

You jumped.

His hands rubbed where it hit, concern threading through his voice. “Sorry, sweets.”

Then he tried the clasp again.

And missed.

Again.

You sucked in a breath to keep from laughing outright. “This is… kind of adorable.”

He leaned closer, close enough to feel his breath warm at your ear.

“Keep talkin’,” he said darkly, “and I’m just gonna decide it doesn’t need to go on at all.”

As heat rippled through you, but so did mischief.

“Just admit that you can’t put a bra on,” you whispered, eyes sparkling.

He grunted something that sounded awfully like “never” under his breath, as he stubbornly fought the clasp.

“I can strip you blindfolded,” he said, frustration and desire tangled in his tone, “but this— this damn thing—”

You couldn’t help it.

You laughed.

And then, finally, it clicked.

The clasp slid into place, the band settling snugly across your back. 

Bucky froze behind you, like he didn’t quite believe it had happened. 

“Ohhh, look at that,” he said, grinning against your ear, his hands smoothing over the band like he was inspecting the handiwork he was ridiculously proud of. “Hooked. Secured. Aligned. Perfectly installed by your very capable husband.”

You snorted. “Installed?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said smugly. “Professional application.”

Then he gave the clasp its last gentle pat, like it was a trophy.

As you stood up, he stepped back to admire his work, and immediately forgot about his work entirely.

His eyes dragged over you, again tracing the curve of the lace across your breasts, the matching panties hugging your hips.

You watched his reflection: his pupils blown wide, lips parted.

And lower…

Yeah.

There was no hiding the way his slacks suddenly fit a lot tighter.

You let your lips curve into a smile.

“Everything okay?” you asked sweetly.

He swallowed hard.

“Not even a little,” he rasped.

His gaze roamed you again, you could feel him undressing you with his eyes, could practically hear the thoughts rattling around in his head, none of them even remotely innocent.

“Christ, doll… look at you,” he said, visibly breaking a sweat. “Standing there in our house… in our bedroom… in that little set… like you’re tryin’ to ruin me.”

You smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek, like a counterweight to the heat.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“That’s not even fair,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “You stand there lookin’ like sin and expect me to behave like a gentleman?”

You tilted your head sweetly. “You did great, baby.”

That was his undoing.

His hands came back to your waist, thumbs brushing the satin of your panties before sliding down and hooking his finger on your panties like he needed to feel that he’d earned this moment.

“Damn right I did,” he said, “but I still wanna take it apart.”

You were about to tease him — until you caught sight of the clock on the wall behind him.

Oh no. You were running far behind.

you nodded toward the bed, where your long strapless cocktail dress lay waiting in a pool of satin. “Can you help me with my dress, please?”

He groaned, head tipping back, and eyes closing. 

“Sweetheart…” he said, voice strained, “you seriously want me to cover you up?”

You bit back a smile. “We have to leave. I’ll even have to let my nails dry in the car.”

“We could cancel,” he argued weakly. “Tell ‘em the congressman’s wife had… an emergency.”

“Bucky.”

He rested his forehead to your shoulder for a second, gathering himself like he was preparing for combat.

“Okay,” He sighed, a man accepting his tragic fate. “Okay. I can do this. I’m strong. I’ve got discipline. I’m a government official.”

You bit back a laugh.

He guided the long strapless cocktail dress up your body, smoothing satin over skin he very clearly wanted exposed again. His palms smoothed over your waist. Up your ribs. Along the curve of your back as he pulled the zipper.

You felt him want you, even now, when he was trying to behave.

When the dress was on, he didn’t step away. He stayed, admiring you.

His hands rested at your hips again, fingers pressing gently into the fabric. “My wife,” he said, kissing your temple. “The most beautiful woman in any room she walks into.”

His eyes traced from your neckline to your lips… then down your figure again, then back to your eyes.

“And just so we’re clear…” his voice dropped, “the second we get home I’m takin’ that bra back off in one second flat.”

-end.

Request Guidelines

Leaving his client to head up to the front desk, he went his own way to his office. Closing the door behind him, he sealed away the rest of the world in favor of the quiet setting and the dark lighting. Instead of moving towards his desk, he flopped down onto the couch, face down in the pillows.

He laid there, evening his breath and reveling in the less straining conditions until his migraine leveled into a duller ache. Now that the pounding had lessened to a throbbing ache, he could take stock of the rest of his body. 

Hiding under the headache was a sore stiffness beginning to settle into his joints and muscles. His chest felt tight as he pulled in deep breaths, enough so that he worried he might be sent into a coughing attack if there was anything he could do other than wheeze. 

Forcing his eyes open, he reached for his phone to check the time: 12:32pm.

The next thirty minutes was reserved for his lunch with another forty-five minute gap afterwards until his next appointment was scheduled for the afternoon. He had time, he decided. Time to nap off his headache and hopefully get it together long enough to finish out his day. 

That's what he needed. Just a little nap and he'd be fine.

—————

"Harry, I'm here. Let's go home, okay?" 

A soft voice penetrated Harry's dream, knocking him out of the too vivid depiction of his home town. Despite the recognizable lilt to the voice, he would rather do anything else than completely join the waking world. His head still hurt and he still had time before his next appointment he was sure. He'll just go back to sleep and whoever it was that was trying to wake him up would have to try again later. 

"No, c'mon. We need to go home before you get worse, honey." 

The soft pet name was what had Harry daring to peek his eyes open. It wasn't often that he heard that word wrapped in that voice. Apparently it was enough to bring a dead man back to the land of the living. 

Above him, backlit by warm lamplight that might as well have been the golden light of heaven was his angel. Her brows were pinched in a furrow, lips turned into a frown. She wasn't happy, not at all. And that made Harry unhappy too, just adding to the pounding in his head.

"Angel?" 

Harry's voice cracked around the syllables, sparking a dry pain in his throat that had him wincing away from his own vocal cords. 

"Oh goodness," (Y/N) murmured above him, "H, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well? I would have stayed home from class today." 

The lilt of her voice danced through his head, the words going in one ear and out the other. He could only blink up at her, a crackling grunt leaving him being all the acknowledgment he could give. 

She gave him a strained smile then, lips thinned. "C'mon. Let's go home." 

Harry wanted to go with her, he really did. But he couldn't. Not when his books were completely full with appointments. 

"Can't," he choked out, shaking his head against the throw pillow cushioning him. 

Her smile dropped in an instant, "Why not?" 

"Gotta work," he answered simply, wincing at the pain in his throat. If he was lucky, the rest of his clients wouldn't be very talkative. And would be okay being tattooed in a dark room. "I have an appointment coming soon." 

(Y/N) didn't answer right away, instead laying the back of her hand on his forehead. Her concern only grew at whatever she felt there. "No you don't, H, remember? Niall cleared your books," she muttered, "He came to check on you when he didn't see you after your lunch. He told you he was going to call me and get your appointments moved around." 

He really did try to remember what it was that she was talking about, but the recall was pointless. Harry didn't remember Niall ever checking on him, let alone anyone telling him that (Y/N) was coming to pick him up—a detail he wouldn't forget until normal circumstances. 

"Oh," he settled on, "Good." 

That was enough to have a puff of humorless laughter leaving his angel before she was pulling on him again to get him up off the sofa. "Let's go home, honey."

Now, how could he deny her that?

This time when she tried to tug him off of the sofa, Harry actually helped, practically falling into her arms. Every muscle in his body hurt, joints incredibly stiff with every bend. The sweetest, pitying coo left his girl when she looped an arm around his middle, letting him lean against her while he draped his own over her shoulders. 

(Y/N) took on the brunt of the hard work, leading them out of his office to get them out to her car. Harry moved on exhausted feet, his steps slow and a bit shaky now that he was face with just how ill his body felt. 

But, he would make it, he thought. It wasn't a long drive at all to get home, and his love bug was here now so nothing was—

Who the fuck let the sun into the shop?

The second they stepped out of the hall that led down to Harry's office, passing the doors to the bathrooms and supply closet, he was faced with the wide open windows and the overhead lighting that reignited his migraine. The dull ache that awoke with him on the couch had now roared back to life, sitting once again at a pace to felt all too much like his brain was going to leave through his ears and he was going to throw up in the meantime. 

To top it off, every bit of chatter from clients and the buzz from the tattoo guns was pinging through his ears. God, this fucking sucked so bad. 

"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered under his breath, flinching away from every bit of light blaring around him with his eyes pinched closed. Bringing his free hand up, he shielded his closed eyes, a shadow being cast over the closed lids. It did little to quell the flare of his migraine but it was better than looking directly into the light, though now he was relying solely on (Y/N). 

"You okay?" she murmured next to him, hand fisting the fabric of his shirt at his waist. 

He barely grunted in response. 

That was all that was said between them as (Y/N) led them through the shop. She spoke for the both of them when Niall (or who Harry thought was Niall anyway) asked if Harry was okay. He tuned into the melody of her voice, a point of clarity through the chaos as he subtly massaged at his temples as best he could through the stretched position of his hand. 

"Clear him for tomorrow if you can, too, please," (Y/N) requested next to him, voice quiet compared to the roaring noise around them. "I don't think he'll be ready to come back, but I'll let you know." 

Vaguely, Harry was aware of someone—Niall?—saying goodbye to him before he heard the tinkling of the bell over the shop door and the burst of fresh air chilling his skin as (Y/N) pulled him onto the sidewalk. The autumnal air cast a shiver down his spine, pointing out a layer of sweat he hadn't realized had shimmered over his skin. 

They could have walked for two minutes or two hours for all Harry knew. He only opened his eyes again when he heard the telltale clicking of her car doors unlocking before (Y/N) started gently herding him into the passenger seat. 

"Need help?" she asked when he fumbled with the seatbelt with unsteady hands. 

Instinctively, Harry shook his head. She didn't need to take care of him, that was his thing, right? "I've got it." 

That was the truth for another half second before (Y/N) was leaning in and taking the buckle from his uncoordinated grip and reaching around to click it into place. 

"There," she smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead before drawing away.

His eyes fell closed again as she shut the passenger door and moved to take her spot on the driver's side. She cranked the air conditioning on as soon as the engine whirred to life, aiming the vents on him despite the shivers he was already going through. He didn't protest, though, only furrowing his brow under his hand that was once again shielding him from the leaking rays of the sun. 

"Try to sleep while I get us home, H," (Y/N) suggested, voice melting in with the hum of the engine. There was no music playing, the radio having been cut in favor of a much more palatable silence for the time being. His brain shrunk away from the exit plan through his ears—just a hair, but enough to help loosen the teeth-grinding clenching of his jaw. 

He gave a pathetic nod before falling into his window, his seatbelt some kind of uncomfortable, nylon hammock for his cheek. 

Despite the chill from the AC, the uncomfortable position he crushed himself into, and every ache going on in his body, it took all of two seconds before the world around him blurred and withered, sending him to sleep. 

—————

"I know, but you need to take it." 

Harry could have whined if his throat didn't hurt so much. He didn't want to take the medicine, didn't she get that? 

It stunk and made his eyes water, and it was going to take too long to kick in anyway. He knew he had a migraine, he just needed to sleep it off. He didn't need to take any cold medicine or nap in the bedroom while she took care of all the household chores by herself. Besides, he was feeling a little better anyway, they just needed to keep the house dark and quiet, that's all. 

Another crackly protest was about to leave Harry's dry lips until he heard a sniffle. Blinking his tired eyes open, (Y/N), still kneeling between his legs where he sat at the end of their bed, now had her head down, looking away from him. Her offerings of cold water and all his "needed" medicines were now tucked to her chest.

"Love..." he tried, trailing off when the crackling of his voice sent too many sparks of pain down his throat. 

"Sorry," she peeped, "I just—It's really upsetting me seeing you like this, H. I just want to help you, and I don't know how if you don't take these." 

An ache in his chest now joined everything else that hurt in him. He didn't like hearing the waver in her voice, how hurt she sounded. Almost as if she were on the edge of tears. 

For a moment, he attempted to shove himself into a better frame of mind. If it were her—his angel girl, love bug, sweet love of his life—showing any of these symptoms, and she was refusing to take any kind of medicine? He would also lose it just a little. 

Harry sighed—the sound coming out a bit nasally and not quite as deep of a breath as he anticipated—before reaching for her. "(Y/N), baby, don't cry. 'M sorry. I'll take it, yeah?" 

That was all that he needed to say before she was looking up at him again with a sweet smile, the sniffles and near tears gone. She blinked at him, the water and medicine offered to him once more. "Thank you, H. This will make me feel so much better, really." 

He narrowed his eyes at her, rethinking whatever that display was now that everything seemed to be just fine. Either way, he didn't have much of a choice as she shoved everything into his hands before rising to her feet and chattering off that she'd be right back. 

Now it was just Harry, a pink water bottle with stickers of bows and hearts, and liquid cold and flu medicine. And the extra fever reducer for later—just in case. 

He didn't even have a fever. 

If not for the fact he knew she'd come back and make sure he really did take it like he said he would, Harry would have stashed everything away on his bedside table and called it a day. But, he couldn't lie to his love, not like this. 

So, he measured out the dose of the cold medicine, had the water at the ready and took it in one swig. Just like he thought, it stung his throat on the way down and made his eyes water like he'd taken down mouthwash. His expression soured, even through the sips of water he pulled in, in hopes of clearing his palate of the taste. 

At the very least, his sinuses now felt a little bit clearer. 

A beat later, (Y/N) came back, thermometer in hand. "Not so bad, right?" she tried, encouraging smile on her face. 

"Right," Harry deadpanned, looking at her through the fan of his lashes. 

She immediately looked like a guilty puppy then, shying away under his gaze. "I promise it's gonna help, H. I'm sorry, really." 

"I know," he murmured, croaky voice soothed some thanks to the water. Hooking his hands around the back of her thighs, he pulled her to stand between his spread legs with his eyes on the thermometer in hand. "That next?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, "I want to make sure you're not too high or anything. It's...not good that you're not remembering conversations, so I just want to double check." 

Back again was that deep concern on her face, swimming through her eyes and molding around her features. Harry couldn't be upset about any of her requests when she looked at him like that. 

"Alright," he muttered, relenting right away as he opened his mouth, letting her slip the thermometer under his tongue. 

As soon as the results popped up, (Y/N) pulled the device from his mouth, peering at the screen with furrowed brows. Her expression fell at whatever she found. 

"What is it?" he asked, voice low enough that it didn't crack though it was far from smooth.

"You definitely have a fever, honey," she shared, lips puffed into a pout as she pushed his hair away from his face. "Lay down for a little while, the medicine should start working soon and it'll go down. I'll make some soup, too, and we can eat together, but you should sleep until then." 

His hands on the backs of her thighs squeezed. He could feel the way his features loosened just that much at her words, even his shoulders and neck going a bit lax as he canted his head. "Honey?" 

Her pout turns into a frown then. "You want honey? I can make you some tea, and I'll put some honey in it." 

"No, no," he mumbled, the protest smearing together as he pulled her that much closer to him, his forehead coming to rest on the soft of her tummy. Had she given him the PM version of the cold medicine? "You called me honey. Again."  

His words were slightly muffled against her top, but he was sure she would hear him. She always did.

"Is that okay?" she asked after a beat, her fingers in his hair making a slow rhythm through the strands. 

"Mhm," he sighed, nodding against her. God, she was so warm. So, so, so warm. "I like it, a lot." 

The sweet sound of a huffed giggle came from above him. "Okay. I'll remember that." 

Satisfied with that answer, Harry moved to hug his arms around her waist instead of the hold he had on her thighs. "Will you sleep with me? Please?" 

"H," she started, eyes already apologetic, "I need to clean up and then make you something to eat for when you wake up—"

"No," he cut her off, steeling his hold on her as he started falling back against the mattress, "Stay with me. It'll make me feel better." 

(Y/N) gasped, hands grabbing for his shoulders as she fell with him into the tufts of their baby pink bedding (he let her choose the theming of their bedroom). She twisted just right, keeping herself from falling onto him and instead next to him. As soon as she recovered from the scare of the fall, Harry could hear the excuses she was working up to again. 

He didn't give her a chance before he wiggled his way up to be level with her. He rested a large palm on her cheek, cradling her face in his hand. 

"Please," he tried again, the slow blink he gave her was unintentional but seemingly effective when he saw her crumble right then. 

She pursed her lips. "For a little," she conditioned, "Then I need to get up and do everything. Just until you fall asleep." 

"Okay," he relented, uncaring of the terms she gave him. He knew her better than he knew himself: she wasn't going to leave him. 

It didn't matter that once they had righted their position in bed, Harry stripped down to his boxers and (Y/N) in something more comfortable than her school clothes (no outside clothes in bed, a rule once they moved in together), his eyes closed nearly immediately once his head hit the pillow. 

He knew she'd be right there when he woke up again.

—————

Every bone in Harry's body seemingly popped in unison when he stretched out. Consciousness came to him slowly, his first dreamless sleep of the day having sucked him in and kept him down and in the same position for hours on end. He was sure there were creases all over his cheek and arm where he had laid on them, knowing he hadn't moved an inch since he fell asleep.

Eyes still closed, he reached blindly for the warm body he expected to feel at his side. 

Instead, he only got handfuls of cool sheets. That wasn't what he fell asleep with. 

Harry laid there, frown etched on his face while he grasped the empty sheets. He wanted to go look for her, but his body still ached, even as he laid on the soft mattress. At the very least, his nap seemed to have willed away his migraine, but every other symptom remained. The cold medicine took the edge off the worst of it; including the fever he had to have been running earlier if the way his hair was pasted to the back of his neck, and the damp cling of the sheets to his back was anything to go by. 

He took his time, pulling in heavy breaths through his scorched throat until he finally forced himself to peel his eyes open. The dark of their bedroom was a welcome sight. The heavy curtains—a detail installed at (Y/N)'s request—were drawn tight with their door closed to the rest of the house, and whatever noise could be happening over the threshold. At his feet, Evie was curled into a small roll, tail draped over her nose. She ignored him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, a crackling sigh leaving him that caused a round of coughs to leave him. 

Wincing into his elbow, Harry paused where he sat until he was able to catch his breath once more. Goosebumps rose over his skin when he felt the hardwood under his feet, suddenly entirely too cold in only his boxers. He moved in a daze through the room, blindly reaching for a pair of sweat shorts from a pile he still needed to organize into his dresser drawers—something he had planned on doing when he came home from work when he had gotten ready this morning. 

Making it out of the bedroom, Harry almost winced away at the extra light he was now confronted with. But, he decided, he'd brave it for his girl. He missed her. He hated waking up without her, finding empty sheets at his side broke his already achy heart a bit. 

Down the stairs, he heard the television operating at a low hum, her favorite reality show of the moment filtering through. Sniffling through his stuff sinuses, he caught a whiff of the soup she had teased earlier, fragrant and warm. 

His descent down the steps quickened. 

Making it to the landing, Harry caught sight of (Y/N) with their laundry basket nearly full of folded articles of clothing, the rest of the dryer-warm pieces in a pile on the sofa. Her attention was placed fully on the tv, jaw dropped as she listened to the couple arguing on screen. With how absorbed she was in the program, he was surprised she was still even folding. 

A small crackling laugh left Harry when she gasped at whatever had been said.

Tearing her attention from the screen, she whipped around to face him with wide eyes, hands pausing on the pair of pants she was folding. 

"Harry," she crooned, eyes quickly scanning over him in assessment, "I didn't know you woke up. How are you feeling?" 

He cleared his throat before starting in her direction. "'M alright," he muttered, keeping his broken voice low. "Y'weren't there." 

Quickly folding away the bottoms she had in her hands, she canted her head at him, hands landing on his forearms while his own settled on her waist. "What do you mean?" 

Harry didn't care how pathetic he looked as he pouted down at her just before curling into her, head tucked into her neck. "Y'said you'd stay with me. Y'weren't there when I woke up. Why'd y'leave?" 

"Oh, H," she sighed, moving to curl her fingers through his hair, the damp curls peeling away from his neck, "I'm sorry. I wanted to get things taken care of so I didn't have to worry about it when you were awake. And I promise you soup, right?" 

Hugging his arms around her waist, Harry wanted so badly to deny her, say he didn't care and didn't like her logic. But he knew her and knew that he'd have done the same. He'd be taking care of every little chore to ensure she had not a single thing to worry about when she woke up. And there's no way he'd leave her to go hungry, even if she whined and cried at him to stay in bed with him. 

As much as he didn't want to, he grumbled into her neck but nodded nonetheless. "Yeah." 

Drawing away from him, she met his gaze, her softened irises matching his own. "Go ahead and sit down, and I'll get you a bowl, okay? I'll finish up the laundry, and then we can sit together." 

The soft smile on her lips was so encouraging, too sweet to deny. There was a part of him that wanted to argue, tell her that he'd wait for her and help her along with the rest of the laundry basket. But he knew better. 

(Plus, there was a part of him that was starting to melt under this kind of attention a little. There was nothing more he loved than taking care of his love, seeing the way she'd look at him and how sweetly she'd reach for him and seek him out in any crowd. But this—having her dote on him, hold him, play with his hair—was starting to show him why she liked it so much.)

So, he let her lead him to the other end of the sofa, wrapping a throw blanket around his shoulders before leaving him with a lingering kiss to his forehead. He all but keened under the affection. She left him with the remote to change the tv to whatever he wanted to watch but he knew he wasn't going to take this from her. At the very least, he'd let her keep her love show on while he got everything else he wanted. 

It didn't take long before she came from the kitchen, bowl in both hands. It was cute to see the way she concentrated, making sure she didn't spill as she padded across the room. Placing the bowl on the coffee table before him, she dropped the spoon in. Chunks of potato floated through the herbed broth, fragrant garlic wafted throughout the room. Of course, a crusty chunk of bread was left to the side for him. 

"Do you want water or tea?" she asked, "Or I can go get you something else if you want." 

A warm smile bloomed over Harry's features. Nothing felt like being bathed in her attention. 

"Jus' water is okay, love," he murmured, "Thank you." 

"Okay," she nodded, pushing her hair out of her face, "Tell me if you change your mind, okay?" 

God, if he could kiss her right now without the worry of getting her sick. 

"I will, baby." 

—————

"Okay, H, rinse." 

Despite (Y/N)'s directions, Harry stayed exactly where he was, with his arms wrapped around her waist, head bowed for her to reach with shampoo sudsed hands. The steam from the shower warmed the entire room, having loosened every muscle, soothed each of his aching joints. While it had taken some coaxing to get him in here instead of just falling right back into bed—hence (Y/N) being in the shower with him—he was now dreading leaving the warmth of the spray. He could stay here forever at this point, especially with the way she had taken over washing his hair while letting him drape himself all over her. 

(A hidden perk of moving in together, he'd found. He'd showered with her more in the last few months than he had in the last year of their relationship. She seemed to be a bit less shy now that there wasn't the possibility of a roommate finding out why the water had been running for so long). 

"Harry," she sang, elongating the syllables of his name when he didn't move from her. "You've gotta rinse off, honey. Then we'll condition, soap up, and then we can go to bed." 

"You're not washing your hair?" he muttered, features souring. 

"No," she laughed, "I told you—that's why I have it pulled back. I'm going to do it myself tomorrow, I think." 

"Why not tonight? I can do it for you." 

She shook her head. "I'm not going to make you do that while you don't feel good, H. C'mon, we'll be quick." 

He sighed then, letting her pull him back from the home he'd burrowed into her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair while the water ran through the strands, the bubbles washing down the drain along with the weight of the day. Even though he argued with her before, he was sure he was going to feel so much better after this. 

Once he had been deemed ready, (Y/N) pulled him out of the spray of water. "Okay, conditioner." 

Harry shook his head, tightening his hold around her waist. "Jus' let me hold y'for a minute, love." 

"I thought you wanted to—" 

"Jus' for a minute," he insisted, pulling her to him with his head returning to the warmth of her neck. 

He was sure he was wetting her hair some, but (Y/N) didn't flinch from him. He felt her chest press flush to his as she pulled in a heavy breath, her own nose tucking against his shoulder. 

"Just for a minute."

—————

"H, just one isn't going to kill me. You know I take all my vitamins and whatever. I'll be fine, I promise." 

Harry had to close his eyes against the flutter of (Y/N)'s lashes as she blinked at him. Her skin was still warm from their shared shower, fresh sheets slipping around their tangled forms, and she was taking full advantage of just how pliant he was against his crumbling defenses. 

Who knew a goodnight kiss would inspire such a spirited debate?

"'M not risking it, baby. I feel like shit, and 'm not going to make y'go through that if I can help it." In hopes of ending the argument, he tossed an arm over middle with his head aiming to nose against the crook of her neck. 

Until (Y/N) dodged him. She moved right out of his way, looking at him with near-offended eyes and hand on his bare chest. 

"Harry, please," she begged, "We've never gone to bed without a goodnight kiss. I don't care if I get sick." 

"Well I do," he countered, voice crackling through his swollen throat. 

"Then you worry for the both of us, I'll take a kiss instead." 

He couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. He shook his head against the down pillow. 

"You're spoiled, you know that?" Shifting, Harry propped himself up with an elbow under him, hovering over her. 

(Y/N) knew she won by then, evidenced by the way she let a bright smile bloom across her mouth. "And whose fault is that?" 

A loud laugh left him, the sound dry and scratchy through his throat. "What happened to my sweet girl? Now y'jus' love arguing with me." 

A pout puffed her lips. "No, I don't. Do you feel like I fight with you a lot?" 

"No, love," he sighed, ducking his head until the very tip of his nose grazed hers, his hair falling into a dark curtain around them, "'M just teasing you. You're always sweet to me, 'specially today." 

"Yeah?" she smiled, the word barely a breath between them, "I did good today? Taking care of you?" 

"So good," he affirmed, nudging his nose against hers, "Always take care of me, you know that. That's why you're gonna get one kiss, then we're going to bed." 

(Y/N) didn't need to be told twice, surging upwards to press her lips to his. Harry took on the brunt of the control, ensuring she didn't try to deepen anything further than she needed to tonight. Only a soft kiss was shared between them, sweet and loving before Harry helped relax her back into the mattress. 

Instead of letting him draw away, she kept him close with her hands on his jaw, pressing soft kisses to both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his forehead, and down to his lips once more. He released him then, warmth bubbling under her skin, Harry surely matching that warmth with his own manifesting in a soft flush touching his cheeks. 

"Love you," she told him, letting him burrow against the crook of his neck. He could be the one to hear her heartbeat tonight. 

"I love you, too, baby. So much." he murmured into her throat, "Thank you." 

With her fingers combing through his hair, Harry didn't think he minded getting sick anymore. Not when he had her. 

—————

Or the small transfer he’d sent to your account last week to cover rent, just so you didn’t have to stress. Or maybe it’s the way he cleaned up your entire apartment last week, whistling while he folded your laundry like it was no big deal.

The truth is…the little things he does turn you on more than anything else ever could.

And now he’s standing in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, doing your dishes.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the way his big hands fumble with the soap bottle, how he hums softly under his breath while stacking plates with ridiculous precision. He looks over his shoulder and flashes you the softest smile, and suddenly your stomach flips.

“Almost done in here,” Clark says cheerfully, like it’s totally normal for Superman to spend his evening scrubbing your plates.

God. You’re doomed.

“You know you don’t need to do my dishes,” you said, leaning your head against the wall. “I was about to do them.”

He turned off the water, grabbed a rag, and looked at you. No glasses, no hiding—just those ridiculous blue eyes that always saw right through you. You bit your lip without meaning to. Fuck.

“I know,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “I just wanted to… you know, take care of you.”

God. That simple sentence should’ve been harmless. But it wasn’t. It made your stomach twist. Made your thighs ache.

“You really make it hard for other men to even exist,” you muttered, walking closer.

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I’m just glad you’re home. You looked tired this morning.”

Of course he noticed. He always noticed.

You step closer until you’re standing in front of him. On your tiptoes, you press a soft kiss to his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His hands find your waist, pulling you in, kissing you back. He breaks away a few moments later, cheeks flushed, a small smirk playing on his face.

“What was that for?” he asks.

You glance up at him, feeling that ache coil in your stomach. “Just… missed you today,” you murmur, leaning in for another kiss.

“I missed you too,” he says between kisses. “But I know you didn’t eat much today.”

He presses one last lingering kiss to your lips before walking toward the counter and picking up his phone. You can’t help but frown.

“Let’s order your favorite—Thai, right?” he says, scrolling through the menu.

You don’t reply. You can’t. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the way his shoulders move as he scrolls, the small crease in his brow when he concentrates. Every little thing he does—just being Clark—is suddenly impossibly hot.

A few days later, Clark decided it was time to assemble the new IKEA chair he had bought for you. He walked in carrying the boxed chair—and a small bouquet of your favorite flowers tucked under his arm.

You froze for a second, blinking at him.

“Are you serious?” you asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

He set the box down and handed you the flowers with a soft smile. “Just thought you could use these.”

Of course he would think of this—thoughtful, sweet. And somehow, all of it was making you ache. You took the flowers from him and carried them over to the kitchen counter, placing them carefully in a vase.

Then you sat down on the couch, resting your head on your palm, practically drooling as you watched him. Every movement, every bend, every small frown of concentration had you biting your lip, thighs clenching, and cheeks burning.

“Uh… I think this goes here?” he muttered, holding a piece awkwardly in his big hands.

You leaned closer, unable to tear your eyes away.

“Yeah… I think so. Do you want me to help?”

Clark shook his head, smile shy but determined. “Nah, I got this. Just sit there and look pretty.”

Your stomach flipped. He didn’t even realize how ridiculously hot it was that he was doing this for you—just bending over the chair, muscles flexing slightly with every movement, focused on making something for you.

“Need a screwdriver?” you asked, but your voice came out softer than you intended, and Clark looked up at you with that wide, clueless grin.

“I… actually, yes. That would help,” he said, and when you handed it to him, your fingers brushed. Just a brush, but enough to make a shiver run up your spine.

He didn’t notice. Of course he didn’t. He never did. But you? You couldn’t look away. The way he worked, the way he laughed softly at himself when a screw slipped, the way his shirt clung just slightly to his shoulders… it was driving you wild.

“Almost… done,” he muttered.

You leaned a little closer than necessary, trying to be helpful but really just trying to watch him, your heart racing. “You’re doing great,” you said softly.

He flashed that gentle smile that always made your chest tighten. “All for you.”

Your knees went weak. “Clark…” you whispered, breath catching.

He looked up instantly, concern flashing in his eyes. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”

You froze for a second. And then he added softly, “I can hear your heartbeat… it’s really fast.”

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks. Of course he could hear it—he’s Clark, he’s Superman… And your body betrayed you, trembling slightly despite yourself.

No, nothing was okay. He was too good, too sweet, too responsible. And it was making you lose your mind.

You got up and straddled his lap, brushing against his chest, and tugged gently on his tie. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, do you?”

Clark blinked, confused. “I—I’m just… working on the chair?”

“Exactly.” Your voice dropped low, teasing. “You, being all… responsible. Taking care of me. Clark, it’s unfair how hot that is.”

His ears went bright red. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Only you would say that being competent is—”

He cut himself off when you kissed him, hard enough to make him stumble back a little, though you stayed straddling him. The Allen wrench clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“Chair can wait,” you whispered against his lips, hands tangling in his hair. Clark’s hands found your waist instantly, pulling you closer, still a little stunned.

But Clark… finally understood how much he affected you without even trying.