solnishka

It was a shame really. You’d day dreamed in far too many classes and touched yourself on far too many nights thinking about him and how it would feel crawling into his lap where you just knew, deep down, you should be – but alas, instead of you, Daphne was perched there as they sat in the common room late one Thursday evening, as she whispered god knows what into Theodore’s ear and he let his hands stroke eagerly at her waist a little too easily for your stomach to try and digest.

“You know, you could just tell him that you like him”, Pansy pointed out, flipping a page of the magazine she was reading without looking up at you. Your eyes had been glued across to where Theodore and Daphne sat; both warm and cosy in front of the fireplace. Hell, if it weren’t for the straggle of students still littering the dungeons you knew that they’d probably be fucking.

“It’s not that easy”, you reply, sighing as you shift to glance back at her; eyes evading the sight you simply couldn’t look away from. Or at least, you hoped it wasn’t obvious. To this, Pansy laughed. It wasn’t a giggle, but not quite a cackle. Something in between which vibrated against your skin uncomfortably.

“So then just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.” “DTF?”, you replied. “Down to fuck, baby girl.”

Your cheeks went red. “No – absolutely not. Fuck, no, never ugh – I just couldn’t.”

To this, Pansy merely shrugged and focused back on her magazine, “Your loss sweetheart.”

And so, you continued with the rest of your night, insanely jealous of the gorgeous blonde who had quite literally made herself comfortable on the object of your desire and wallowed in self-pity that you – the perfect prefect virgin – would more than likely at this rate; die with that honorific title.

That night, staring up at the ceiling of your dorm room was about as exciting was watching one of Trelawney’s predictions come to life. The pillow beneath your head felt softer than it should have. The curtains around you bed drawn closed. You’d suspected that a little masturbation might help clear your brain and send you into a deep lullaby state but before you could even drop your hand down between your thighs, Daphne-fucking-Greengrass came to mind and bang – night ruined.

‘Just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.’

Pansy’s words replayed in your mind as you tried to convince yourself that she was just crazy.

‘Just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.’

…maybe an owl was excessive, but a text message? No. What a stupid thing to think. That was bad right? Texting your best friend at whatever god awful hour it was just three letters and expecting him to act like a functioning individual. Surely Theodore would just laugh at you. It’d be pathetic, but most probably fucking humorous. Would he tell his mates? Would they laugh? Would they tell people? Would rumours be started? Would you be known as the witch who couldn’t scratch her itch? Perhaps Colin Creevy would take a photo of you and send it to Rita Skeeter who would publish it as front page news. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck no… this was ridiculous.

Take a breath and calm the fuck down.

With your phone in your hand, you deliberated on the text to send – typing and erasing the words ‘can we talk’ and eventually, giving in to Pansy’s suggestion and just sending ‘dtf’. If anything, you could play it off as some cruel prank that Ms Parkinson had played on you and act naïve.

The word ‘sending’ appeared on your screen for far too long as you watched your wifi bars dwindle and strengthen. Eventually, the word disappeared entirely. Dropping your phone to your chest, you went back to staring up at the ceiling; not expecting a reply with how late it was, and yet to your surprise, less than a minute later, you felt a buzz against your breasts. Plucking the phone up – you glanced at the screen.

Teddy: Open the door.

Alright – pushy.

Swinging your legs off the bed, you waded past your curtains and with soft footsteps as to not wake up anyone else who was asleep, tip toed across the room to unlock the door. Behind it, resting against the door frame - Theodore huffing and puffing in plaid pyjama pants that hung far too low on his hips to be considered casual and no shirt on.. because honest, why would he?

“…you okay?”, you asked a little concerned. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon. “Yes.” The word came out faster than you could have imagined and god, did it sound like a dream as it was panted. “Are you sure?”, you pushed. Once again, he repeated himself. “Yes.” “Is this about the text?” “Yes.” “Are you here to tease me?” “No”, he changed up his answer; yet after a final ragged breath, he shook his head from side to side. “Well.. technically – yes.” “Technically?”

Theodore didn’t hold back stepping in to capture you in a kiss that sent stumbling backwards. If it weren’t for his hands cupping your face you’d have probably tripped or melted into a heap right there on the floor. What were you supposed to do with your hands? Touch him? Fuck – he was shirtless. Was this allowed? You didn’t know. Well, you didn’t need to – your hands found their way to his waist with the softest touch imaginable causing the muscles of his abs to flex slightly and boy with the groan that he made into your mouth you could have orgasmed right there and then.

Before you could make out anything else happening, your were being led backwards; thighs hitting the bedframe before Theodore whispered jump and you did so, catching you in his arms for just long enough to throw you back against your bed. Slipping past the curtains, the mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled above you – caging you in; lips nipping at that sensitive spot on your neck you never knew you had as your back arched willingly.

“Theo--.”

You could barely get his whole name out as he settled between your thighs and rocked his hips against your own; your legs parting wider than you’d intended. Trailing a pepper of kisses across your skin and down your throat, he used his teeth to pop open the buttons of your pyjama top and took in your scent – that fruity strawberry perfume you’d brought on a whim once in Hogsmeade last year. Absolute perfection.

“Can I?”, the words he spoke sounded suspiciously like a beg. You nodded before you could whimper out a yes that sounded more like an ‘uh-huh’ and that was all it took for Theodore to curl his fingers around the hem of your pyjama shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs with a soft, smooth drag that you assisted with mercifully. Biting your lip, unsure of where this was going, you were mortified to watch him drop his head down and –

“Oooh..”

One lick straight up your core between your folds that you hadn’t noticed were dripping wet and you fell silent. Mouth falling into a perfect O-shape, your eyes widened, pupils exploding as he began to devour you slowly – surely – like a last meal he wanted to both savour and never forget. A finger finding its way into your mouth, you bit down on a knuckle harshly and suppressed a moan that you were sure would have woken the entire dorm. It would have worked had Theo not suddenly sucked at your clit which was far too over sensitive and not yet received any attention.

“OH MY GOD!”

Quick thinking on his behalf had a hand come up to cover your mouth as a string of lewd phrases and moans rambled against his palm. Your nails scraping at the bedsheets, your fingers weren’t sure where to go but hearing Theodore pop off your clit with a delicious smack and half push up to gaze at you; your hands quickly froze.

“You alright, principessa?”

It wasn’t what Theodore asked, but how he said it before placing two fingers in his mouth to suck on and gently rub at your entrance that made your whole body quiver as your eyes rolled back. Nodding nervously, you bit your bottom lip and tried to take a deep breath – nervous, excited, squeamish.

“It’s okay – we’ll take our time. I know your new to this. Fuck.. have I told you tonight that you look beautiful?”

You could feel your arousal drip out and coat your thighs, the bed; you were wet and so were his fingers, and chin, and ugh, those blue eyes of his looked oh so glossy and innocent as circled your entrance and slowly slid a finger in. You tensed. He stopped at the first knuckle. You didn’t breathe. He talked you through it. Whimpering in pleasure, pain, pride, prudence your body accepted his fingers more and more. Knuckle by knuckle, inch by inch. First one. Then another.

“You’re doing so well my girl, so well.”

His girl? Did he want you to faint at this rate? Gosh – having said that would have worked. I mean, hell – it did. You were already a mess. Metaphorically and figuratively. Trying not to lose yourself, you worked through the feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of you – the way he scissored them apart ever so gently; the way his thumb curled up to draw stars on your clit that matched the ones you were seeing in your eyes. His breath warm and inviting against your skin. This was so much better than touching yourself – so much better than daydreaming. Without realising it; you rocked your hips a few times shamelessly, trying to chase the feeling.

When Theo felt he’d worked you open enough; he removed his fingers – causing a murmur of disappointment to escape you as he crawled up the bed and asked a husky, “You sure about this?”, to have you almost pleading with a high pitched “please”, as he fiddled with his waist band; pyjama pants shimmying down lower and down to his knees as his thick, hard, heavy cock sprung free, smacking his stomach with a glistening pre-cum bead. Oh the sound..

“If it’s too much – tell me yeah?”

You couldn’t respond. He was breathing whilst you’d forgotten how to. Sliding his cock between your folds; the mushroom head catching your clit that almost made you scream; Theo lined up at your entrance, ordered in a whisper for you to look at him and used the wetness of your cunt to slowly push in. he took his time, stretching you wide and suddenly, the earlier scissoring made sense.

“Fuck.. Nott.. holy--.” “--Salazar.”

The two of you stopped for a moment. You let out a pant. He swallowed a groan.

Another inch in. You winced. He had a hand on your hip. Your nails clawed into his shoulders. The both of you moaned.

Gritting your teeth; a hiss of air blew through them as he sunk in once more; filling you entirely to the hilt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Oh there was no way you’d go back to touching yourself after this. Pausing; Theodore shifted both hands to your thighs and held the outside of them firmly as he rocked in and out of you with soft, paced thrusts that were every inch as good as your dreams. “J-just…f-feel-feels go-good-good.”

Were you convincing yourself, or him? The praise made Theodore snap his hips into you but after an almost scream he hadn’t expected that you let out, he put on the brakes. Calm and in control.  Each thrust pacing.

“So-fuck, so fucking tight.”

Now that was a given.

The apple of your cheeks flushed a hundred shades of red; your skin tingled, you bra felt too tight, your lips too dry, your body like a dream. Theodore’s breath was hitched once again – just like it had been at your door, just like you’d imagined it so many nights before – you, you best friend..

“A.. a little more?”, you coo’d with an innocent voice, but he knew better; stalling. “This is just perfect, bella. Take it easy yeah; take it slow..” “Would you be this slow with Daphne?”

What an idiot. Of course, you had to ask and potentially ruin the greatest fucking moment of your life; but you were surprised by his answer that came rather quick.

“Wouldn’t know.” Head lolling to one side, you felt your back arch again as his hands shifted from your thighs to your waist; firm and true. “She’s not you – hell.. have I told you that you’re beautiful?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Theo repeated his earlier words; caught in a daze – abs tightening at the same time your own stomach did. Thighs shaking; you tried your best to hold out a little longer, but with how he worked your clit and the sensations and the trying to keep quiet and the barely there moans and the tenderness and the way he kissed your jaw and stroked your hair and whispered your name into the crook of your neck – resistance was futile.

A warm sensation washed across you from head to toe. You clenched; body tightening in a way you didn’t know was possible as your hands knotted into his hair and pulled him up for a lip sealing kind of slow burn kiss. Theo pulled out; something hot and sticky painting your thighs, the sheets, his ego. You remembered how to breathe. He took each breath in as his own and fell off to bed beside you; an arm loosely trailing across your waist; watching you amorously.

“Next time…”, he caught his breath, “…don’t text so late.” “You know, you’re lucky you even got one.” “Pansy?”, Theo asked calmly. “She may have convinced me.. yeah”, you replied; half turning towards him.

Out of the blue – or maybe, not so out of it; a know it all sounding, “YOU’RE WELCOME!” is yelled across the room that you both giggle to.

“So”, you breathe; heart racing, cheeks from red to magenta to pink. “Yeah…”, Theo replies; chest rising and falling a little harder making him struggle to speak. “We should do that again sometime.” “Oh yeah.” “Yeah.” "Sounds like a plan", he murmurs, curling against your side and nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Oh and your lap…”, you mutter, “…I think you should start reserving that spot just for me.”

The first time you met Steve, you almost slapped him.

His reputation preceded him. Even your freshman year at Ohio State University, fresh out of rush week, you’d heard plenty about Sigma Chi pledge Steve Harrington. They were singing his praises from day one—he was handsome, a baseball genius, the life of any party. He commanded the attention of any room he stepped into. You were a little sick of him to begin with from how your Delta Gamma sisters wouldn’t shut up about him for two seconds even before that first party.

And when you walked into the Sigma Chi house for the first time, you didn’t even need to be told which one was the Harrington. The world gravitated around him like he was the sun itself, and he seemed to glow like it, too. He was handsome, devastatingly so. His smile was blinding. He had a stupidly good head of hair, gorgeous sun-kissed skin dotted with moles like constellations, and big hazel eyes that made him look deceptively sweet.

You’d met eyes from across the room, and at the time, it had felt like something clicking into place. Two puzzle pieces who had finally found where they belonged. Your breath hitched as he left the group he was talking to and sauntered over, that brilliant smile now directed specifically at you and you alone. Your heart had felt like it might burst from your chest.

“Oh my god,” one of your sisters, Margot, had said, grabbing onto your arm. “He’s coming over here.”

He didn’t even glance at her. He only looked at you. He wore a polo with jeans that fit him just right, a red plastic cup clutched in his large hand. When he reached you, you could smell his cologne, something intoxicating that made your head spin. He really was everything everyone had promised.

And then he opened his mouth.

“Hi,” he’d said, extending a hand towards you. “I’m Steve. And you are fucking beautiful.”

Embarrassingly, you’d giggled like a total fool, given him your hand, and introduced yourself. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

He’d actually taken your hand and kissed your knuckles, like the prince he absolutely saw himself as. And then, that suave grin turned into something more like a cocky smirk, a look you’d grow to know and loathe. “You know, you look like a girl who deserves the very best,” he’d said. “And, wouldn’t you know it—by sheer coincidence, you’re looking at the best this frat has to offer.”

Okay, a little eye roll worthy, but that wasn’t abnormal for these frat guys. You’d raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what could you possibly offer me?”

His smirk had widened, and he moved in, grabbing you by the hip and pulling you against him. “Oh, things beyond your wildest dreams, baby,” he’d murmured, even as you gasped at the sheer audacity of this guy. “Why don’t we go up to my room and I can show you?”

You’d shoved him back by his chest, making him stumble, the beer in his cup sloshing over the sides and onto his light blue shirt. “You’re a fucking perv.”

Steve’s expression had immediately transformed into something harder, all traces of the charming smile from moments ago completely erased. “What the fuck?”

“You don’t get to just walk up and touch me. I don’t even know you.” You’d scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Does that actually work for you?”

“Yeah, actually,” he’d said, looking at you with pure distaste now. “With girls who aren’t an uptight cocktease.”

You’d laughed, but only in an attempt to keep yourself from punching this guy square in the jaw. “Oh, wow. Fuck you.”

“Fuck me, huh?” he’d said, that stupid smirk back in place. “You know, that’s a good idea, maybe it would help if I got that stick out of your ass and gave you something else—“

“Oh-kay, let’s go get a drink!” Margot had said, dragging you away before you could land the slap you were winding up. You heard him laughing behind you, the sound loud and infuriating.

“See you around, baby!” he’d called after you. Margot just dug her fingers into your arm, pulling you to a completely different part of the house as fast as she could.

Things with Steve did not improve after that. And, unfortunately for you, you couldn’t escape him. He was everywhere you turned. Not only the golden boy on campus—his photo was used on any and all promotions for the championship winning baseball team—but, soon, also the president of Sigma Chi. And your houses went hand in hand.

Every party you went to, Steve was there, holding court among his adoring subjects. The guys on campus thought he was the coolest guy who ever lived, and the girls were practically stepping over each other for a chance with him. You attempted to keep your distance, but Steve loved annoying you more than he loved the girls begging to go up to his bedroom.

Delta Gamma also partnered with Sigma Chi for just about everything. As the top houses, it was just a given. Every event, every fundraiser, every charity event and mixer and rager. As much as you adored everything about your sorority and had always felt like you’d made the wrong choice, Steve was the one thing that made you question it.

It was no secret, either. Everyone knew you and Steve hated each other. Steve’s frat brothers found it hilarious, while your sisters tried their best to keep you away from each other. You just couldn’t get along—being in each other’s space for too long always ended in disaster. A loud argument, heated insults, or sometimes even a thrown drink, if Steve was feeling extra mouthy that night. You were best kept far away from one another.

You’d grown close with another girl who’d pledged Delta Gamma, Nancy. Nancy was sweet and smart and although you loved all your sisters, you’d clicked with her immediately. Nancy also happened to know Steve well. They’d grown up together, even dated briefly in high school.

“Steve is an asshole,” Nancy had told you, confirming everything you already thought. “Seriously, don’t let him try to charm you. He’s full of it.”

It kind of seemed like you and Nancy were the only ones who saw it, though. Of course there were the girls he’d already scorned, but the vast majority of the Ohio State female student population were head over heels for Steve Harrington. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes every time you saw it.

That would never be you.

Your junior year had just begun, and by the end of September, homecoming season was well underway. Sigma Chi had already partnered with Delta Gamma, a surprise to no one.

What was a surprise was that you had a chance at being crowned queen this year. Homecoming court was something you’d never given much thought to. Your attention was already divided in so many directions—between your classes and honor society, track, event planning and sorority obligations with being Social Chair, and being a TA for the first time this year, you were booked and busy. The crown was the least of your concern. Even now, you didn’t stress about it. Everyone knew your chapter president, Lindsey, would be taking the crown anyway.

The week of homecoming itself was always busy and filled with excitement—stuffed full of events and activities, a good chunk of which you had a hand in planning. But still, courting had begun, and Tommy Hagan had been going all out to catch your attention.

It started with a bouquet of flowers so huge you had to divide them up into three different vases just to display them in a way that didn’t look ridiculous. Then, it was the food. Fruit baskets, a mini cake, so much of your favorite candy and chocolate you had to beg your sisters to eat some of it. The day you walked out of the house to the entire OSU choir serenading you on the front lawn, you’d been utterly speechless.

Tommy was nice enough, you guessed. If you had to partner with someone, he wasn’t the worst choice. That would be Steve Harrington, who, by expectations alone—because Steve didn’t put much effort into anything that wasn’t baseball or getting his dick wet—was courting Lindsey. He didn’t even have to try and he knew it.

There was a new gift or grand gesture from Tommy daily, while Steve had sent a single box of milk chocolates, a half dozen and definitely the cheapest on the shelf even though everyone knew the Harringtons were absolutely loaded—and Lindsey was allergic to dairy. You could tell she was annoyed about it, but she was going to partner with Steve regardless. Every time you brought another elaborate gift into the house, the look she gave you was cold and cutting. It was…awkward.

At least for now, you could push thoughts of homecoming from your brain. It was Saturday night, and you were ready to have some fun. Or at least try to, because you were about to walk right into King Steve’s kingdom.

You’d think you would have gotten used to his presence by now, but he never got any less annoying. It’s not like you could just skip every party. Everyone knew Sigma Chi threw the best parties of any frat on campus. Were you just not supposed to go because the president was a total pain in the ass? You could kiss your social status goodbye real fast.

Sometimes you’d get lucky and wouldn’t see him at all the whole night. Maybe just a flash of his stupid hair, or the sound of his laugh from another room. A glimpse at his cocky smirk as he led some poor girl up to his room. And other nights, he seemed hell bent on annoying you as much as possible.

You really, really hoped for the former tonight. You walked into the house with Nancy and Margot, the bass already thumping, the place overrun with college students in various states of intoxication. You looked good, you knew you did. Tiny skirt that showed off your legs, a top that displayed just enough chest to have guys staring every time they walked past. Not that that was hard.

“Do you want me to get us drinks?” Nancy asked, leaning over to yell over the music right in your ear. You nodded, and she gave you a soft smile before pushing her way through to the kitchen.

There was no sign of Steve so far, which you hoped was a good omen. Your eyes scanned the room, mostly familiar faces, but a decent amount of freshmen you hadn’t gotten to know well yet were there, too.

Nancy was back quickly, walking through the crowd holding the two red cups up high in an attempt to not spill them or get anything on her white blouse. She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached you, handing you a drink.

“It’s a total madhouse in there,” she said. “Like, more than usual.”

“How many new pledges are there this year?” you asked, taking a sip of your beer. You linked hands with Nancy and began pushing through to the living room. You eventually found a place to stand against the wall, surveying the rest of the party.

“I have no idea,” she said. Her curls were pulled back on top with a bow, and she held her drink between both delicate hands. “It’s gotta be more than last year, right?”

It certainly seemed like it. The Sigma Chi parties were always intense, but it felt like you could barely move. “With Harrington in charge this year, who knows.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “God, I know. When I heard he was president, I almost thought about dropping out.”

You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your beer. “At least in two more years, I’ll never have to see him again.”

“Lucky you,” Nancy grumbled. “I’m sure I’ll always be seeing him at some point when I’m back in Hawkins for holidays. It’s like I can’t escape him.”

The sound of your name being called caught your attention. You looked around, looking for the source—and saw Tommy Hagan on his way over, hand held up in a wave and a bright smile on his freckled face.

“Here comes your loverboy,” Nancy mumbled into her cup, looking away like she was minding her own business.

“Hey,” Tommy said as he reached you. He wasn’t as bad as Steve, but they were best friends and looked like they could have shared a wardrobe. He wore a dark red polo and jeans, one hand now in his pocket and the other holding his own drink. “Wow, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smiled politely. “Um, thanks for the flowers this morning. Blue this time, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his smile somewhat sheepish as he ran a hand through his short hair. “I was thinking, like, a different bouquet for every color of the rainbow, or something.”

You nodded, eyebrows raised. “Ooh, yeah. I see the vision.”

A soft blush colored the pale skin on his cheeks. “Did you like them?”

He was being so sweet, you couldn’t help but soften. You weren’t interested in Tommy romantically, but you were happy to partner with him if that’s what he wanted. “They were beautiful. Seriously.” His eyes lit up, and at the fear of yet another bouquet to make your bedroom look even more like a greenhouse, you added, “But I am starting to run out of room to put vases.”

Tommy laughed softly, looking down at the floor. “Yeah. Maybe I should try to get creative.”

A shout came from the sliding glass back door, drawing all of your attention behind him. “Hagan! Come out here and show the new brothers how a keg stand is done!”

Tommy turned back to you. “Sorry. Duty calls, I guess,” he said, although he didn’t look all that sorry. Sigma Chi took their keg stands very seriously. “I’ll catch you around later though, yeah? You’re not planning to turn in early or anything?”

“I’ll be here,” you confirmed, drinking from your cup again. “Go show ‘em, Hagan.”

His grin only widened. “See you later, beautiful.”

You watched him go, laughing softly as he immediately switched gears from gentleman to frat bro the second he reached the back door.

“Please let him be done with the bouquets,” Nancy said as soon as he was gone, done acting like she hadn’t been paying attention the whole time. “I’ve already got half of the flowers in my room.”

The party went on, and eventually you lost Nancy to the crowd. She’d started seeing this guy a few weeks ago, Vance, a transfer student who had her totally smitten like you’d never seen before. While Nancy had always been your partner at these parties—more like your shield from Steve Harrington—she’d started wanting to spend more time with Vance, and who were you to stop her?

It wasn’t until later in the night, when you were leaning against the wall with yet another drink, that you finally saw him. Or heard him, rather, because his obnoxious loud voice and laugh usually entered a room before he did. At least he had a warning bell, you thought.

When Steve entered the living room with his friends, telling some story that was definitely not funny enough to warrant how hard they were laughing, you thought about making a run for it. But then his eyes locked with yours from across the room, and he shot you that stupid fucking smirk that made you irritated immediately. And he knew it.

He stared at you even while he kept talking to his friends, and you stared back. He liked to do these little power plays. Even the women around him weren’t drawing his attention away. And finally, much to your disappointment, he turned away long enough to excuse himself before walking straight for you.

You really regretted not making your escape while you had the chance.

Steve greeted you by your last name, something none of the other guys did, since they cared about actually impressing you. “How sweet of you to grace my house with your presence. I almost didn’t expect you to show.”

You scoffed. “Just because you’re president this year doesn’t mean you’re special—“

“Actually, it does,” he smirked. “This is my kingdom, baby.” He held his arms out, as if the opulent house crammed full of sweaty, drunk college students was supposed to impress you. “And you’re talking to the king.”

You couldn’t have rolled your eyes harder if you tried. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk? It’s like everything you say comes from the official douchebag handbook.”

His smirk only widened. “Maybe it does. Maybe I even wrote it.”

“Steve, I’m not even sure you can read.” You shook your head, looking off to the side, searching for any lifeline out of this conversation with your least favorite person on earth. “Why are you over here bothering me, anyway? Don’t you have some poor girl to flatter long enough to get in her pants?”

“I’d much rather get under that skirt,” he quipped. When your head snapped back in his direction, eyes practically glowing with the fire behind them and the promise of pouring your drink all over his dark blue shirt and stupid khakis, he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I came over because you looked fucking miserable. Why do you always look so bored? You’re at a party.”

“I’m not bored,” you retorted simply.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, leaning a hand against the wall next to you. “You look pissed off to even be here.”

“That’s because you’re talking to me.”

Steve laughed, which was maybe your least favorite sound in the world. “Every time I see you here, you look bored. Like you think you’re too good to even be here.”

“Well, unfortunately, Sigma Chi has the most annoying guy possible as their president, so…” you trailed off, a hand on your hip. You took a sip from your beer again, but you would need a lot more alcohol to make Steve’s presence bearable.

He hummed, as if he were considering it. “I don’t know. I think you feel like you’re above all this.” He gestured around the room. “Why would you join a sorority if you hate parties so bad?”

“I don’t hate parties,” you argued. And it was true—you didn’t. You could have plenty of fun at a party. You were Social Chair.

“Well, whatever it is, you’re bringing down the mood,” he said. He downed the rest of his own drink, sitting the empty plastic cup on the mantel, where it would surely sit until some poor pledges were tasked with cleaning the whole place tomorrow.

“I don’t think anyone cares what I’m doing,” you muttered. “Other than you, for some fucking reason.”

Steve grinned again. “I know what you need.”

“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows. “Is it for you to leave me alone and never speak to me again? Because I could agree with that.”

“You need to get high.”

That made you pause. “What?”

His smile grew. “I think you need to loosen up. Like, a lot.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the staircase. “I could roll us a joint. I wanted to go smoke anyway.”

You just blinked at him. “You’re—“ You were genuinely stunned. “You’re inviting me to go up to your room and smoke? This isn’t, like, some weird attempt to have sex, right? Because that is never gonna happen—“

“No, Jesus,” he laughed. “I just think you need to stop being so damn uptight for once. It would help, believe me.”

“I’ve smoked before, I’m not some prude,” you mumbled, because you knew that’s exactly what Steve saw you as. “If you’re offering, why can’t you just, like…roll me one and bring it back down here?”

“I keep the good shit hidden in my room,” he shrugged. “Otherwise, these assholes would steal it all. They don’t need to know about it.”

You hesitated, because no matter how badly you wanted to accept the invitation for some free weed, it came with a worse cost—spending time one on one with Steve Harrington. He looked at you expectantly while you looked around the room, biting the inside of your cheek as you fought with yourself over it.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But we smoke, and then I’m coming right back down here and finding Nancy.”

“Deal,” he smirked. “At least you’ll be more fun. We have a reputation here, you know.”

You rolled your eyes yet again as he turned, leading the way back to the staircase. The crowd always seemed to part for Steve like he was true royalty, a deep seated respect that you personally would never understand. Your eyes darted around to every face you passed, absolutely mortified at the idea of someone seeing you following him upstairs, but no one seemed to notice.

The polished wood of the banister was smooth beneath your palm as you followed. You’d never even been up these stairs at all, the second floor a total mystery you had never been too eager to uncover. Steve’s shoes thudded against the shining hardwood floors, passing room after room occupied with couples, some of them not even bothering to close the door all the way. You scrunched your face up in disgust at one particularly shameless makeout session with the bedroom door wide open.

Steve reached a room at the end of the hall, turning to look at you over his shoulder before turning the doorknob, as if it were some grand reveal. You had to admit—only to yourself—but you were a little curious about what waited on the other side.

You trailed into the room behind him, closing the door behind you. You looked around as Steve kneeled by his bed, pulling out a shoebox. The bedroom was neat, bed made, clothes put away besides the ones piled in the laundry hamper. There was a desk with a lamp, soft light shining over a mess of papers and textbooks. His dresser was cluttered with hair products and a few bottles of expensive cologne. There were a few posters tacked to the walls, mostly sports related, a few of scantily clad women, and the year’s OSU baseball schedule. He had a bookshelf against one wall, holding his textbooks and a staggering amount of baseball trophies. A framed team photo sat on one shelf, along with one of all the Sigs taken at the beginning of the semester.

“Having fun?” Steve asked, making you jump slightly as you turned to look at him. He was sitting on his bed now, the shoebox open next to him. He was smiling at you as his fingers worked dexterously to roll the joint. “Didn’t know you could be so nosy.”

You scoffed, but your cheeks felt a little hot. “Shouldn’t have stuff sitting out if you don’t want people to look at it.”

He laughed. “You can look at whatever you want.” He licked along the seam of the joint, perfectly rolled. “Go ahead and search the whole room, if you want. The porn mags are in that drawer.” He nodded towards his nightstand.

You scrunched your face up. “Ew. You’re so gross.”

Steve laughed again as he put his baggie of weed and papers back in the box, pushing it beneath his bed again. You took a seat on the plush carpet, back leaning against his dresser. He placed a muscular arm on the end of the bed frame and lowered himself to the floor to sit across from you.

“You can do the honors if you want,” he offered, holding the joint out towards you.

There was a moment of hesitation before you reached forward, taking it from his fingers. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me,” you said, brows furrowed even as you placed the joint between your lips, flicking the lighter and holding the flame to the end.

“I’m not being nice to you,” he said. He still had that same look he always had when he looked at you, like it was one of his life’s greatest joys to piss you off, to get you worked up and upset. “Like I said, you’re ruining my party. Can’t have word spreading around campus that people are here looking bored. Sigs are the party kings of campus, and that’s not changing, especially not with me in charge.”

“Oh, right,” you said, exhaling that first cloud of smoke. “The new ruler can’t appear weak, and all that.”

“Exactly,” he smirked. He watched you take another hit, then leaned forward, accepting the joint back from you and taking a long pull himself.

“I don’t think anyone pays as much attention to me as you do, Steve,” you said. That warm feeling was starting to settle over you, and he was right—you were relaxing already. It was the first time you’d been in a room with him and didn’t want to scream or punch him.

His gaze was heavy on you as he hit the joint, looking at you with that intensity he always seemed to hold when you were in a room together. But now it was making you fidget, the room suddenly feeling hot.

“Who says I pay attention to you?” he finally asked. His voice was lower now, and when he leaned forward to pass the joint back to you, your fingers brushed together. It sent a jolt through your body, and you jerked your hand back quickly, bringing it to your lips to give yourself time to think before you spoke again.

“It’s kind of obvious.” Smoke billowed from your lips as you responded. The room was growing thick with it, a haze surrounding you both in and outside of your head. “Always staring at me, coming over just to annoy me…”

“It’s fun,” he admitted, laughing softly. He ran a hand through his hair, starting to lose its shape and flop into his wide hazel eyes. “Every time you get mad, you get that cute little furrow between your eyebrows, your lips get all pouty, and you roll your eyes about a million times.”

You paused—and then giggled, leaning forward to pass the joint back. “Seriously? I told you, you pay attention to me.”

Your laughter was starting to get Steve going too. He took another pull. “I mean, I notice things that are nice to look at. I’m only a man, after all.”

The laughter felt like something you could no longer control, bubbling up in your chest and filling Steve’s bedroom much like the smoke in the air. It was contagious, the two of you laughing together as you finished off the joint.

“You know you always say the cheesiest stuff possible,” you giggled, your body fully relaxed into the floor at this point. Your limbs felt heavy in the best way, like every bit of tension in your muscles had faded. “It’s kind of amazing how everyone thinks you’re so cool, because you’re kind of a total dork.”

Steve laughed hard, his head tilting back. You couldn’t help but notice the strong column of his throat, the way the muscles flexed in his neck and chest. “I have to get creative,” he said, fixing his eyes back on yours once again. “I aim to keep you entertained, after all.”

“I guess you do,” you smiled. “Annoyed, yes. Bored? Never.”

He watched you for a minute, something thoughtful seeming to cross his face. Your eyes locked in that way they often did, just staring. Seeing each other. Steve always had a way of making you feel like he could see right through you, and it made you wonder if he felt the same about you, too.

The fact that you were enjoying Steve’s company seemed to strike you all at once. It was confusing—maybe concerning—but for now, you were too high to care. He’d been right. This was what you needed.

Steve nudged your foot with his own. “I’ve never seen you look so peaceful,” he grinned. “Who knew there was more to you than being stuck up and…snobby.”

You snorted a laugh. “Fuck you, Harrington.”

The grin on his face grew. “Oh, would that help you relax some more?” he said, looking a little too proud of himself. “Because I’d be happy to help you with that, too.”

Your eyes widened, and Steve was pretty sure you were about to tell him off again—but then you tossed your head back, laughing harder than he’d ever heard from you. “Oh my god. In your dreams.”

Steve smirked, that same look you’d grown to know as cocky and insufferable, but right now, you didn’t seem to mind it. It was endearing, almost. Handsome, maybe. “Baby, you let me fuck you, and you’ll be dreaming about it for months.”

It’s like everything he said, every stupid, corny line that would usually have you irritated, was suddenly the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “You really think you’re god’s gift to women, huh?”

“I know I am.” He tilted his head to the side, body relaxed as he leaned back against his bed frame. “Never heard a single complaint.”

“That’s because girls know how to fake it,” you mumbled. “Guys can never tell.”

“Oh, I can tell.” His hands flexed where they rested on his thighs, the veins beneath his skin suddenly extremely distracting. “Some guys can’t, sure. But I know the difference between some fake pornstar moans to boost some pathetic dude’s ego, and how it really feels to make a girl fall apart.”

Your cheeks felt hot now. Your whole body did, even though your outfit didn’t cover much skin. “You’re not that good in bed.”

“How would you know?” he asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity and something like delight.

“I can just tell,” you answered quickly, looking down at the soft beige carpet beneath your bare thighs. “Guys never care about making girls feel good. Just themselves.” That’s how it had been with every guy you’d ever slept with. Not a single one had been different.

“I’m not other guys,” Steve said, voice lower now. It made your breath hitch in your throat, slowly raising your head to look at him. He was still smiling at you, but there was something different behind his eyes now, something heavy and burning.

You returned his smile, laughing softly even as you felt your heart speed up in your chest. “Yeah, well. I don’t think any guy is different in that department.”

“You wanna bet?”

That almost earned him another eye roll (playful this time, but still)—until he shifted, moving over to sit next to you. You tensed as you felt his shoulder brush against yours, feeling both electricity and heat even through the fabric of your clothes.

“Steve…”

His large hand came up slowly. Now he was looking at you in a way you’d never seen from him before. The familiar cocky smirk was gone, his soft lips parted slightly as his eyes raked over every part of you like he wanted to memorize the way you looked right now. Your chest rose and fell with your heavy breaths, watching his intense gaze travel slowly, taking his time. From your eyes, to your lips, down your throat. Lower, to your chest, but not in the pervy way he’d done in the past. No, it wasn’t that—it was…reverent. Like he was seeing something holy.

His hand finally moved, brushing your hair back softly. It made you draw in a sharp breath, chills spreading across the skin of your neck where he’d made contact.

“I like you like this,” he said, voice low and quiet. His eyes were locked on the side of your neck, where he’d just touched.

It took you a second to find your voice, although it came out more like a whisper. “Like…what?”

“Happy,” he said. His gaze finally moved to your eyes. “Comfortable. Real.” His eyes dropped to your lips. “You know, you’re really pretty when you smile like that.”

You were pretty sure you had to be dreaming, because in no world were you sitting in Steve’s bedroom while he looked at you like that. Like he wanted to kiss you. Like he was actually moving in, leaning in slowly to close the distance as if giving you all the chance in the world to run away—

You didn’t. Your eyes fell closed and then, with the force of a meteor crashing into the earth despite how soft and gentle it was, his lips met yours. His hand rested against the side of your neck while yours moved up to grip onto his bicep. He tilted his head slightly and your lips slotted together perfectly, moving together with a practiced kind of confidence and a sense of rightness you never should have felt with Steve Harrington ever.

There was no time to think with the way he was kissing you, slow and deep but utterly consuming. It was careful at first, exploratory. It felt so good, your lips moving with his like it was second nature. Steve was a good kisser. You knew he had plenty of experience, and it’s not like you didn’t, but he was taking the lead and you were happy to let him.

His tongue traced along your bottom lip, and you parted your lips on instinct. His tongue met yours with a soft groan that had you digging your nails into his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Steve laid you back on the soft carpet with way more care than you’d ever seen him show anything. He braced himself on a strong arm planted next to your head, never breaking the kiss for a single second. His body hovered over yours, one knee moving between your thighs where your skirt had fallen up around your waist, pressing against you through your panties. His free hand rested on your hip now, holding onto you. You let out a soft moan against his lips, delirious from every point of contact, rocking your hips down against his leg to feel that friction you craved so desperately.

He groaned, moving from your mouth to kiss across your jaw, down to your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin, giving you chills. Your breaths were coming in hard and heavy now, holding onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, eyes closed as you felt every sensation he provided.

“So pretty,” he murmured against your neck, grinding his knee against you to meet every needy movement. He nipped lightly at the sensitive spot below your ear. You could feel his smirk against your skin when you gasped, hips bucking against him in response. It made no sense how he knew exactly what to do, like he somehow knew your body better than you did.

“Steve…” you whimpered, the only word your brain could conjure.

“That’s it, baby,” he said. His breath was hot against your skin, sucking at your neck, biting then soothing the sting with his tongue. “Let me hear you. Gonna make you feel so good.” 

The hand on your hip slowly slid up the smooth skin of your side, rucking your shirt up. You sat up long enough to help him pull it off completely, leaving you in the lacy bra you wore beneath. He wasted no time lowering his head to mouth at the top of your breasts, practically burying his face in them, kissing and sucking and biting at the exposed skin.

“Always had the best fucking tits,” he moaned, losing himself in a way you could only describe as worshipful. He reached behind you to unhook your bra easily, pulling it away and tossing it to the side. He pulled back to look down at your body, the look in his eyes one of pure hunger. “Actually insane fuckin’ pair, Jesus Christ.”

You laughed, because yeah, there was the Steve you knew. That laugh turned into a gasp, then a moan, when he leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples.

“Fuck,” you gasped, hands shooting up to tangle in his hair. “Oh my god—“

He swirled his tongue around the stiff peak, groaning as he sucked on it. He grabbed the other, massaging your breast in his large hand, slightly calloused from years of pitching. The friction on your sensitive, hardened nipple was maddening, back arching and pushing your tits further into his face.

He never let up with the movements against your soaked cunt, either, even as he switched back and forth between your tits. Your clit was swollen and throbbing and begging for more, and you were pretty sure your panties were utterly ruined. You could feel the pleasure building in your core with an intensity that felt like it would completely take your breath away.

You’d never had a guy make you cum in your life, and now Steve Harrington was about to do it in five minutes, fully clothed, with his fucking thigh?

Steve could sense the tension coiling in your body—and he pulled away, taking away every delicious ounce of pleasure he’d been building.

Your eyes opened, still heavy lidded and hazy. “What—?”

“My bed,” he said, and you noticed he was breathing hard, too. “Not gonna fuck you for the first time on the floor.”

You didn’t give yourself time to think about his words. He helped you up, then pulled you into another frantic kiss as you both shed clothes as fast as you could with your lips still attached, utterly desperate for each other.

Steve’s mattress creaked softly as you fell back onto it, now in nothing but your panties. You moved back towards his pillows, leaning up on your elbows as you watched him.

God, he looked good with his shirt off, you absolutely hated to admit. He had thick hair covering his chest, which was muscular and strong, but his stomach was still a little soft. His skin was sun-kissed, those moles dotting his body all over. The desire to kiss every single one of them surged suddenly within you, but you pushed the thought away. That was…intimate.

His gaze remained heavy on you as he worked his belt open without drawing away his attention once. The way he looked at you was like a starving man preparing for a feast. Your thighs were slightly parted, and he didn’t miss how damp your panties were. For him.

Finally down to his boxer briefs alone, you could see more of him than you ever had before. He was fully hard, the outline of his dick visible as it strained against the thin, snug material.

And the rumors were true.

“Jesus,” you breathed. That cocky smirk returned to his face as he watched your wide-eyed stare. Truthfully, he was used to that reaction. “You’re…”

“I know, baby,” he purred, crawling onto the bed over you. He leaned down, peppering kisses along your legs as he moved higher along your body. “It’ll fit. I’ll be careful. ‘m gonna take care of you like you deserve.”

It felt like you were melting into the soft sheets and comforter surrounding you. Steve was taking his time, placing hot, open mouthed kisses against your calf, his hand roaming up the other leg in time with his mouth. He rose higher, over your knee, up the inside of your thigh.

He laid on his stomach between your legs, kissing and nipping all along the sensitive skin of both inner thighs. Your legs trembled. The sight of him there, with his mouth all over you, was almost too overwhelming to even take in. Your head dropped against his pillows, just giving in to his every desire, your body coming alive with every touch. Trusting him.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathed in pure admiration. His nose nuzzled against your core through the thin material, and you drew in a sharp gasp. He looked up at you from between your legs, fingers moving to dip beneath the waistband of your panties. “Has anyone ever tasted you before?”

You froze as you realized what he was asking you, what he was planning to do. By the time you found your words, he’d already slipped the delicate material down and off your body. You shuddered as you felt his breath against your pussy, cool against the wetness there, for him.

“I—“ You jolted when you felt him rub his nose against your folds, breathing in the intoxicating scent of you. Your whole body was flushed and hot. “…No.”

Steve groaned. The idea of being the first to pleasure you like this had his cock throbbing between his body and the mattress. “Fuckin’ idiots,” he grumbled, drinking in the sight of you for a little longer before he finally moved in, dragging his tongue against your cunt, moaning like he’d never tasted anything better. “You have the perfect fuckin’ pussy. Tastes so sweet.”

Your hips jerked against his mouth, crying out at that first unfamiliar contact. You heard his low chuckle, but there was no humor behind it, just pure want. He dove in, devouring you properly.

The feeling of his tongue against you was more intense than you’d anticipated. Your fingers tangled in his perfect hair, making a mess of it, pulling just hard enough to earn a groan from his chest that vibrated against your clit. You were nearly seeing stars already, hips rocking up against his mouth as he flicked his tongue against the swollen nub, sucking gently before moving down to your hole. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was pulling you apart piece by piece until you could hardly stand it.

You’d heard of this before, of course you had. Your sorority sisters had mentioned it a few times, and you’d seen it in that trashy porno you, Nancy, and Carol had spent the night giggling at after sharing a joint and some vodka crans. But you always thought of it as a myth. No man you’d ever been with had even offered, even if you’d gone down on him first. You figured it was something guys just didn’t do, or at least something they didn’t want to do.

Not Steve, apparently, because he was worshipping you like he could have spent hours with his face buried between your legs. His skilled tongue worked against you in all the right ways, moaning against you and grinding his hips against the bed, even harder if you tugged on his hair, which you were quickly learning he liked.

“Steve—“ you gasped, body writhing and arching beneath him. “Oh my god, I—-“

“That’s it,” he praised, pulling away from you just long enough to speak, eyes glazed and lips and chin shining with your wetness, before diving in again. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking hot.”

You whimpered when you felt his thick finger pressing against your entrance, moaning as he pushed inside while his mouth focused on your clit again. With how wet you were, he slid inside easily, fucking you before quickly adding a second finger. He curled them deep inside, pressing against something that nearly had you screaming his name loud enough for the whole party to hear.

“Steve!” you gasped, one hand still tangled in his hair while the other gripped onto the pillow, feeling like you would actually float away if you didn’t hold on. The pleasure he was giving you was nearly overwhelming, your body beginning to tremble harder as that coil tightened again, faster and more intense this time. He slipped in a third, fucking you deep, stretching you around his thick fingers.

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he panted, dragging his tongue through your folds one more time just to taste you. “Fuck. You’re so good, gonna take me so well, every fuckin’ inch, I know you will. Gonna stretch so perfectly around my cock.”

A whine crawled its way from your throat, hips rocking against his fingers as he fucked you deep with them, pressing against that bundle of nerves that had you losing your mind. “Steve…Steve…oh fuck, I’m—“

He didn’t let up with his fingers for a single second. But it was when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking, while his fingers thrusted in hard and deep, that made it finally snap.

Your vision went white, your body tensing and mouth dropping open in a scream that was silent at first, before you let out what were probably the most pornstar-worthy sounds you’d ever made in your life. “Steve! Oh, fuck!”

Steve groaned at the sound, lapping up every bit of you, letting you grind your pussy against his tongue and working you through every shuddering aftershock until your body went limp beneath him. When he finally pulled back, you fully expected him to look up at you with that look he almost always wore, the one that made him look so proud of himself, so punchable. But instead he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before sucking his fingers clean greedily, looking down at your body with that same heated, wanting expression.

He sat up on his knees. You didn’t think it was possible before but he was even harder now, a wet spot on his boxers at the tip of his cock where he’d been absolutely dripping for you. His thumbs hooked into the waistband, pushing down just enough for you to get a glimpse of the hair that disappeared below.

“You ready for me?” he asked, voice a low rumble.

You let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. “…Yeah.”

Steve smirked down at you and pushed the material down in one go. His cock sprung free—and it was even more impressive than it looked before. He was thick and long, a slight right curve, vein prominent along the underside. His tip was flushed red like he was real desperate, and glistening from the precum he’d been leaking the whole time he was taking care of you. Another drop was beading at his slit. You’d never had a man look like he wanted you this bad.

You knew you were staring, and Steve certainly saw it, too. “See something you like, baby?”

You let out a breathless laugh, but truthfully, you were in no position to crack a joke or even deny it. You simply watched as he shed the last bit of clothing completely, leaving you both completely bare in his bed.

He leaned over you and reached to open the bedside drawer. There really were porn mags in there, which might have made you laugh if you couldn’t feel that thick length twitching against your thigh. He grabbed a condom and shoved the drawer closed, sitting back up on his knees. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth and rolled it onto his cock.

When he leaned over your body again, one arm braced near your shoulder and the other stroking his cock slowly, your heart began to pound fast. There was that brief moment of I’m really doing this, right now, with him, but you’d never wanted anything more in your life.

Steve lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You were still soaked, so he wasn’t worried, but you were. You’d heard rumors of how some girls couldn’t even take him, only getting him halfway in before giving up and jerking him off instead. You hadn’t believed them, because starting a rumor about the size of his dick was absolutely something you could see Steve doing. But now you were here in his bed, seeing firsthand that it was very true.

He traced his cock up and down through your folds, coating himself in that slick wetness, showing a surprising amount of care. He placed hot, gentle kisses along your jaw as he did, voice a soft, low rumble in your ear.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, lips brushing against your skin. “You don’t like it, we don’t have to. But I’ve got you, baby. You’re so good, I think you can take it.”

You could hear the need in his voice, how badly he needed you to let him fuck you. But you also knew he was true to his word.

But, god, you wanted to take all of him. To show him you could, to feel him buried deep. To make him fall apart.

Steve kissed his way back to your lips, kissing you slow and deep, tongue massaging against yours. You felt the sting of the thick head of his cock pushing inside you, and you let out a soft whimper into the kiss. He moaned against you and pushed in just a little deeper.

“That’s it,” he whispered between kisses. He grabbed your thigh with his left hand now, spreading you wide for him. “Doin’ so good, baby, letting me in.” He rolled his hips in shallow thrusts, just that little bit inside of you, sinking in another inch with every slow, deliberate thrust, working you open.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, but he kept your attention on him, entirely on the way he was kissing you. You weren’t sure why or how but it was working, his slow, languid kiss distracting you from the sharp sting where he was stretching you around the girth of him, coaxing your body to relax.

The feeling of being filled was like nothing else. Sure, you’d had plenty of sex, but Steve made you feel absolutely stuffed full before he was even completely inside. He held your thigh up, keeping you open for him, your flexibility not lost on him. He rolled his hips in a few more slow thrusts—and then you felt his hips pressed flush against you.

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to lean his forehead against yours. “So perfect, baby, you fuckin’—took it all, Jesus—“

You’d never heard Steve sound so utterly wrecked. He rolled his hips against you a few times, just enjoying the feeling of being completely sheathed inside your tight heat. And fuck, you were stretched around him perfectly, tight and hot. You felt like absolute heaven around his cock.

His cock throbbed inside you, so hard you could feel it. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, palms rubbing over his hot skin, a thin sheen of sweat coating it from the sheer effort of holding back from pounding into you.

“Steve,” you whimpered. Your cunt fluttered around him, and he dropped his head to your shoulder with a broken moan.

“Yeah?” he rasped. His hips rocked lightly against you, betraying his desperation.

“You can…” You gasped as the coarse hair at his base rubbed against your clit, still so sensitive but aching for him again. “…You can move.”

Steve moaned again, placing a few hot kisses against your neck as if thanking you. Finally he pulled his hips back, slowly withdrawing almost fully. Only his tip remained, and you could have cried at the loss of that perfect full feeling. But then he sank back in—slow at first, filling you to the brim again. Your desperate sounds of pleasure mixed together in the hot, charged air of his bedroom, a symphony intertwined much like your bodies.

“Shit,” he cursed. He set a careful rhythm, every thrust measured and slow and deep. “You’re taking me so fucking good. Fuuuuck. That pussy is fucking unreal.”

You could barely think straight. Your entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Steve inside of you, stretching you open perfectly. The sting was still there, but it was quickly fading into pure ecstasy with every movement of his hips. Your body was adapting to him like it was made for it.

Hands tangled in his hair again, you pulled him down into another messy kiss, all tongue and desperation, sloppy and hungry and hot. He groaned loudly into it, hips rutting into you faster.

Whines and whimpers and keening moans were spilling from your lips with little control. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, meeting him every time. His cock was deeper than you thought possible, brushing against that spot that quickly had you gasping and babbling complete nonsense.

“Feels so good Steve, oh fuck, oh god, please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I’m gonna cum again, Steve please, oh god—!”

Every word that tumbled from your lips was like fuel to the fire of his intense need. He couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t worry about if he might hurt you, too lost in the feeling of your body wrapped around him. His hips rocked against yours in a frantic pace now, his breaths coming in ragged pants, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. You arched your back and he leaned down to wrap his lips around a nipple again, moaning as he laved his tongue over it, eyes closed and completely pussydrunk, all because of you.

He sucked hard on your nipple one more time before letting go with a wet pop and sitting up on his knees. He held onto your waist and used your body, pulling you down onto his cock with every rough snap of his hips. His eyes were locked on the sight, watching himself disappear into your perfect cunt, seeing you stretch around him, take him whole.

“Holy fuck,” he panted. The sight of the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he took what he needed from you, watching you with such heat, made you feel utterly delirious. He looked powerful and strong, like an absolute god. “Jesus. Look how you take me, baby, fuck. Knew you’d be good, but—“ His hips stuttered, eyes rolling back for a second. “—shit, holy fuck—“

“Baby,” you gasped, grabbing onto the pillow above your head. Your cunt was tightening, throbbing around him, soaking his cock. The sound of him driving into you was loud and obscene—the slick, wet sounds, the sound of his skin slapping against yours. You might have felt a little self conscious if you could think about anything other than his cock coaxing that second orgasm from your trembling body. “I can’t—oh god, Steve, please…”

“You can do it,” he was nearly begging now, his cock beginning to twitch within your tight walls, so close to his own end but determined to get you there first. “Come on, baby, give it to me. Let me feel it. Cum all over my cock, show me how good it feels, how much you like getting fucked by me.”

You turned your head, biting down on a pillow you held to your face in an effort to muffle the scream that ripped from your lungs. Your body arched, cunt clenching around him as wave after wave of overwhelming, perfect pleasure washed over you. Your ears were ringing, moaning and gasping and babbling his name again and again.

“Shit!” Steve cursed, hips pounding into you reckless and fast. “That’s it, god yeah, let me feel it—oh fuck—you’re so good, so fucking good baby, letting me fuck you like this, squeezing around me—shit—oh baby, gonna make me—gonna make me fuckin’ cum—“

His body pitched forward over yours, bracing himself on an arm and burying his face in your neck. His cock buried deep in you, hips snapping in a few more frantic, shallow thrusts before he tensed, his groan muffled against your skin as he spilled into the condom, repeating your name over and over, body shaking with the intensity.

Your head was spinning. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. Steve’s body was heavy on top of you, your sweat-slicked skin pressed together, as he tried to catch his breath. It was a minute of heavy silence before he finally slid his softening cock out of you, collapsing onto his back.

The loss of that glorious full feeling was disappointing, to say the least. But as Steve removed the condom from his spent cock, tying it off and tossing it into his trash can, the moment finally, properly, broke.

And you realized you were naked in Steve Harrington’s bed. That you had fucked him.

The effects of the weed seemed to have worn off, leaving you feeling suddenly cold and exposed and panicked. Even as you began to freak out more and more, Steve looked totally fine, laying back against the headboard with an arm behind his head. His chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths, skin still shining with sweat, but he looked satisfied. Proud of himself in that way that always pissed you off, but especially now.

“So,” he said, and like so many times before, he’d ruined it all the moment he opened his mouth. “You let me fuck you after all, huh?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. You felt like you couldn’t stand to be exposed like this to him for another second, holding every article of clothing you grabbed to your chest until you found it all.

Steve laughed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about being totally naked in front of you, comfortable in his own skin the way he always was. “Those panties might be ruined. They were pretty soaked. You can leave them here with me, if you want.” He grinned wider. “I’ll keep them safe. Won’t even wash ‘em.”

“You’re a pig,” you spat back at him. He wasn’t exactly wrong, though. You didn’t want to put them back on, but you weren’t about to walk out of this room wearing that tiny skirt with nothing underneath.

“But was I right?”

“About what?” you asked as you hooked your bra, roughly pulling your shirt back on. The scowl on your face was a permanent fixture at this point, which was amusing to him.

“That I’m good?” he raised his eyebrows, and the grin on his face told you he knew the real answer no matter what you said in response.

“You weren’t that good,” you mumbled. You pulled your skirt back onto your hips, grabbing your shoes.

Steve laughed. “Oh, come on. That’s not what you were saying when you were practically riding my face, or when you were cumming on my dick, begging me not to stop.” His words made your face burn, unable to even say something smart in return. “You don’t have to lie to me, baby. I was there.”

Fully dressed now, you moved to his dresser mirror, trying to fix your appearance. “Don’t call me baby.”

He crossed his ankles, just watching you with that infuriating grin. He made no move to cover any part of his body, his cock laying against his thigh. It was huge even when he was soft, which you hated that you even noticed. 

“Aw, why’re you so mad now?” The condescending tone in his voice made you shiver with the effort of not losing your absolute shit. “Personally, I had fun. And I just gave you your first orgasm ever—“

“Not my first orgasm.”

“Sorry, your first orgasm that you didn’t give yourself.” He tilted his head, smirking. You could feel his eyes all over your body, shameless. “Two of them, actually. So really, you should probably be thanking me.”

You barked out a laugh as you wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of your mouth. You turned around, noticing for the first time that some of it had transferred to his face. “I’m not thanking you for shit. This never should’ve happened.”

Steve watched you head for the door. He had no intention of stopping you. He’d never let a girl stay in his bed after sex, and he wasn’t about to start now. He moved lazily even as he sat up and began to grab his own clothes.

“You can pretend you didn’t like it all you want, baby,” he said, not even looking at you anymore as he pulled his boxer briefs back onto his legs. “But you and I both know what happened in here tonight, and I don’t think you’ll be forgetting it any time soon.”

You held back a frustrated scream as you walked out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Thankfully the music was loud enough that it didn’t draw any attention. You stomped down the hallway and down the stairs, back into the chaos that now felt suffocating and overwhelming in a way it never had before.

You found Nancy in the kitchen, laughing with some of the other sisters. When she spotted you her expression turned serious, saying something to the girls before walking straight to you. 

“Where did you go?” she asked, reaching for your arm. Her hand was a little cold and every touch to your skin right now felt like a scalding burn, but you didn’t pull away. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“Just got wrapped up talking to some people,” you mumbled, unable to make eye contact with her. “I’m gonna head home, though.”

Nancy’s brows furrowed. “Now? Already? It’s still pretty early.”

“I just don’t feel good,” you said. All you really wanted was to get back to the safety of your own bedroom and freak out about this in private. “You don’t have to leave.”

“No, don’t be silly. I’m going with you.” She drained the last of the contents of her cup and tossed it into the nearby trash can, intertwining her fingers with yours. “This party kinda sucked tonight, anyway.”

You smiled at her, genuinely grateful. Nancy was your best friend for a reason, and you loved her. But you could never tell her what happened tonight.

As you walked hand in hand to the front door, you felt a creeping feeling up your spine. Just as Nancy turned the doorknob, opening the door and letting the cool September air inside, you looked back over your shoulder.

Steve leaned against the railing upstairs, watching you. When you locked eyes, he lifted a hand in a wave, smiling down at you.

You left the house, letting the door close hard behind you.

Steve was haunting you.

Not even in the way he always had, constantly in the same places, an unavoidable physical presence. No, this was worse. He was in your head now. And for the first time ever, you felt you had actually been lucky before.

The night after that first fateful mistake, you’d gotten back to the house, told Nancy you didn’t feel good, and went straight to bed. You removed your clothes from the party, shoved that pair of panties straight in the trash. You didn’t think you could ever look at them again.

Sleep didn’t come easily. You laid in bed, thinking about Steve and what you’d done without a moment’s reprieve. It was miserable, but you figured it was normal. Something terrible had just happened after all; a horrible mistake had been made, so of course you were going to think about it. It would fade. You would feel better tomorrow.

The problem was that it never stopped.

You woke up thinking about Steve. Went to class thinking about him. Every time you saw him on campus—and he always saw you first, smirking at you and giving you that douchebag nod, or a casual wave that he knew was anything but—you averted your eyes and headed quickly in the other direction.

If the fact that you’d done it at all didn’t disgust you enough, it was nothing compared to the horrible truth. That you’d liked it. Loved it. Wanted more. He really was the best you’d ever had, and you didn’t think he’d ever done a single thing that had pissed you off more than that.

Of all the guys you’d been with, guys who were plenty hot and popular and well liked, not a single one of them had ever cared about your pleasure in any way. They were only interested in getting themselves off. You were pretty sure they wouldn’t have been able to find the clit if they’d even bothered to try.

But Steve? He had absolutely rocked your world exactly like he promised. The only orgasms you’d ever experienced had been by your own hands, and you figured no one ever would or could know your body better than you did. How did he know the exact right places to touch, the right things to do? Every girl was different, right? Did he have some kind of stupid fucking superpower?

He had you completely spiraling. You felt like you were losing your mind. Even Nancy and Carol and the other girls noticed there was something up with you. Nancy was the only one who asked, but you quickly made up some excuse about being stressed over classes and homecoming. Tommy was still doing everything in his power to win you over, but there was only one Sigma Chi member on your mind at all hours, day and night.

You laid in bed at night with the memory haunting you. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his stupidly huge dick that he knew exactly how to use, that he’d taken so much care with so he wouldn’t hurt you. How hard you’d cum when he went down on you, the way he made you cum again with nothing but his cock. The memories replayed through your mind nonstop until the ache between your thighs became unbearable and you couldn’t help it anymore, your hand slipping beneath your shorts and panties and burying your moans in your fist until you came moaning his name, picturing his face the way he looked staring up at you from between your legs.

That was the worst of it, the guilt and confusion and disappointment you felt when it was over. When you were laying there in the quiet dark of your bedroom, realizing that you were really, truly fucked.

You wanted Steve. You wanted him bad. And you didn’t think you could keep lying to yourself.

By the time the next party came around, you were done even trying to pretend.

You spent a little extra time getting ready in your bedroom, picking out a cute little dress after trying on nearly everything in your closet. It was form fitting, short, and a bit revealing. You knew it would catch his attention. You honestly weren’t sure why you were even trying, since you’d never had to try to get him to notice you before, even when you desperately didn’t want him to.

When you met Nancy and Carol in the front room, their eyes widened at the sight of you. “Woah. That’s the slut dress,” Carol remarked right away.

It made you laugh even as your skin flushed with embarrassment. It was true. This dress rarely ever came out, and when it did it was because you were going on a date you really wanted to end happily—hence the nickname your friends had dubbed it with.

“Is there something you wanna tell us?” Nancy asked, her brows raised. “I mean, you look great, but…who’s it for?”

The question made you freeze for a moment, even though you should’ve known they’d ask. Of course they would. But you recovered quickly, making up a lie on the spot that you prayed sounded believable. “No one in particular. Just…hoping to catch the attention of someone interesting, at least.”

That seemed good enough for Carol, who turned away and started digging through her purse to make sure she’d packed her lipstick, but Nancy watched you a little longer. She was always so analytical with everything, and as your best friend, she knew you too well for you to get away with lying to her about much. And you hated lying to Nancy, you really did, but how would you explain this?

The three of you left Delta Gamma as a unit, arms linked together. The walk to the Sigma Chi house wasn’t far, and it was a chilly evening, but nothing too bad. The bare skin of your thighs felt the sting of the cold the most, but before you knew it you were walking in the front door, the packed frat house instantly hot enough to make you grateful for the amount of skin you had showing.

For the first time, you were grateful to be separated from your girls so quickly. And, equally as unusual in this alternate dimension you’d somehow stepped into—you wanted to find Steve. Your eyes scanned each room for him, ears focused on listening for his voice. Something you couldn’t explain led you to the backyard, a place you didn’t often venture here.

The hot tub was on, and overcrowded. Some of the guys were in with a handful of girls, most sitting in someone’s lap. A larger crowd just hung out on the back deck, some even into the yard beneath the lights. You heard the sound of his laughter quickly, turning your head to the left at the exact time he looked in your direction.

And god, you hated to admit it, but he looked good. His hair was once again perfectly styled, and he wore a long sleeve dark green shirt with a pair of jeans that he wore…really, really well. They were tight, perfectly fitted, and you didn’t know how you’d never known about his size when he wore pants like that. His ass looked great, too.

Fuck.

You locked eyes with him. He held your gaze for a minute, smirk on his face even as he kept talking to his friends. Then, for the first time ever—he turned away. Going right back to his conversation as if you’d never even been there at all.

You were stunned.

Never in the history of your time at OSU had Steve seen you and not immediately approached to piss you off. He had never dismissed you like that. If the rage hadn’t already been boiling in your blood, it certainly was now.

You scoffed, turning around and walking back into the house. If he was expecting you to come to him, it wasn’t gonna happen. It had never happened that way before and wasn’t going to start now. Instead you pushed your way to the kitchen, heading straight to pour yourself a drink.

Just as you were reaching for one of the red plastic cups, another hand came around your shoulder and grabbed it before you could. You turned around, more confused than angry, to see Tommy Hagan standing right behind you, a warm smile on his freckled face.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, looking like he just realized how awkward of a move it was. “I just—can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a second. “Um…yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, his expression becoming a little more comfortable at your acceptance. He moved around to the counter that held a keg and multiple bottles of liquor. It was surrounded by people, as it always was, but they moved for Tommy out of respect in the same way they did for Steve. “What’re you drinking?”

You scanned the selection—there was a bit of everything. Sigma Chi took pride in keeping the alcohol flowing at every party. “Tequila?”

“You got it.” Tommy grinned. He filled the red cup from the keg and passed it back to you, then reached for the bottle of tequila, pouring two shots. He handed one to you and held the other out in a toast.

You smiled softly as you gently tapped your cup against his, then brought it to your lips, downing the burning liquid with ease. Tommy laughed when you scrunched your face up in disgust for a second.

“You’d think Harrington would splurge for the good shit,” Tommy said, leaning back against the counter as he looked at you. “I guess I can’t complain about free alcohol, though.”

“True,” you smiled, even though you really didn’t want to talk or think about Steve anymore, especially right now. “Thanks. Again. For the drinks.” You held your beer up towards him before taking a sip.

“No problem,” he said, a soft blush touching his pale skin. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pour their own drinks.”

Even though you didn’t like Tommy as more than a friend, he really was sweet, and his attention made you feel good. Special. “What would I ever do without you, Tommy?”

He laughed, looking down at his shoes for a moment. “Hey,” he said, meeting your eyes again. “I was just thinking…if you’d maybe want to go out? Maybe…Monday?”

Your eyes widened. You hadn’t actually expected him to ask you on a date. Your lips parted, closed, then opened again, but you couldn’t figure out the right words to say.

“Nothing serious,” Tommy said quickly, noticing your hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be…y’know. I just thought we could maybe get some food, talk about homecoming…” His soft smile returned. “…and, you know, I’d really like to take you out.”

It was hard not to soften around him, especially with the way he spoke to you. Every Sig was great at turning on the charm, but there was something about Tommy that felt so genuine. And would it really be so bad to go out with him? “Sure. That sounds good. My last class ends at 4?”

“Great,” he said, the words leaving him in a breath of relief. “Yeah, awesome. I can pick you up from DG? Like…6?”

“That’s perfect,” you nodded. You drank from your beer again just as another Sig walked up to Tommy—Billy Hargrove. You hadn’t spoken to him much yourself, but he was nice to look at for sure. You knew a few of your sorority sisters had been out with him, and he had a bit of a reputation for being a ladies man. He had a gorgeous smile, tan skin, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair that hung to his shoulders in soft, beautiful curls.

“Hagan,” Billy said, clapping a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then his eyes landed on you. “Well. You didn’t tell me you were busy entertaining DG’s most beautiful.”

Even though all these frat guys pulled the same cheesy lines, you still felt the heat rise to your skin. “Hi, Billy.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiled down at you, showing off the dimple in his cheek. Something about it brought out the ‘smiling shyly, twirling your hair around your finger’, teenage girl-type feeling buried deep within you. Tommy’s confident smile had dropped, now shifting awkwardly on his feet.

“Uh, what’s up, Hargrove?” Tommy asked, trying his best to look unbothered.

Billy glanced at him for just a second before those clear blue eyes found you again. “No rush, Hagan. What, don’t wanna share her attention?” His smile was bright and friendly, the kind that would have any girl’s heart beating fast.

“It’s not—“ Tommy sighed, leaning back against the counter.

“We were just talking,” you said, glancing between the two boys. There was an unspoken tension there, but you didn’t dwell on it. “How’s basketball?”

Billy’s smile grew. “It’s great. We’ve started conditioning. Right, Tommy?” he asked, turning around to look at his friend for only a moment, a weak attempt at acting like he had any intent to bring him into the conversation. “You should come to some of our games this season. I think I play better when there’s a pretty girl cheering for me.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy and genuine. “Is that right?”

Billy shrugged. “Could be just a theory, but why take the risk? Wouldn’t be very good for school spirit if we didn’t do everything possible to make sure we take home that championship, right?”

You rolled your eyes lightly as you laughed again, but it was more amusement than irritation—not like with certain people. “I guess that’s true. We should all do our part.”

“Exactly.” He smirked. “And maybe I can come watch you run some time. See that record-breaking sprinter I’ve heard so much about in action.”

You weren’t sure why exactly, but it surprised you that he knew anything about your athletic achievements. It was talked about on campus—the school loved to celebrate their top athletes—but it’s not like most of the school cared about track and field the way they did about other sports. You were no Steve Harrington, star pitcher. “Yeah, that would be cool. I’d like that.”

“I’ve heard you’re good. Like, insanely fast.” He leaned against the counter next to Tommy with an instinctual swagger, exuding the confidence that came so naturally to him. “And, uh…long jump?”

“High jump,” you corrected, hiding your shy smile behind your cup as you sipped your beer again. “But, yeah. I’d love for you to come watch.”

“Maybe I’ll call you sometime.” Billy winked at you before finally acknowledging Tommy again. “Hagan. We’re waiting for you out back.” He looked back at you. “Sorry, came over here to grab him and didn’t expect to get…distracted.”

“Go do your thing,” you said, waving your hand in some kind of vague gesture. You were starting to feel a slight buzz, at least. “Have fun. Don’t let me hold you up.”

“I’ll see you around,” Billy said with one last flash of that charming smile. When he looked back at Tommy, his expression was more serious, nodding his head towards the back in a silent command that didn’t seem to have any other option.

Tommy smiled at you, but it was more forced, the comfort from before long gone. “I’ll see you Monday,” he said. “It was…good to talk to you. I hope you have fun the rest of the night.”

“Bye,” you said softly, but he was already gone. You watched him trailing after Billy towards the back door, where Steve and some of the other guys waited, a cheer erupting as soon as they walked out the door. Frat boys.

Left on your own again, you tried to enjoy yourself. Bouncing around the house, talking with people you knew from around campus, from sports, from Greek life. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought of Steve from your head. You knew what you’d come here to do, and even though you hated yourself for it, you hadn’t changed your mind. You didn’t think you could.

You saw him again a few times. Through the back door, in the living room, passing him in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, where he bumped into your shoulder and turned around long enough to smirk at you before walking on like it was nothing. Every time you saw him he saw you too, but he didn’t approach you once. It had you fuming.

A few hours into the party, unfortunately, you were getting desperate.

When you walked into the kitchen for another refill, you saw him again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his cup, talking to some girl you couldn’t name. You weren’t jealous—you were not jealous—but it just made you even angrier. Especially when he glanced at you for just a moment before turning back to her.

This was humiliating. It was demeaning. You hated it. You hated him. But you swallowed your pride, took a deep breath, and walked over to them anyway.

Steve looked at you again, and grinned wide, his eyes lighting up with an infuriating delight as he realized you were coming over. The girl by his side gave you a dirty look as soon as she noticed, but Steve’s attention was now entirely on you.

He said your name, a simple acknowledgement. “How are you enjoying the party?” He tilted his head to the side, his expression smug. He knew exactly what game he’d been playing all night, and he also knew he’d just won.

“It’s great,” you said, your deadpan voice doing nothing to hide your irritation.

“Good. I pride myself on my hospitality.” You didn’t think you’d ever seen Steve not looking proud of himself, but he certainly did right now. “Did you need something?”

You glared at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you refused to back down from the eye contact he was holding. The girl next to him looked between you. “I was…wondering if you had any more of that…weed.”

The grin that spread across his face was nothing short of euphoric. His hazel eyes seemed to shine with it. The girl next to him might as well have no longer existed. “Actually, you know, I might have a little more. I’d have to check.”

Your jaw clenched, looking off to the side before meeting his eyes again. Your whole body buzzed like a live wire. When he didn’t make a move, just kept looking at you, you raised your eyebrows at him expectantly. “Well?”

Steve laughed. “Now, huh?” He downed the rest of his beer and turned to the side, dropping the cup in the trash. You were momentarily stunned when he grabbed yours from your hand, too, doing the same. “Well, if it’s that urgent. Come on, we’ll go look.”

He pushed off the wall, walking in the direction of the staircase. He didn’t give the girl he’d been talking to another word or look, but she was certainly glowering at you when you glanced one last time before following after him. You felt ashamed, trailing behind exactly like he wanted you to. But worse than that was the relief.

Still, as you walked up the stairs behind Steve, you looked around to make sure no one was watching. You’d survived the first hookup without rumors starting, but you knew you had to be careful. If there was one student on this campus everyone paid attention to, it was Steve Harrington.

Even worse than some random students seeing and whispering would be Nancy or Carol. You didn’t want to have to even begin to figure out how to explain this to them. It was humiliating enough doing it, confusing even trying to justify it to yourself.

Steve led the way into his bedroom, although you’d dreamed about the same path so many times over the past week, you could have walked yourself there with your eyes closed. His room was still tidy, and the scent of the cologne he was wearing now permeated the air. All his usual hair products sat out on his dresser, and you could practically see the ghost of him there getting ready before leaving for the party downstairs, not putting it away.

He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place like a bomb in the silence. You turned around to face him. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead.

“So…” Steve began, walking over to you slowly. You felt like a rabbit that had run right into his trap—willingly. “Did you really want that weed? Or did you come back for something else?”

You gritted your teeth, fists clenching and unclenching at your side. Drawing in a deep breath, you tried to relax your muscles, your entire body tense. “I…”

Steve was still smiling at you as he approached. He knew you weren’t going to say it, but he had already won. You’d come. His hand came up to rest on your cheek, and you found yourself relishing in the warmth of his palm rather than flinching away.

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” he murmured, his voice low. No bravado, soft, meant only for you. His eyes were locked on yours. “I know what you need, baby.” His thumb stroked your cheek, then moved to rub slowly over your bottom lip. Your breath hitched, but you couldn’t break the intense eye contact if you tried. “Have you been dreaming about it?”

You didn’t know what to say. Your brain was short circuiting. Your hands hung loosely by your side, eyes wide, as he looked at you with pure heat. Goosebumps covered your skin, breath coming in strained.

“I already know,” he continued when you said nothing. His words were a low purr, a sound that had you hypnotized. You didn’t even react when he pulled down slightly on your bottom lip and slipped his thumb inside, pressing down against your tongue. “You’d never been fucked like that in your life. You’ve been thinking about it. Trying to recreate it with your own hand, getting off to the memory.”

Body on autopilot, you closed your lips around his thumb. Your eyes never left each others’ as you ran your tongue over the calloused pad of his finger, sucking on it. For all he tried to act unaffected and in control, you saw the shudder that wracked through him. You didn’t have to look to know he was hard already.

When he pulled his hand away, the trance was broken. But still, you both stood there, just looking at each other. The whole room felt charged with electricity, the air around you heavy enough to feel like a physical, oppressive weight.

Your lips crashed together in a kiss both hungry and frantic. It wasn’t slow and romantic, not this time. Steve’s hands dug into your waist, pulling you close, the kiss all tongue and teeth and messy desperation. He groaned into your mouth, and when he pulled your hips into his, you could feel the hard proof of what you’d already known.

He pulled back to pull his shirt over his head, your eyes drinking in the exposed skin shamelessly. He was breathing hard, eyes glazed over with unfiltered want. Shoes were kicked off, Steve’s jeans hit the floor, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you with ease and laying you on his bed.

“You wore this little thing for me?” Steve whispered in your ear as he settled over you. His lips attacked your neck, sucking at that spot he remembered was so sensitive. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left marks, but you couldn’t think straight long enough to care.

“No.” The denial was weak, even you knew that. You had watched him all night, approached him yourself after sucking up your pride, and now you were beneath him on his bed. But, fuck, hadn’t you given him enough satisfaction tonight?

“No?” He chuckled darkly against the hot skin of your neck. He didn’t believe you for a second. He was rolling his hips against you, the straining in his boxer briefs rock hard where it pressed against your dripping core. “That’s a shame, baby. It looks so good on you.”

The little whimper that escaped when he bit down on the skin beneath your ear would have been embarrassing if you were able to even process it. You arched your back beneath him, pressing your tits against his chest. Your nipples were hard through the thin material of your dress—a bra didn’t work with it, so you’d gone without—and the feeling of friction against them had a breathy noise falling from your lips.

Steve moved down your body, pushing your dress up roughly until it was up around your waist. He lowered himself between your thighs, pressing his nose against your already soaked panties, letting out a low, primal groan. “God, you’re so fucking sweet,” he growled. Unable to wait any longer, he hooked his fingers into the waist of your panties and pulled them off.

“Steve—“ you said in a voice that sounded more like a squeak than anything, spreading your legs for him, breathing hard. His big hands slid up your smooth thighs, opening them wider for him. His nose brushed lightly against your folds, making you draw in a sharp breath.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmured. He was looking at your cunt like he wanted this as badly as you did—maybe more. “What do you want?”

“Just do it,” you whined, your body writhing against his sheets with the overwhelming need. “Please, just…”

“What do you want me to do?” He was looking up at you now, smirking, even as his mouth was hovering an inch from where you needed him more than anything. “You’ve gotta tell me, sweetheart. I can’t read your mind.”

You groaned, eyes opening as you looked down at him. “You are such a fucking asshole.”

His big eyes widened with feigned innocence. “What?” You could feel his breath ghosting over your pussy, so wet for him, and it had you trembling. You couldn’t take much more of this and he knew it.

“Stop trying to make me say it,” you grumbled. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“Not trying to make you do anything,” he hummed. He moved his head, nose brushing against your clit and making your breath catch. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to know what you want me to do if you don’t tell me, and, y’know, I’d never want to do anything you didn’t want—“

“Oh my god, Steve,” you huffed, hands running through your hair where you laid against his mattress. “Are you gonna keep running your mouth all night or put it to good use again?”

Steve laughed genuinely, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re so feisty. I always liked that about you.”

Before you could complain anymore, he buried his face against your pussy, diving in like it had been killing him to hold himself back, too. You cried out, loud, a hand moving to slap over your mouth a second too late. You could feel his lips curling in a smile against you.

He was good, so good, you didn’t have to have any prior experience to know that. It was no wonder he had girls lining up to get in his bed. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet, his tongue fucking inside of you, drinking in all the sweetness you dripped for him, rolling his tongue over your clit. It felt like he was everywhere at once.

“Steve, fuck!” you cried, gasping and clutching onto the pillows behind your head. “Oh my god, fuck, how are you—oh fuck—“

He groaned against your cunt, the vibrations going straight through your clit and to every nerve ending in your body. He flicked his tongue over the swollen bud, wrapping his lips around it and sucking as he sunk two fingers into your fluttering hole.

“God!” you choked. Your thighs were trembling around his head already. Your hand moved down to card through his hair before gripping onto the soft strands for dear life, pulling another moan from him when your fingers tightened in them.

Steve’s fingers fucked into you, nice and slow at first, slipping in a third finger before curling deep to hit that perfect spot. He was getting you ready for his cock again, your heart beating out of your chest at the thought alone. You could see it when you closed your eyes, just as you had for the past week, and it had you growing even wetter for him.

“Steve…” you whined, your hips starting to grind against his face. He let you, moaning and working you even harder, begging for it without any words. “I’m gonna…”

“Give it to me,” he rasped, pulling away just long enough to say the words before his mouth was right back against you, delving his tongue between your folds and focusing on your clit while his fingers worked you open.

Stars exploded behind your vision. Unable to hold it back, you cried out, mindlessly babbling combinations of his name and curses and desperate pleas of don’t stop don’t stop oh please fuck god don’t stop—

Steve worked you through every last aftershock, playing your body like an instrument he knew wholly, intimately. Your body was still shaking when he pulled away. The sight of him looking down at you like that, with his lips and chin glistening with your release, made you whimper. God, why did he have to look like that?

“So fucking good,” he said, eyes dark and awed. His cock strained hard against his boxers. You could see it twitching through the material, throbbing visibly.

His hands slid up your body, looking at you with a deep reverence as he slid the dress up until it was over your head, tossing it to his floor. His eyes raked over your naked body, every inch of it, the smooth skin and the way your chest rose and fell, how wide your eyes were looking up at him, your pretty lips parted.

“I thought about you, too,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your cheek, back to your ear. “Thought about how you tasted. How tight you felt around me. The way you said my name. The noises you made…god, I came so fucking hard playing those noises over and over in my head.”

You gasped, the throbbing between your legs starting up again at his words. You’d had no idea. Why would he be thinking of you when he could have any girl at this whole school? He wasn’t just saying it. The unfiltered heat in his voice made that clear.

Steve lifted off of you slowly, eyes staying on you until he turned away to open his bedside drawer and grab one of those foil packets he seemed to have an endless supply of. He pushed his boxers down, flushed cock springing free, and kicked the last bit of clothing off the bed with the rest.

You watched him rip the foil open and roll it onto his (impressive, huge, perfect, achingly hard) cock, your pussy clenching around nothing, your body itself begging for him. He settled between your legs, wrapping his big hands around your thighs, opening you wide.

“Dreamed about this pussy,” he mumbled, wrapping a hand around his shaft and dragging his tip through your soaked folds. He pressed the thick head against your hole, pressing forward just slightly, just feeling you. You whined, rocking your hips down, begging for him inside. He smirked as he noticed, but didn’t push in yet. His expression was almost dreamy, pupils blown. “Best pussy I ever had. Fuck. Never came so fucking hard as I did inside you.”

“Steve…” you breathed, the word itself a plea.

“Tell me,” he breathed. It wasn’t a tease anymore. The need in his voice was staggering. He was begging. “Please, baby. Need to hear you say it.”

The sight of Steve, utterly wrecked like this, was almost too much to bear. You didn’t have it in you to refuse, not anymore. “Please,” you keened. “God, Steve, please fuck me.”

His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a ragged groan, even before he finally rolled his hips forward, piercing you with that perfect, thick cock. You nearly sobbed in pleasure as you felt it, that overwhelming fullness as he sank into you inch by inch. It was easier this time but still a stretch, still that distant sting until his hips pressed flush against you.

“Christ—“ Steve choked, falling forward on his hands, planting them on either side of your shoulders. “Oh, fuck.”

You rocked your hips up against him, telling him it was okay to move. Begging him to move. “Oh my god,” you moaned. Your walls throbbed around him, which was undoing him way faster than he’d care to admit.

He pulled his hips back before sinking back in. Starting slow, as if he were still trying to be careful with his last shred of restraint. It didn’t last long. The perfect clench of your heat around him was driving him mad, his thrusts quickly working up into a punishing rhythm.

Your name left his lips in a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. The sound of his skin meeting yours filled the room, your cunt so slick and wet around him you could hear it every time he drove in. He fucked you harder than he had last time, something you didn’t even know you’d craved until you had it.

“So fucking—god—you feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his body slick with sweat where it was pressed against yours. You hooked a leg around his waist as he reached down with one hand to grab your thigh and press it up against your chest.

The angle was devastating, his cock hitting deeper inside of you than you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back as he punched soft, mindless little “ah ah ah”s from your lungs with every thrust.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. His eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of how hard he fucked you. The headboard knocked against the wall, chipping the paint from the force of it, the sound unmistakable for anyone who happened to walk by. “Gonna make me cum so fucking hard again. Fuck. Oh, fuck, baby, you’re so perfect, so goddamn—oh shit—“

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling on it the way you now knew he liked. The desperate groan he let out was muffled as you pulled him down to your lips, his tongue immediately licking into your mouth. The kiss was utterly filthy, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth—yours, his, both.

The whines he was letting out were growing higher, needier. All signs of that cocky, insufferable personality were gone, nothing but pleasure and desire coursing through him. His fingers dug bruises into your thigh as he snapped his hips forward harder, and oh fuck, he was hitting that spot again—

“Steve!” you gasped, head tossing back against the pillows. Steve’s lips moved down the exposed column of your throat, placing hot, wet kisses everywhere he could reach. “Oh, fuck, Steve, I’m gonna fucking cum—“

“Please,” he begged, his voice a ragged growl against your throat. “Let me feel you. Squeeze my cock, milk me fuckin’ dry, please.”

That coil snapped again, hard, the moan it forced from you more like a scream. It was loud, you knew it was loud, but you couldn’t help it, completely delirious with the intensity of the pleasure. Your back arched beneath him, moaning and crying out and calling his name again and again.

Steve let out a choked noise at the feeling of you tightening around him, clenching and throbbing hard. His hips rutted into you with a desperate, frantic intensity, rhythm completely gone as he chased his own orgasm. He was right behind you, only a couple more shallow thrusts until he was stilling as deep inside you as possible. He groaned roughly, his head dropping to bury his face right between your tits as his body shuddered with release. You could feel him pulsing inside you even through the condom.

The room calmed, your heavy breathing the only sounds remaining. His weight was heavy over you, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t exactly want him to move, at least not yet. In the quiet aftermath, you relished in the feeling of him, his cock still throbbing inside as he slowly softened.

When he finally mustered up the energy to move he lifted off of you, pulling out and removing the condom, tossing it in the trash. You couldn’t bring yourself to look and see if there was proof of him having any other girls in here since you’d been with him. You didn’t know why you cared.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees. He was still catching his breath as you sat up, reality beginning to creep back in like unforgiving daylight after the safety of the night.

He turned his head to look at you, lips curling into a smile again. His skin still glistened with sweat. “Was it as good as the first time?” He asked, once again breaking the spell with his big mouth. “What you were hoping for when you showed up here tonight, dressed like that?”

You scoffed, sliding off the bed to collect your clothes again. Now that you’d gotten what you’d been craving, the desperation that had been clouding your brain was gone. That familiar shame was crawling over you again.

“What?” he laughed. “You can say it, y’know. Doesn’t mean you have to like me just because you like fucking me.”

You hesitated for a moment, then moved again, pulling your panties back over your legs. “Don’t.”

“Come on, baby,” he goaded, leaning back on the bed. He watched you, propped up on one arm, once again unbothered by being completely exposed to you. “Would it really be so bad to admit it?”

You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes staring at your ass as you pulled your panties back on. “Fine,” you finally huffed, turning around. You clutched your dress in your hands, nearly throwing it at him when he didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped down to your tits. “You’re good. It was amazing. Is that what you want to hear?”

He grinned. “I just wanted to hear the truth.” He shrugged playfully. “I mean, I already knew, just wanted to hear you admit it. Not for me, but for yourself.”

“Aren’t you altruistic,” you muttered, pulling the dress back over your head. The way his brow furrowed for a moment showed he didn’t know what the word meant, but he didn’t press.

Finally he sat up, beginning to replace his own clothes. “It’s okay that you can’t stay away. I get it. It’s good sex.”

“I can stay away—“

“Sure,” he interrupted, lifting his hips to get his boxers back on. “But you don’t want to, right?”

You paused. You hadn’t let yourself think about that. If it was okay to let yourself want this. Just because you hated Steve so bad, because you didn’t want anyone to know this was happening. But did that make it bad? Did it make you wrong? Weak, like you’d felt all week, and especially tonight?

Maybe he was right. It was good sex.

After buttoning his jeans, Steve stood to face you. He ran a hand through his hair, looking in the mirror behind you for just a second before focusing back on you. “Look,” he started, but it was hard to pay attention when he was standing there shirtless like that. “I think we could help each other.”

You forced your eyes back up to his face, the smirk sitting there evidence that he’d seen you staring. “Help each other?”

He walked over to you, hands resting on your hips again. You didn’t push him away, holding his gaze. “Yeah. Help each other. I told you I liked it too, didn’t I?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You’d heard him say it, when he was buried inside you, moaning your name, but you figured it was just…talk. Heat of the moment. Nothing real. Nothing you said or felt when you were fucking was real.

Your lack of a response didn’t deter him. His fingers flexed on your hips, but he didn’t pull you closer. “We could make this a casual thing,” he offered, finally putting the words out there. “You like it, I like it. Why not keep having fun together?”

You turned his words over and over in your head. It felt like far more than the seconds it actually took as you thought over his proposition. What it meant, what it changed, how it felt.

But the memory of the past week played through your mind on repeat. How miserable you’d been, the way you couldn’t get him out of your head. That he was right, the sex had been so good you’d craved it day and night, and the second time had been just as good, if not better.

Steve waited patiently, but he knew your answer before you finally forced it out. “…Okay. Yeah. I guess.”

He grinned, squeezing your hips one more time before moving back. “Okay then. Good.”

“But we keep this between us,” you added quickly. “I’m serious. Just us. You don’t tell your friends and I won’t tell mine.”

He looked amused, but he didn’t argue. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You stared at him. “Steve.”

“Okay,” he laughed, pulling his shirt back on. “I won’t tell a soul. You have my word.”

You let out a sigh, both relief and anxiety at once. Turning to his mirror, you fixed your hair, cleaning up your smudged makeup. “It means nothing, and no one knows.”

The heat of his body suddenly behind you made you jump. But he just stood next to you, fixing his own appearance.

“It means nothing,” he repeated. “And no one knows.”

part two soooooon

as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated!

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Almost none of you.

Steve’s is cleaner than a freshly waxed and plucked floor. Steve’s letter is perfect. He’s perfect. He’s the Golden Boy, designed in a bottle to be likable and confident and collected. Camera’s flash and his smile is whiter than the moon, and more blinding than the sun. He claps Tony on the back after a slightly mocking joke, clearly unfazed. He places his hand on Nat’s lower back in the most gentlemanly way possible, and everyone swoons like he’s some movie star.

He sits next to you on one of these panels you’re not allowed to skip—you tried to, and Clint dragged you to the helicopter like some misbehaving child—and ignores you all together. A tiny nod and smile for the cameras. Stiff shoulders that square away from you, like if he blocks you out, you’ll just vanish in the hazy lights.

He’d like it, if that happened. He’d probably throw a fucking party.

Because you don’t know why. You don’t know what you did. But Steve Rogers hates you, and no one even thought he was capable of that emotion.

It started the first time Nat dragged you in, spitting and weary like a feral cat. She’d given Steve and Tony the brief on your powers. Said that you had a good heart—although she hadn’t done an x-ray, so you have no idea how she was so sure—and asked to keep you.

Asked.

Natasha didn’t ask for anything. She said it like a question, and fixed Steve and Tony with the most terrifying glare in the world. Tony had shrugged, and Steve had tried to protest. Nat had crossed her arms and flicked her brows up in a silent challenge. Steve had swallowed, looked at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, and given up. He’d left the room with a grumble, not sparing you another glance. Tony would tell you later—after you annoyed it out of him—that he’d spent a month trying to talk Nat out of you. Like a toy he didn’t want her to be playing with.

You hadn’t said a single word. Natasha hadn’t told him anything about your past. And he still hadn’t wanted you there.

“Rogers,” you murmur, smiling at the flashing lights that—supposedly—have people behind them.

You’ve come to think of them more as vultures. They’d like to pick you apart and eat out whatever kind of black, charred thing you’re made of. You never give them the satisfaction.

Steve says your name, low and flat. His attention flits over, scanning you from the corner of his eye. You catch his gaze, and he looks away just as fast.

You roll your eyes and huff, slumping back in your seat. You drum your fingers on the smooth, deep blue cloth of the table. They gave you a water bottle. Maybe if you drink it fast enough, you can just go pee and skip this whole thing-

“Sit up.”

Steve speaks so low you almost don’t hear him. You frown at his profile—stupid clean jawline and strong features—and slump further in your seat. Just to test him. Just to make him twitch.

There aren’t a lot of things you find pride in. Being able to get under Steve’s skin is one of them.

He notices immediately, and shoots you a glare. You snort, and his eyes narrow.

“I told you to sit up-“

“I heard you.”

“And you didn’t listen?” Someone shouts his name. He turns to flash them that look at me, aren’t I perfect? Smile, and you try not to gag.

“You’re not my boss.” You hiss through your teeth, smiling at the people shouting your name.

Steve makes a low, rough sound in his throat. “I am your boss.”

“No. I work under Nat.”

“Who works for me-“

“Does she?”

Steve shoots you another look, and this time you giggle. He’s still smiling, through every single glare. It looks psychotic.

He doesn’t even try to reprimand you this time. He just sighs dramatically and looks back to the crowd. You sit up, but not because he told you to. You’re not another one of his dogs.

Because there’s one more rule about being an Avenger. About being an American.

No one hates Steve Rogers.

He’s an angel. A blessing. His pretty boy face and classy words and pure heart. He never falters, never gives up, never does anything selfish, never gets off his fucking high horse. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at, and he’s so innocent about it, like blushing virgin schoolgirl who can’t stand seeing a fucking ankle without getting red faced and sputtering. He’s all kind words to everyone, he carries twenties on him to give to homeless people, he donates most of his Avengers salary to charities, he handles every press question with tact and charm, and he looks at you like you’re sulfur coated gum, stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

No one tells you what to do when Steve Rogers hates you. He’s not supposed to hate anyone.

So you must be the fucking problem.

You try not to look at him, for most of the panel. It’s easy when he gets seated on the other end of the table, but whatever fucker was in charge of seating today must hate you. You can’t turn your head without seeing his lazy, kind smile, and you can’t turn out his deep laugh, and god, what if you just punched him in the face on live TV-

Someone says your name, and your head snaps over.

“Yeah?”

Steve tenses. You’re supposed to just nod, or say yes, not yeah. That’s not professional. Shame for him the media trainers gave up on you years ago. You don’t know why Steve still bothers. Everyone still loves you anyway.

And the person who said your name doesn’t deserve professionalism anyway. It’s a slimy man at the front of the question line, with slicked back hair and an expensive watch and teeth that look too big for his mouth. You know what kind of question this is going to be, before he even opens his mouth.

“Hi,” the man smirks at you, and you smile back. It’s the cold, bored smile that you wear like a shield. If the man feels the chill from it, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. If he breaks a tooth, maybe you won’t have to deal with this question.

“Hey.” The man echoes back, his gaze dropping back to your tits. “I have to ask, what does it take to get you out of the Avengers compound and out on a date?”

You laugh, spinning your mic and leaning back in your chair. The audience laughs with you. They always do.

Steve doesn’t, and it stabs near your ribs for some useless reason. Sometimes you wonder if your powers just don’t work on him, which would make him even more annoying than he already is. 

“More than that,” you say, and the man stands a little taller.

“You wanna give me a step-by-step?” He winks. “I’m a good rule follower.”

“Hm.” You smirk. “I’m sure you are.”

A chorus of teasing jeers comes from the back of the crowd, where all the men always get shoved. They’re less insistent than the fangirls who want to see Steve and Thor’s muscles. The man at the front of the line looks back with a proud grin—he got you to talk, what a miracle—then returns his gaze to you.

“What about if I promise to be a gentleman?”

“Then I’d ask you to cross your fingers,” you say, smiling with so much honey you’re worried your face is going to get glued like this.

The oooooos are louder this time, and you laugh. The man at the front looks like he’s about to fall to his knees. He grabs at the mic stand like a lifeline, staring at you with wide, devout eyes, and you don’t even flinch when Steve rips your mic from your hands.

“She’ll be backstage after, buddy.” His tone is light, but firm. The man blinks at him, like he forgot he was there. “Remember, she’s got a whole panel to get through. Don’t want to distract her too early.”

He laughs. Everyone laughs with him, except for you.

You smile at him with enough venom to burn the super solider serum right out of his big, muscled body. Steve smiles back, with that strange gleam back in his eyes.

It’s only there for you. It’s been two years, and you never learned to read it. The questions move on, and your mic gets turned of while Bruce talks about his favorite kinds of tea. You lean to the side, hissing from the corner of your mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem.”

Steve doesn’t blink. He keeps his winning smile on his face, and you’re sure that to anyone looking on from the crowd, it seems like you’re exchanging friendly jokes.

“This isn’t a dating app.”

“I know that-“

“Didn’t seem like it.”

You scoff. Your smile is starting to hurt your face. “What was I supposed to do, tell him to piss off?”

Steve’s lips twitch down, ever so slightly. “You flirted back.”

“So? I was never going to go out with him, he looked like a fucking sewer rat.”

“That’s rude-“

“Oh, suck my dick.”

You look back to the crowd. Steve mutters your name, and you ignore him. He says it again, firmer this time, and you shoot him a shut the fuck up look.

His nostrils flare. His eyes are so blue, you think you could get lost in them if he wasn’t always trying to forcefully burn you out.

“You-“ He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, shakes his head, and look back out to the crowd. “You’re going to find yourself with a stalker one day. It happened to Nat.”

You almost snort. You’ve heard that story. Nat curb stomped him. “I’m sure I’d handle it.”

Steve’s lip curls. “You have no combat training,” he grunts, and you huff.

Not this again.

“If someone got the jump on you-“

“No one gets the jump on me.”

“Yet,” he gives you a pointed look, and you hold it, unimpressed and bored. “But one day-“

“One day what? I’m just going to lose all my powers? And need Captain America to protect me?” You laugh crudely, and Steve scowls.

 “I didn’t say that-“

“Then what were you going to say-“’

“That you need to be careful-“

“And why do you care-“

“I don’t-“

“Really?” You roll your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You- You fucking-“

“Steve.” Sam leans over Steve’s shoulder, glaring between you. “People. Watching. Calm down.”

You and Steve both freeze, and glance out to the crowd. Sure enough, almost all the eyes are on you. Shining vultures. For one, at least, picking Steve apart with you.

You smile and wave. Steve sits so tall you think he might be trying to fly away.

“What were you talking about?” The next person asks, and Steve laughs.

Controlled. Always so fucking controlled.

“Nothing important-“

“It looked important.”

Steve shrugs. “We take everything we do here seriously. A conversation about dinner can look like a war meeting sometimes, with how much passion we have for- Everything.”

He waves at the air, and the crowd murmurs. You smirk, because Steve sees the light in that ripple. Only the rising relief. Not the dents it’s leaving in the water.

But you see them. You see them better than anyone. And you know why the people drop it. Tony’s glaring down the table, and Nat is rubbing her face, and you know they heard it too.

You love it when he fucks up. You’re beaming for the rest of the panel, because you know what the headline is going to be in the morning.

Passion, he said.

Idiot.

It happens so fast, and Steve’s the only one surprised by it.

“You two.” Tony points between you in the morning. “My office. Now.”

You smile, shoving your bagel in your mouth and following after him. Steve looks confused. You’re sure he’s never been called to an office before. You’re thrilled to have that first experience with him.

“Tony, what’s going on-“

“No.” Tony points at him with a scowl, and the door locks behind you. “Not a word from you, Cap. This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Steve almost recoils. “How is it my fault, I haven’t even done anything. It’s probably her fault-“

You snort, taking the bagel out of your mouth. “My fault? You don’t even know what we did yet!”

“Well, I know it’s your fault-“

“Because everything is my fault-“

“For stuff like this, yeah. It is.”

“Stuff like this- Like what, you getting in trouble-“

“I’m not in trouble-“

“Oh, you just got called to Daddy’s office because of your good behavior-“

“Can you both shut up?” Tony raises his voice, glaring between you with his nose pinched. “I swear, you’re going to give me a migraine that kills me. And you,” he shoots you a glower. “Never call me Daddy again.”

You smirk. “Why, does it turn you on too much?”

Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you. Tony just looks bored.

“Yeah, it does. Which is annoying.”

“Aw,” you beam at Steve. “He thinks I’m annoying.”

A vein is pushing out of Steve’s brow. If anyone is going to die right now, it’s going to be him, from bursting a vessel. You giggle, dropping in the seat in front of Tony’s desk. Steve just stands behind you, a soldier at attention against his greatest enemy. You tip your head backwards, looking at him under fluttering lashes.

“You should sit down, buddy.”

Something flickers over Steve’s face. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“Don’t stand there like a creep.”

His lip curls. You give him a challenging smile, and he lets out one of those heavy sighs that’s only reserved for you. He stomps over to the chair next to it, and drops down with a scowl at Tony.

“You want to tell us why we’re here, Tony?”

Tony frowns, and glances at you. “Does he not know?”

You shrug. “He’s a little stupid. You know that.”

Tony’s lips twitch despite himself. Steve scowls.

“I don’t know what you two are talking about, or- Planning-“

He cuts himself off, as Tony tosses the printed out article down on the desk. You hadn’t actually seen it yet, but you knew it was coming.  

From the look on Steve’s face, though, he really hadn’t realized at all.

“What.” It’s all he says. One clipped, dumbfounded word as he stares at the paper. You sort of want to laugh, but you bite it down. Tony’s looking at you like this is serious. Like he can’t make it go away with a wave of his hand.

Stever grabs the article. You lean over his shoulder, just to piss him off a little more. He doesn’t even bother to glare at you, his fingers digging so deep into the paper it tears. The headline gets crumpled, like he’s crushing it with just his gaze.

Secret Love In the Avengers.

It’s not very snappy. You think they could’ve tried harder, but at least the picture is good. You and Steve both look nice, and you’re staring at each other so intently you can’t even blame them for the minimum effort. With Sam looking bored on Steve’s other side, and you and Steve leaning so close together, there’s no mistaking in that photo who might be seconds from making out.

“Tony,” Steve mutters. “What’s this.”

Tony snorts. “What do you think this is, Cap? A news article about trades with China? No, because less people would be reading that than they’re reading this.”

“We’re hotter than trades with China,” you offer, and you think Tony would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed.

“Why is there a picture of us.” Steve mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Well, when two people look at each other like they want to fuck, everyone tends to notice.”

Steve’s jaw locks. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So what, do you need us to do another release-“

“No.” Tony glares at you. “This is the third time something like this has happened with you two-“

“What?” You snort. “No, it isn’t-“

“Ah.” Tony raises a hand. “Don’t play stupid with me. I’m trying to be generous with third, and I’m not in the mood to hold your hands through feelings right now.”

“Feelings?” Steve spits, fumbling with the paper. “There are no- I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, Stark-“

“Steven.” Tony says flatly. “You. Shut up.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Yes. I do. And you do too.”

You raise your hand, frowning between them. “Can I ask what the first and second time were, because I’d remember if this happened before-“

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony snaps. “Because I have spent millions bribing people out of running these stories, and you never look online to see what people are saying.”

“What people are saying?” You look at Steve. “What are people saying?”

Steve coughs, ears turning red. “Nothing-“

“They think you’re fucking.” Tony says flatly, and your mouth falls open.

“They- What?!”

“You have chemistry, kid.” Tony shrugs. “Every second you’re next to each other, you’re eye fucking so much we all feel like we’re supposed to leave the room.”

You sputter, shaking your head. You can feel you flush, burning up your face. When you look at Steve, he won’t meet your eyes.

He never does.

“Did you know about this?” You hiss.

He sighs, running a hand over his face with a half-shrug. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?! What the fuck does that mean-“

“Means he knew.” Tony says flatly. “Everyone knew.”

“Everyone knew what?! That the whole country thinks I want to fuck Steve?!”

Tony snorts. “You do want to fuck Steve.”

Your face burns. Steve looks up with warning pinch in his brow. “Tony.”

“Don’t Tony me, pretty boy-“

“Just- Not now-“

“Yes, now.” Tony glares between you. “This has gotten out of hand. We get it. You’re both hot. You’d have hot sex. But if you don’t either fuck or cut bait and start acting like adults, you’re grounded.”

Steve scowls. “You can’t ground me, Stark, I’m your boss-“

“Well, I cut the checks.” Tony crosses his arms. “So I think I can do whatever I want.”

Steve and Tony keep glaring at each other. You stare off in the middle distance between them. Your hands don’t feel like they’re your hands. Your feet are planted on the carpet, but not on solid ground. Your head feels like it’s pressing into itself, yet also expanding to something bigger than you can hold onto.

You don’t want to fuck Steve. Sure, he’s all muscles and rugged yet soft features, but there are countless men like that.

There are very few men like that. Well, you could find one. You have one in front of you. But you don’t want to fuck him. He’s annoying. Impossibly annoying and bossy and always up your ass about something, and not in the fun way like you’d prefer-

No. You wouldn’t prefer. You don’t want to fuck Steve. You can have anyone else, you’d rather have anyone else. Steve’s just always there and always making you embarrassed and angry, and maybe you’re into that but it’s none of his business. It’s not like he’d be like that in bed, either way.

You think. Not that you’ve thought about it. He’s too perfect. Too boring. He’s not boring when he’s arguing with you. He just hates you that much. That you make him break. Or you let him show that side of himself. You don’t poke and prod at anyone like you poke and prod at Steve. He’s just fun to get a rise out of. He gets cute when he’s pissy. He sneers your name and it goes right between your legs, but that doesn’t mean you want to fuck him.

You don’t. You don’t. You don’t?  

He has big hands, but you don’t want them groping and squeezing all over your body. He’s got a strong nose, but you’ve never thought about it pushing against your clit, just like you’ve never thought about his huge biceps wrapping around your neck while he fingers you stupid. And you’d smile at him, dazed and long fucked out of protesting. And he’d feed those fingers to you while sitting you on his cock, and all that perfection would melt away into something raw. Something real, that’s open and refuses to be stitched close. Something that both of you want to drown in.

Something’s that’s just for you, and Steve, and no one else.

Oh, no.

You want to fuck him.

Tony says your name, and your gaze snaps back over. Your palms are sweating, your face burning, your skin suddenly itchy and your feet restless. You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck Steve.

He looks at you weird, and you shift in your seat. He can’t know. Ever. This is going to get cleaned up, and Steve will never know that you might, kind of, really want him to just toss you over his shoulder and fuck you stupid. You glance at him from the corner of you eye, and his gaze sears into you. You have to look away.

There’s no way he can know. You’ve barely even known for a minute.  Tony only says he knows because he’s an ass. This will pass. It has to pass.

“Figure it out.” Tony tells you, before walking out of the office.

And you will. By never being in the same room as Steve again.

You shoot to your feet, and almost sprint out of the room. Steve calls your name, but you don’t look back. He’s faster, but he’s also respectful. He won’t manhandle you and force you to listen, like you want him to.

God, you really want him to. You’re going to kill Tony for making you realize that, then kill yourself, and no one will ever have to know that—for all your cool, bored smiles and teasing and flirting, for all your powers and siren-like smile—you just want to be fucked stupid by the most righteous, innocent sex-symbol in America.

But then Steve shouts your name again. He’s following you. Why is he following you.

“Fuck off, Steve!” You shout over your shoulder, and he scoffs.

“No, you heard Tony, we need to talk-“

“We really don’t-“

“Yes, we do- Will you slow down-“

You pick up the pace, just to piss him off. Steve groans, and you hear boots hitting the ground behind you. He’s giving chase, and you can barely outwalk him.

Steve grabs your arm before you can even break into a sprint. You thrash, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, and that’s so hot, and you’re going to throw yourself off a bridge about this.

“Let go-“

“No.” Steve drags you down the hall, into an empty conference room. “Not until we talk.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about-“

“Will you just stop being such a fucking brat and listen?”

Steve raises his voice, stern and commanding. It’s deep, so deep it echoes through you, and your knees wobble. He sees it. His jaw ticks, his grip slackens, and you rip your hand away.

“Brat.” You mock. “What would America think, if they saw their Golden sun talking to a girl like that?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You are not a girl.”

“Aw. I’m a woman-“

“You’re a problem.” He leans over you, voice dropping to a hiss.

And this is how he always looks at you, but magnified. With a sharper gleam in his eyes, his lips thin and white, like he’s trying to swallow every word. A vein in his brow ticks, and you smile.

“I’m a problem?”

Steve’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“Hurtful,” you whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’ll live.”

For a long moment, you just stare at each other. He wants to talk, he can talk. You’re not entertaining this. Not just for him to unravel you then keep being a fucking dick.

“You…” He shakes his head, a tiny motion as his tongue flicks over his lips. “You are impossible.”

“You’re impossible-“

“Because you make me impossible,” he sneers, and you lean back slightly.

“I- You-“ You try to scoff. It’s a weak sound. He’s too close, and he smells like pine trees and something spicy, and it’s not fair. “I don’t even do anything-“

“Yes. You do.”

“What, is my skirt too short? Are my shoulders distracting you-“

“You’re distracting me.” Steve presses forward, until your faces are only inches apart. “You always distract me, you fuckin’-“ He closes his eyes, shoulders heaving.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he chuckles.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he rasps. “You don’t fuckin’ mean it.”

You blink, trying to think over the desire, burning in your body. Of course you meant it. You didn’t even want to say it, but he’s so close. It’s intoxicating. You’d think he was drugging you, if that was possible.

Steve’s pressed you against the conference table. His arms are caging you in, giving you no escape from the electricity, almost crackling in the air. You open your mouth, then close it, lost for what to say. You’re worried you’ll just whisper his name again. He drags his eyes open after what feels like a million years, his voice dropping down to something hot and dangerous.

“You never push anyone,” he says. “Like you push me, doll. It’s not… It drives me crazy.”

You swallow, your voice smaller than you want. “You- You push me-“

“Because I can’t help it.” He presses closer. Your noses are almost bumping. “You are beautiful, and insolent, and infuriating-“

“Steve-“

“And you’re so sweet to everyone.” He grabs your jaw, and your hand flies to his wrist. “Everyone loves you, so they think I’m crazy when I say you’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Everyone loves me because of my powers.” You try to remind him, because if he does this, you won’t be able to stop him. “You- You know that-“

“I do. Trust me,” he murmurs your name, gaze flicking to your lips. “I know. Spent so long blaming them too. All those daydreams had to be because you’re Nat’s honeypot. Thought it was the wrong thing to do, that I was some kind of monster to thinking about you like that, when everyone else already does. But no,” he looks back to you. “It’s just you, doll. I plugged my nose, avoided your pheromones, let Bruce experiment on me to make me immune, did fuckin’ everything, and I still wanted you.”

You take a deep, ragged breath. You have to lick your lips, to stop the spit, and Steve tracks the motion like a predator.

No one wants you. Everyone loves you, but no one wants you. You’re pretty but untouchable. No one can hurt you. If you ask someone for something, they’ll always do it, whether they really want to or not.

But Steve…

He says he wants you. And you really want to believe him.

“How long.” You breathe, and he sighs, bowing his head.

“Since the second I saw you.”

“You…” You scan over his face, looking for any hint that it’s not really him. That he doesn’t really, fully mean it. “You want to fuck me?”

His ears turn red. “I mean- Not just that-“

“But you do,” you breathe, and he sighs.

Stares for a second longer, then nods.

“Okay.” You whisper. Steve looks to your lips, then back to you again.

“Okay?”

 You nod. Steve’s grip on your jaw tightens, and your breath hitches. He leans down slowly. So torturously slowly.

Your lips meet, soft and chapped and nervous. You lean up, and he presses down. Your noses bump, and his tongue flicks over your lower lip. Your nails dig into his bicep, and he grunts, and-

Steve snaps.

His other hand flies to your face, and he presses over you, hot and demanding. Your breath hitches, you mouth falls open, and he shoves his tongue down your throat with a groan. You grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard you both stumble back. Your knees hit the back of the table, but Steve’s fast. He ducks down without breaking the kiss, and scoops you up into his arms.

You squeal, but the sound is quickly muffled by Steve’s tongue down your throat. Your laugh is breathless and giddy. He chuckles, pushing further forward, and you pull at the collar of his shirt. He jerks forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

“Needy.” He mutters against your lips, and you shove his shoulder with weak hands.

“Shut up, I could still stop this-“

“But you won’t.” He taunts. “You like it, don’t you. Like gettin’ on my nerves, making me lose control.”

Steve pulls away, grabs your knees, shoving them apart with rough, firm hands. You gasp, grabbing at his neck. “Steve-“

“You’re wet under there.” He growls, running a big hand up your inner thigh. “I can smell it. Smell how much you want me, every damn time you’d mouth off.”

Your swallow, pressing your brows tight together. You watch him rub your legs, breathing through your nose like some wanton whore. Steve’s thumb grazes the place where you’re leg meets your core, and your whole body shivers.

He smirks, looking at you under pretty lashes. You try to glare, but you’re panting. His gaze just makes the fire in your core burn brighter, and your tongue flicks over your lips.

“You never said anything,” you whisper, and Steve gives you an amused look.

“You would’ve killed me.”

And you can laugh breathlessly. Ten minutes ago, you would’ve. But now he’s all over you, and you can’t even bring yourself to mock him.

“No,” you brush your lips over his. “I wouldn’t have.”

Steve works his jaw, that raw, strange look flashing over his face. The look that’s yours. That’s only ever been for you.

He leans in, and this kiss is softer than before. Steve massages your hips, settling himself between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and feel it poking against your thigh. His cock, thick and hard, somehow bigger than you imagined, and you hadn’t  been thinking small.

“You feel that.” He pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly. “’S what you always do to me. Every day, I’d be walkin’ around so hard I was worried you’d see it. But no.” His kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you honey.”

You hum, tipping your head back. Steve groans, dragging his lips over a pulse point, letting his tongue flick against sensitive skin. One hand slips under your shirt, careful fingers tracing up the line of your spine.

“Steve…” You whisper. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh, but you like it too much when I do.” He rasps. “You love it, love being a sweet little toy for me.”

You whimper, and he reaches around, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“So bossy ‘till I’m touchin’ you,” he sucks on your neck, grinding his bugle into your core. You gasp as the rough friction, and Steve chuckles.

“You- You’re such an ass-“

“You like that too.” He grunts, breath hot in your ear. “You like bein’ the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, doll.” He pushes your ass forward, so your clit is pushed against the thick hardness of him.

A long moan escapes your lips, and you drop your face into his shoulder. Steve grunts, rutting forward, and it’s so fucking hot you can’t think past it. The drawl of his voice in your ear, the strength of him around you, it’s intoxicating. The clothing adding extra friction, his fingers digging into your skin. His hand slips into your pants, deft fingers dragging down your ass to tease right against the drip of your pussy.

“Just you,” he thrusts forward, squeezing your ass. “Only you. So fuckin’ pretty and sassy, drivin’ me insane-“

You whimper, and Steve makes a low sound, taking a deep breath against your hair. The table creaks, with the force of his every thrust.

“So rude of you, sweetheart, to make me try and keep it together when you’re running around, beggin’ to be fucked- God-“

Steve moans, jerking his hips back suddenly. You stare at each other, panting and flushed. He swallows, and there’s a stain blooming on his pants. Your mouth falls open, and normally you’d make fun of him, but fuck. There’s so much of it. You can see white, leaking out of the cuffs of his pants and onto the floor. He came just from that. Just from holding and kissing you.

And he’s still so hard.

You lick your lips, and look back up. Steve’s throat bobs. You smile, fumbling with your pants, and he blinks.

“You’re- Uh-“

“In me.” You point at his dick, about to burst the seam of his slacks, then your core. “You- Do that in me.”

Steve’s hands curl into fists. You’ve never seen his face so red. It’s almost adorable. “Uh- Are you sure-“

“Do you want to fuck me stupid or not?”

He leans back, startled. You hold his gaze, pull down your pants, hike your legs up on the table, and spread them wide.

You could swear you see it twitch, as he takes you in. Head thrown back, your fingers rubbing between the swollen, dripping lips of your cunt. You breathe out his name, dipping one finger into your heat and pumping slowly. Steve takes a rough step forward, grabbing your knees like handles.

“Stop,” he grunts, and you obey.

Steve runs his fingers down your bare thigh, slowly guiding your hand away from your pussy. You grab his shoulder, holding his gaze as he rubs his thumb around your clit. You let out a slow, relaxed breath, and Steve smirks.

“You like that, doll?”

“As much as you did,” you breathe out, and Steve chuckles.

“Ah. Too late for that.” He presses a mocking kiss to your open lips. “You showed me what you want. How bad you want it.”

Steve flicks your clit, and your back arches. He presses back down on the little button, and a long moan rips from your lips.

“I came in my fuckin’ pants,” he whispers in your ear. “And you’re still beggin’ me to fuck you.”

“Wasn’t- Wasn’t begging-“

“But you would,” he coos. “If I asked you to. You’d say please, Stevie and cry for me to stuff this pretty little pussy.” He pushes down on your clit, and you whimper. “Like the good little slut you are.”

God, the hold he has on you should be crime. You choke out his name pathetically, and Steve starts to rub you in thick, unrelenting circles. His free arm wraps around your lower back, holding you in place when his fingers dip down, and start to explore the folds of you pussy.

“So wet,” he mutters, pushing one finger deep into your cunt. You clench around him, and a squelching sound fills the room as he pumps slowly. “Wet and tight.” Steve looks up at you with a smirk. “You think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, doll? Christ, you’re barely taking my finger.”

He pushes in a second one, just to prove his point, and your mouth falls open. He’s right. The burn of his two fingers, it feels like he’s stretching you open with a fist. He slides them in deeper and deeper, his thumb working your clit, and your nails sink into his neck.

“St- Steve,” you gape between your bodies, watching him disappear inside of you. “Steve-“

“Hm?” He gets up to the knuckle, and looks up at you with a smirk.

You try to take a second to catch your breath, and he scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist so it hits a gummy spot inside of you. You cry out, and he silences you with a deep, messy kiss.

“Feel it,” he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers almost all the way out. “No talkin’ for once, doll. All you gotta do is feel it.”

He slams his fingers back in. You whimper, but nod. Steve hums in approval, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You squeeze and gush around him, and he groans. You barely get a second to compose yourself before he starts to thrust his fingers, deep and hard, and you start to unravel.

Steve’s strong. This is him holding back, and he’s still so strong. You scramble to get a real, firm hold on something, because he’s pummeling your pussy into a drenched, slack oblivion. The pace is brutal, knuckles dragging right over your g-spot over and over, splitting you open in a way that makes you drool.

He makes his mouth busy, trailing kisses back down your throat, then over your shoulders. You moan, leaning your head against his, and he smiles against your skin. Steve draws back to meet your gaze, and through the daze of the pleasure he’s dragging out of you, you smile back.

Your body is rocking, from the brutality of how he’s touching you. Steve’s eyes flick down, but not to where his fingers are being swallowed by your pussy.

He’s looking at your tits.

He licks his lips, watching them bounce under his force. You think he might be hypnotized. Before you can say anything, he reaches up and rips your shirt clean off.

“Steve- Ooh-“

“Shhh.” He gives you a stern look, twisting his fingers in your cunt. “I’ve got you, doll. Just- Lemme-“

Steve looks back to your tits, and his eyes are almost black with desire. You’ve never seen anything hotter, than how he looks at you as he lowers himself down.

He mouths at the curve of your tits, sucking a tiny, dark bruise. You moan, starching at his bicep, but he just drags you closer. Forcing your back to arch, your tits to push into his face.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice dripping with something close to reverence. “My girl.”

And you blink. Because that wasn’t discussed, but your pussy clenches all the same. His girl.

You don’t get more time to think about it before Steve’s lips wrap around your nipple, and you lose control.

He mouths at you like a starved man. Kissing and licking and sucking, sending tingling, electric sensations straight from your tits to your pussy. He moans every time you squeeze down on his fingers, which just feels like a vibrator right against your sensitive nipples, and makes you lose it all the more.

You’re grinding up into him, thrashing a little like an animal and whimpering in his ear. Steve bites down softly, his thumb staring to make quick, relentless swipes at your clit.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You moan, tugging at his short, soft hair. “St- Steve- Too much- I’m gonna- Fuuuck-“

You don’t know why you thought he was going to slow down. Steve switches nipples, biting down before sucking hard, right as his blunt fingertips hit that spot inside of you. You cry out as you cum, your body writhing against his stronger one. He keeps you in place, his hand working you through the orgasm. Pulling every last spasm of your cunt, and a few more after. He kisses your nipples and over your breasts before he draws up.

When it’s done, your eyes are lidded. Steve stares at you, slowly pulling his hand out. He smears your juices over your pussy, thumbing at your clit for a few more, light seconds. You squeak, and he smiles.

“You look pretty when you cum,” he mutters, and you flush.

You’ve been told that before, but this feels different.

This feels real.

You can’t think of anything to say. Steve doesn’t push you to try. He leans forward, cupping your cheek and giving you a smaller, softer look before he kisses you. You melt into him, too dazed from what might be strongest orgasm of your life to protest.

“’m gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t walk.” Steve mutters. “But- Not here.”

You hum in agreement. “Clean up later?”

“Later.” Steve grunts in agreement. “If I don’t get inside of you, think I’m gonna die.”

You giggle. It’s so stupid, but you giggle. Steve huffs out a low laugh, and drags your forward. You’re being carried like a koala in his arms. He kisses your cheek before drawing up to his whole height, and glancing at the door.

“I, uh-“ He gives you a sheepish expression. “I’m gonna have to run.”

You nod—you’re naked, you expected as much—and he clears his throat.

“You gotta hold on.”

“I am holding on.” You pat his neck, and he sighs.

“Doll, I’m gonna be running really fast-“

“I’m holding on tight.”

“Hold on tighter.”

You roll your eyes, and wrap him in the best chokehold you can manage. The asshole doesn’t even pretend to grunt.

“Your boobs are in my face.” He mumbles, and you snort.

“You were eating them like, five seconds ago-“

“Yeah, but- That was just us. What if someone sees-“

“That you’re carrying me naked? Probably that we’re fucking.”

He twists his neck to glare up at you. You smile innocently back, and he sighs.

His breath is warm, over your breasts. It makes you squirm a little, and Steve’s grip on your body tightens.

“You are such a brat,” he mutters, almost in awe. “I stop fucking you for ten seconds, and you’re already talking back again.”

“Oops.” You beam. “You should fix that.”

Steve chuckles. His tongue flicks over his lips. “Yeah,” his voice is dark. A promise. “Trust me. I’m gonna.”

And he runs. He runs so fast you squeal, because you forgot how fast he can be when he’s really trying. You press your face back into his neck to block the wind, and when he stops, you still don’t look up.

The smell hits you first. It’s deep and rich and-

Steve.

You poke your head up, and you’re in Steve’s room.

It’s not what you expected, a military cell where he sleeps and plans way to torture you. It’s… Cozy. There are books on a shelf that slightly poorly put together, and the bed is made but the sheets look thick and soft. There’s a mirror on the dresser, facing the bed, and so much paper you almost don’t know where to look. Drawings of flowers, and rivers, and sunsets. One of a bird, and a few of the landscape of the compound, and so, so many of-

“Is that me?”

Steve grunts, tossing you down onto his bed and starting to strip. You move to your knees, ready to scramble off the bed and get a better look at the drawings, but he gives you a stern look.

“Stay.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wanna see- Steve-“

He grabs you like you weigh nothing, and throws you right back onto the bed before you’re even on two feet. Your thighs press together, thrilled with the blatant manhandling. Steve notices it, and laughs.

“You like that, huh?”

“Shut up-“

“No, you liked that-“

“Maybe I did.” You stick your tongue out, and he smirks.

“You love bein’ a ragdoll, don’t you. Needy girl, you’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you-“

“You have drawings of me!” You blurt, because you really don’t need him to make you more horny.

Steve shrugs. “I do. So?”

“So?” You fumble, pulling at the sheets. “You- You like me-“

“That’s a shock to you?” Steve gives you an amused look. “I just fingered you in borderline public.”

“Well- You- You-“ You’re sputtering again. Only Steve does this to you. It drives you fucking insane. “You could’ve just wanted to fuck me-“

“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. You just get on my last line sometimes, doll.”

And all your protests slip out of your head.

I love you.

He- He said-

“What?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.

“I love you.”

He said it again. “Wh- Why?”

“Why?” He gives you a tired, almost annoyed look. “Why wouldn’t I love you?”

“Because I’m annoying.” You answer immediately. “And mean, and bossy, and- I’m annoying-“

“You said that one already.” Steve starts to walk towards you, and you lean into his gravity, even as your heart beats in your ears.

“How do you know you love me.” You whisper. “It- It could just be my powers-“

“It’s not.”

“But-“

Steve takes your face between his hands, his thumb dragging over your lower lip. You fall silent, and you know you’re staring up at him like he’s the sun, but you’ve never been so warm. You’re afraid to move. To lose it.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he hums. “You- You can’t mean that-“

“I do.” He presses his thumb forward, and your lips wrap around it on instinct. You suck, and his eyes flash with more approval.

It’s embarrassing, how pliable that makes you. How he’d just need to give you one bit of praise after so much mocking, and you might just cum right here. Sucking on Steve’s thumb, naked on his bed, sheets bunched between your thighs.

“I love you because you’re smart,” he says, and useless, embarrassing tears prick at your eyes. “And funny, and kind. You never abuse what you can do to people. You work hard, you drive me crazy, you’re always ready to do anything for anyone else.”

You try to shy away. You’d been wrong. You’re not cumming, you’re getting so hot it feels like a fever, because having him degrade you is less embarrassing than this. Steve’s grip on you face tightens. He’s not letting you get away that easy.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. “And it’s got nothin’ to do with any powers. So I love you, doll. And you’re gonna feel it.”

There’s nothing you can say to that. Tears are pricking at your eyes, hopeless and confused and desperate. You need to see what that feels like. Steve’s love, painted all over you.

“You want that?” He mutters, and you nod. “Words-“

“Please,” you breathe out, the words muffled around his thumb. “Show me.”

Steve smiles. He pulls his thumb away with a pop, and taps your check gently.

“See?” He smirks. “Begging.”

Your eyes narrow, but Steve doesn’t let you spit out a response. He crashes down into a harsh, long kiss that makes your toes curl and thighs rub together. Steve gropes all over your body, pushing you down into the mattress before rolling over and forcing you to straddle his chest.

He’s naked. You don’t know how you missed it—probably the love confession—but the thick, hard curve of his cock slaps against your ass, and his bare chest flexes when you drag your nails over his pecs.

“You’re gonna ride my cock, doll,” he rubs your ass, smiling up at you. “Don’t need you to say anything back. Just show me,” he squeezes your ass. “How fuckin’ bad you need it.”

You look back at it, and your breath hitches. It’s huge. Bigger than any you’ve ever taken, bigger than any you’ve ever seen, even in porn.

“Did you take fucking drugs for that thing?” You breathe, and Steve snorts.

“Yes?”

You glare at him, and he raises his brows.

“You getting on, or not?” 

For a second, you think about being petulant. You cross your arms and pout, trying to test how far you can push him. But Steve just snorts, rolls his eyes, and picks you up. You don’t even get to wiggle before he’s forcing you down on his dick, and the air is knocked from your lungs.

Steve sits so deep in your, it might be pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gape down at him, making weak noises as your pussy pulses and stretches around him. His fingers dig into your hips, but it’s the only sign that he’s struggling to hold himself back.

“Much as I love you bein’ a brat,” he mutters, massaging your ass. “I’d rather see this.”

He reaches up slowly, tucking air behind your ear. You smile weakly, and he chuckles, settling fully into the pillows.

“Ride it, doll,” he orders, and god help you, you try.

You catch your breath after a long moment that feels like eternity, and start to roll your hips. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, but doesn’t help you. His hands stay firm on your body, forcing you to use everything you have to grind down onto his dick.

He pushes against that gooey spot inside of you, and you falter with a long moan. You shift, forcing him right against it, and he lets out a sharp breath, but still doesn’t move.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he coos, cock throbbing inside of it. “Nice and big, fillin’ up your pussy so good.”

You moan, hips bucking. Steve grunts, thrusting up slightly, and you tip your head back. The friction is good. So good. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you find a rhythm. It starts slow, rolling and pushing Steve’s cock right where you want it. You look down at him, sweaty and adoring beneath you. His hands wander, his breathing ragged and lips parted.

“That’s a good girl,” he mutters. “C’mon, baby, there you go.”

You keen, and move faster. Your knees are weak, but the need is stronger. You bounce on Steve dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as he splits you open over and over again.

But it’s not enough. You don’t have extra stamina or strength, and he’s so big, and you’re so turned on your body is starting to forget how to move. Every wet, obscene sound makes you glance at where he’s disappearing inside of you, the way your slick is coating his cock when you pull up and his balls are heavy, pushed against your ass when you drop back down. You get hornier, and you want to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you can’t. You can’t find the pace.

You can’t cum. You can’t, and pathetic, fat tears stream down your cheeks because of it.

Steve reaches up, brushing them away with a tiny smirk. “Aw, babydoll. Don’t cry.”

You sob, shaking above him as your legs finally get to weak. You’re just squirming above him now, blinking under wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile.

“Can’t get there all alone, can you,” he pushes you down, slamming his hips up, and you make a choked sound like his name. “Yeah, that’s right. Sweet girl, just a fuckin’ mess on my cock.”

“Ple- Please-“ You blubber, collapsing over Steve’s chest. “God, Steve- Please-“

“Aw. Begging so pretty.” He kisses your brow. “How could I ever tell you no?”

Steve grabs you off his cock, twisting you onto your stomach as he sits up. You’re shoved down into the mattress, your cheek pressed into the cushions by one of Steve’s hands on the back of your neck. The other stays on your hips, dragging your ass high up in the air to present to him.

“Such a mess.” Steve runs the head of his cock between the lips of you pussy, letting it press against your clit before he lines it up at your entrance. “You really needed this, didn’t you?”

He slides in slowly, and your eyes rolls back in your head. He’s impossibly deeper at this angle. You try to press your face into the mattress, to muffle your pathetic sounds, but Steve folds his body over yours, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking it back as he bottoms out.

“Look.” He bites your ear, dragging back before slamming forward, drilling his cock back into your abused, over sensitive pussy. “Look at us, babydoll. Fit so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your eyes dart up, and oh. Oh god.

It’s the most pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Steve wrapped around you, his jaw tight and one hand resting on your hip. You can’t see where he’s fucking you, but you can see how his muscles flex with each thrust. You’re trapped under him, your gaze locked onto his black, fervorish one. There’s no blue left in his eyes, as he hits a pace like an animal. Only hunger and adoration.

“St- Steve-“

“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s right, say my fuckin’ name- Scream it-“

“Steve!” You cry out, the tears streaming down your face as it becomes far too much. “Oh- Ooooh-“

 Steve lets go of your hair, wrapping his massive bicep around your neck. It keeps your head up, keeps your eyes on his. He kisses the side of your head, and you can feel arousal sliding down your thighs as he rolls his hips.

“So pretty,” he whispers. “Look at yourself. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

Your eyes dart over, and an unbearable warmth prickles over your skin. You look more beautiful than you’ve ever felt in your life. Thoroughly wrecked, worshipped, fucked into a drooling mess with swollen lips and glazed eyes. Steve noses at you, smirking against your skin.

“Good, good girl.” His words are thick, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You whimper an agreement, and Steve chuckles.

“You gonna cum for me? C’mon, show me how nice it feels, cum on my fucking cock-“ 

It’s like he has more control over your body than you do. The orgasm rips through you at his command, and you sob out his name as you fall apart in his arms. Steve grunts, pulling fully out for half a second to roll you on your back. You barely even feel the loss before he’s burying himself right to the hilt, and you can’t remember what being empty feels like.

There’s more than there looked to be. Steve pulls almost all the way out, to try and make more space, but it does next to nothing. Thick ropes of cum fill you up until you can almost taste it. There are wet, messy sounds as it starts to leak out, over your ass and thighs. You can see it in the mirror, dripping down onto the mattress. You’re stuffed up so well, you try to say Steve’s name, but it just comes out a pathetic moan.

He collapses over you with a grunt, and all the edge vanishes. He pulls fully out, cradling you in his arms and kissing over your neck.

“I made a mess.” He mutters, running light fingers over your inner thigh.

You giggle, kicking him away, and he smiles against your skin.

“You gonna talk to me?”

You shake your head, licking your lips. Your voice is gone, from screaming, and you can see him wince when he realizes it.

“I didn’t hurt you-“

You shake your head quickly, and his shoulders relax.

“Okay. Good. I- I’m gonna-“

He tries to get up. You grab him, and yank him back down. He grunts, giving you an incredulous look.

“Honey, it’s everywhere.”

You glare at him. He’s warm. He’s not getting away from you that easy. And you expect him to argue, like he always had before, but he just… gives in.

“Okay. Five minutes.”

He leans back over you, and you lay there. Cuddling.

Like a real couple.

You could be. Steve said he loves you, and he meant it, and that opens a door you’ve never thought about before. A door you never even let yourself think about.

A door you might want to see the other side of, more than you’ve ever let yourself admit.

But now-

You want it. You wanted this, and you want that, and you’re not going to spend another second pretending you don’t.

“About what I said,” Steve mutters, like he’s reading your mind. “Before we- Or- I guess during-“

 You roll over and grab his face. He blinks adorably, and you smile.

Steve murmurs your name, and you smile.

“I love you,” you croak out.

His jaw goes slack, and your smile widens. It’s the only thing you can think to say. The only thing you want to say.

And when Steve kisses you, it’s slow. Romantic and loving and deep. He really loves you. Everyone in the world, and the perfect man loves you. He holds you like you’re the only thing in his world. You feel like you’re the only thing in his world.

And he might really be the only thing in yours.

It really seemed like a no-brainer to you when the topic came up at the engagement dinner. Steve and Natasha weren’t trying to kick him out. In fact, it wasn’t even their idea. He was the one who said it made the most sense, that they needed their space and he should find his own. Sam joked that he just didn’t wanna hear the bed banging on the other side of the wall, if they “knew what he meant.” Bucky’s face, and the red on Steve’s cheeks, told you he wasn’t too far off. 

So, when he mentioned to you that he wanted to keep a roommate, you didn’t hesitate to offer that he move into your apartment. After all, Wanda had moved out a year ago when her and Vision found a house on the outskirts of the city. You had the extra room, and you didn’t mind offering him help. You had known him for years throughout college, if only through mutual friends, but you enjoyed his company. He was the type that didn’t expect anything out of you during conversation. It flowed naturally, or if it didn’t then you simply sat in comfortable silence. You had discovered through several discussions that you shared the same taste in literature, and you both preferred the night to the morning. 

You knew living together would be easy, and you were nothing if not capable of adapting. If need be, you’d just work around each other's schedules and respect the other’s space. You had never had any expectations of your roommates, not since you became used to your own capability. If you needed something done, you’d figure out how to do it. Wanda had said several times that she often wasn’t even aware you were around, given your nature to tending to yourself. You understood what she meant, because there was a point in time where you had to force the habit. Your last relationship was happy, you really had no right to complain… it was only that he never wanted to do any favor you asked. Something as simple as taking out the trash could turn into a huge argument about you “suffocating” him. Which was fine, you had found in the recent years that you liked your independence more than reliance on others.

So, when you offered, you assured Bucky that you knew how to pull your weight. You were not simply asking him just because you thought it’d be useful to have a man around. 

You figured you were on the same page when he gave you an easy smile, a teasing scrunch of his nose, and leaned over to say, “Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetheart.” 

Oh, you were wrong.

~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅

It started small, with chivalrous things you hadn’t realized you missed until he did them so easily. There was no show about it, no performance. It wasn’t grand or mind blowing. 

He opened your door. 

The day he moved in, you had been out grocery shopping, getting home right as he finished up. He had gone back outside to park his car. You beat him up the stairs, grocery bags making red indents in the skin of each of your arms. You didn’t mind, until you came to the door and found you couldn’t even reach it. You mumbled several curses while trying to maneuver for your keys and not drop the bags, this was a weekly occurrence after all. 

“Let me,” came that familiar voice from behind you, two hands reaching for the bags on your arms before you had a chance to even respond.

He glanced down at your arms with a frown, looking at you as if disappointed. Then, bags in hand, he reached for his key and opened the door, waiting for you to enter first. You blinked at his steady smile, looking between him and the entrance to the apartment. When you walked in, he followed behind and came to set the bags on the counter. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you stopped him as he began taking things out of the bags, “I’m sure you need to unpack.” 

He simply scrunched his nose as if you were just being silly, “I am capable of both, you know.” 

And you supposed you did know, given his success on the college hockey team. The strength and stamina shared between him and Steve was a highlighting topic among many broadcasting channels. Not that you paid attention, or anything. Still, though it was a helpful gesture, something about it made you uncomfortable enough to stop him again. “It’s just that…” you offered a smile, “I’m kind of crazy about organizing everything.” 

He glanced between your eyes and the fidgeting of your fingers, stepping back with an easy smile and a, “Whatever you say,” before retreating to his room to unpack.

It continued like that, small things that you didn’t know how to feel about. After all, opening the door for others was just polite. It spoke to how introverted you were that it was a novelty. The same applied to carrying heavier objects, or offering to do your laundry when he was already putting in a load. You were baffled to have them returned to you perfectly folded. 

You supposed you were just good friends who enjoyed each other's company, even if his accommodating attitude set you off balance. You enjoyed how he paid attention. Getting to know each other was a simple exchange of observations, where you learned that you mirrored the other often. Except for a few things. 

It was late afternoon on a sunday, you had just stepped out of the shower and thrown on a long shirt and shorts. You stepped out of your room, into the living area where the golden New York sunset seeped through the windows. There was Bucky, haloed by the light, setting a book back on your shelves only to take another off. You stopped and watched as he ran his finger over the spine, then split the pages. His brows drew together, but his lip turned up. 

“What is it?” You spoke up. 

He looked up to you immediately, only his eyes seemed to drag up from your bare legs to your wet hair. That smile grew into a smirk, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip. He took his time, like he always seemed to. Like he didn’t know what it meant to rush. Yet he never left you hanging, “You’ve annotated every book on this shelf.” 

It wasn’t a question, just an observation, lifting the book in his hands as if to prove the point. He was holding Pride and Prejudice. Your eyes widened as you took sight of your neat scribbles in pink ink, taking several steps forward and opening your mouth to respond. 

Only, he beat you to it, eyes flickering back to the page, “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of Mr. Darcy described using the word ‘daddy.’” 

Your mouth fell open completely, in fact your jaw might have unhinged itself altogether. The way he read the word aloud with no shame whatsoever? You remembered feeling embarrassed just writing it across the page. 

You forced yourself to stand straighter, crossing your arms and clearing your throat. 

“Well, you obviously haven’t been on booktok very often, then.” You raised your brow, turning the challenge onto him. 

He only took it in stride, leaning a shoulder against the bookshelf and giving you a deliberate once over. “Oh really? You’re telling me there’s an entire community out there for the kinds of things you write in these margins?” He turned his attention back to the flipping pages, muttering more so to himself, “interesting.”

You scoffed, finally reaching out and snatching the book from his hungry eyes, “Oh, give me that!” You turned to place it back where it belonged, next to Emma. “And for your information, no. Not all of them are annotated.” You expecting more teasing from where he stood, still leaned on the shelves. Like he was right where he wanted to be. Only, his smug expression softened into something closer to curiosity. “Yeah, I was wondering about that…” then he reached a corded arm over you, almost caging you between him and the bookshelf. You lowered your eyes immediately, because seriously, he wasn’t even flexing, were his biceps naturally that large? Was that normal? It felt disrespectful to even look. But he brought it back down soon after, holding in his hand the one book you hadn’t touched with a pen. 

When he still didn’t move away, you took it upon yourself, taking a considerable step to the side. He only thumbed through the pages, as if to prove his point, “What’s so different about The Notebook?” 

What couldn’t be more different? You wanted to say. You simply turned your eyes to the shelves, exhaling a dissatisfied breath. “It’s unrealistic.” 

“Unrealistic?” He laughed, pointing to the top shelf, “More than The Chronicles of Narnia?” Which was littered with your takes on favorite moments and quotes. 

You rolled your eyes, “It’s unrealism disguised as realistic.” You shrugged, trying not to sound bitter, “I mean, what kind of man genuinely asks a woman what she wants, and then vows to give her all of it?” 

He didn’t miss a beat, “A good one.” His voice was softer then, and you didn’t like the look in his eyes when you met them again. Like he was reading you now, like you were a puzzle he was slowly piecing together. He looked as if he just found another fitted piece. 

“Yes, well,” you tried to sound unbothered, because you were unbothered. It didn’t matter. It never had. “Sometimes you have to be ‘a good man’ for yourself.” 

The conversation ended there, because you felt exposed under his gaze, and plucked a book before retreating back to your room. The Hobbit this time. 

You hadn’t noticed the book was missing until you walked into the apartment a week later and noticed the unbalanced lean of other books on the shelf. Some had fallen over into the empty spot it had left. Your mouth turned into a frown, but you quickly brushed it off. Maybe he wanted to read it. Maybe he’d feel the same way you did in the end, that it was a pointless kind of fantasy, and you would laugh together about it.  

When it returned to its spot, however, you felt your palms itch immediately. For what reason, you didn’t know. You asked him if he liked it the following morning, and he gave a simple “yeah,” that somehow made you more antsy. He didn’t give anything else but a shrug, before turning the conversation to teasing you about your inability to get a pancake to the perfect temperature without burning it on one side. 

When you were alone in the apartment, you finally groaned in frustration and picked it up. You didn’t know what you expected, because you knew he didn’t so much as highlight his books, and yet… 

You found quotes highlighted in marker to match the cover, small annotations written in black at the edge of the pages. 

“She would tell him what she wanted in her life--her hopes and dreams for the future--and he would listen intently and then promise to make it all come true.” 

“She wanted something else, something different, something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.” (Nicholas Sparks, 2000). 

And off to the side: You deserve all of it. Everything.

You shut the book immediately and put it back, stepping away with a hand over your chest. It was as if you actually heard alarms go off in the back of your brain, red sirens flaring. It was unfair of him to plant any idea of that in your head. You wringed your hands and turned away, not liking the chasm that formed in your chest. The ache it created. Within minutes you had your bag and were out of the apartment, trying to get as far from that bookshelf as possible. 

Then it became… more. He took notice of your work schedule several weeks in, noting when you would usually come home late and when you usually went without dinner as a result. Suddenly, you were coming home to dinner on the table and a Bucky who only smiled and asked about your day. Suddenly, the dishwasher was emptied before you had a chance to get to it. Suddenly, the washer wasn’t making that horrible noise anymore and the volume on your TV didn’t randomly move up and down. But he never mentioned the bookshelf. 

You didn’t let it affect your expectations. He was just being nice, trying to make a good impression. It was sweet. Gentlemanly. You continued your routine as you had before he moved in, only more deliberately. In hindsight, you might not even have noticed yourself doing it. Anything you said you would do, you made sure it got done early. Even if he brushed you off and said he would take out the trash in the morning, you would wake up early and do it, responding innocently when he eyed the new bag in the can. 

You worked hard at your HR internship, then came home and worked some more. You liked the space clean and organized, probably more than you even realized. It’s only that you were used to relying on yourself; not even your maintenance men were helpful–

“What are you doing?” Bucky said from somewhere above you, his tone sounding like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

You slid out from under the sink, wrench in hand, “There’s a leak.”

The crease in his brow was obvious, his mouth opened as if you said something offensive, “Didn’t you just get back from work?” 

“Mhm.” You figured you could work and talk, leaning back under the sink. 

“And you didn’t think to–hey!” Before you knew it, a hand was wrapped around your ankle, and you were tugged across the tile until you were no longer laying under the sink. Bucky had knelt down, like getting closer would get his point across, “I’m right here.” 

Yes, yes he was. Right there. Close enough that you could lean up and you’d be sharing the same breath. You could pick the grey out from the blue in his eyes, the hint of something solemn, yet all you did was look at him with a questioning expression.

He sighed, shaking his head, “You’ve been working all day, let me fix the sink.” He held his hand out for the wrench.

You didn’t give it to him, “You’ve been working too.”

“From home,” he said simply, “You have been on your feet–”

“This doesn’t require me to be on my feet.” You motioned to the fact that you were very much on the floor. 

He turned his head away, muttered something that sounded an awful lot like “unbelievable” before taking a deep breath and meeting your eyes again, “Why won’t you let me help?”

You didn’t want to open that topic at the moment, so you decided to hit him with the biggest card you had, “Do you not think I’m capable of fixing the sink?”

The look he gave you told you he was not going to fall for that game, but he only said: “I think you’re incapable of relaxing.” 

You shrugged, “I’ll relax when the sink is fixed.” 

“Or,” the wrench was plucked from your hand when you least expected it, “You go change, get settled, and I will have this fixed in thirty minutes.” 

“Or,” you growled, reaching for the wrench he held high above your head, “you could let me–” you huffed, shifting to reach higher, “just give it–” you didn’t even think before using his shoulder as leverage, and your sentence turned into a squeal as you fell forward. Directly onto him. Your thighs split across his abdomen as you landed, his breath coming out in a rough exhale as he hit the tile. You hadn’t had much time to catch yourself and focus on grabbing the wrench, meaning you fell directly onto his chest. 

You were certainly sharing air now. 

The look on his face was… you didn’t have time to read the look on his face. You scrambled off him so quickly, muttering several “I’m so sorry”s and “oh my god”s because you were splayed completely across him and you felt way more than you should have and–

You only breathed once you got back to the safety of your room, realizing then that you basically just surrendered the battle. Your pride swelled, scolded you for losing focus all because you forgot what it felt like to be pressed up against…

You shook your head, not the time. 

The next morning, you would turn the faucet to find the sink working perfectly. No leak at all. And Bucky wouldn’t mention a thing.

~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅

Somehow, it got worse after that. You noticed the vase on the coffee table, the green one you found thrifting, had a new bouquet every week. Now, when you came home late, he wouldn’t have just made you dinner, but he’d wait to eat his with you. At the table, without a phone in sight. When you went somewhere, found yourself cold halfway through whatever event you were attending, he’d appear with an extra jacket he’d brought, “because you were too stubborn to grab one, doll, even though you always get cold.” It was so… domestic. So unlike the life you had made. 

So much so that at times, you panicked. Wanda and Natasha didn’t understand it, no matter how much you tried to explain it. They told you to lean into it, and you didn’t know how to tell them you couldn’t. You had been pretty certain that you were happy as you were. You enjoyed your alone time, your career, and the community you had made. You didn’t need romance. You had once been told that love was a disease to a woman with ambition, and you had believed it wholeheartedly. 

Now, you weren’t so sure. 

You found yourself conflicted once you realized that no, James Barnes was not going to turn around at some point and resent you for all the helpful things he had done. You weren’t sure when it became such an obvious part of his character. Maybe somewhere between him knocking on the door while you showered to place towels—fresh from the dryer—on your counter and him calling every clinic in town on a Friday night to see who could fit you in when you were sick. 

 “Fuck—“ he threw the phone down on the couch next to your hip. He was crouching in front of you, hand running over his frustrated face. “Every clinic closed at 5.”

You only hummed in acknowledgment, too achy to care. You had been in and out of sleep the entire evening, going between shivering with a fever and breaking into a cold sweat. You only became more aware when you noticed him standing, reaching for his coat, “What are you—“

“We’re going to the ER.” He said as if he wasn’t, in your opinion, half mad. He shrugged on his coat then did a once over for you, turning to your room to presumably grab your shoes. 

“What?” You croaked in the most astonished voice you could muster, sitting up on your elbows, “Buck–no, there’s no reason–” 

He looked over his shoulder at you as if you were the crazy one, motioning to your form spread across the couch, “You’ve been like this all day. You can barely walk, you won’t eat, you’re feverish–”

“Listen to me…” You pushed yourself up slowly, your heart thundering like each movement was equivalent to a mile, “It is just a cold, I’m sorry–” 

He stepped forward then, “Why are you apologizing?” 

“I didn’t mean to take up your day, and I don’t want you to have to spend your evening taking me somewhere or nursing me back to health.” You gave him a kind smile. You appreciated him, so much so that something else was blooming next to that ache in your chest. A sort of… fluttering. But this wasn’t his job, “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you.” 

He was silent for the time it took him to close the remaining space, his expression looking as if you had spoken a different language entirely. He crouched next to you, shaking his head and gently wrapping his hands around your shoulders to help you lay back down, “I don’t have anywhere else to be…” 

“Still, I–” 

“Why do you apologize for existing?” The words seemed to spill out of him, as if he couldn’t quite keep them in. 

“What?” 

“You’re human,” he whispered your name, absentmindedly checking his watch. It was time for medicine again, he reached for the pain reliever and your water. You had to give it to him, he didn’t look the least bit burdened. “It’s natural to need others.”

You took the medicine, laid your head back down, “I’ve taken care of myself this far, I can handle a common cold.” 

He gave you that same look from the engagement party, but this time you read his smile as something akin to pity, or maybe affection? He lifted a hand to slide over your cheek, curling in your hair and smoothing it over your pillow, “I know you have, but now I’m here too.”

It didn’t matter when, just that you knew. This kindness was who he was, only that didn’t make him yours. The sweet words, soft touches, helpful gestures… James Barnes was a good man. Perhaps one of the best you would ever come to know, and that in of itself was more difficult than anything. You couldn’t brush him off as incompetent, or ill-mannered, or drowning in toxic masculinity, which had been so easy when dating up to that point. Only you weren’t dating, he wasn’t yours. 

It became apparent when, a year after moving in, he announced, “I’m thinking of looking for my own space.” 

You were eating takeout on the couch when he said it, curled up on opposite ends of and talking about nothing in particular prior. Then suddenly every nerve in your body lit, your focus zeroing. 

Had you been wrong? Did he think you were taking advantage after all? 

All you could say was, “Oh.” You set your carton down, suddenly not hungry. Suddenly the quiet atmosphere of the room felt as if you were suffocating. 

He seemed to track the movement, as if assessing. His mouth pulled into a frown, “Yeah.” 

You pulled your lips inward, biting down on them as you looked literally anywhere else. Which time had it been? When your laundry was done in the dryer, and you hadn’t noticed because you were knee-deep in paperwork, so he folded all of it for you? You hadn’t known what to think when he handed you a pile of your neatly folded panties with a slight blush across his cheeks. Or was it when he noticed your books were overflowing, so he surprised you on your birthday by building in an entire new section to the shelves? 

The apartment was practically screaming his name at this point, filled to the brim with his actions. The flowers, the late night dinners, the shelves, all of it. If he had been trying to worm his way in, he had done it. 

“It’s just… I saw some listings go up down the street,” he continued, picking at his chow mein, “figured I’d give them a look. Couldn’t hurt, right?” 

Right. 

You forced your throat to clear, planting on a supportive smile. This was your best friend,  moving onto a new chapter of his life, you should be happy. You nodded eagerly, “Yes, that sounds great… um,” you unraveled your legs from below you, “I think I’m ready for bed actually…” 

He furrowed his brows, “Already? We’re not even through the first Scream.” 

You scrambled for words, “It’s been a long day.” 

“Ah, I see,” bless him and his ability to bounce right back, “Natasha said you’re an easy scare, but I never thought–”

You smacked his shoulder, “I am not! You’re the one who was so focused on your book the other day that you jumped at the sound of the doorbell!”

He waved his finger at you, “Not fair! I was reading Stephen King!”

“And what? You were scared the pages were going to jump out at you?” 

His mouth fell open, “Oh, you’re not going anywhere–” 

Bucky jumped up at the same time as you, blocking your exit from the living you. You squealed, trying to get around the coffee table, but fuck him for being a goalkeeper. He follows you around, and you resort to trying to step onto the table for a fast exit, only to find his arms wrapping around you from behind. You screamed, the giggle in your throat making you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

“Got you!” His voice was rough with laughter, and you felt him step back, easily picking you up completely. 

“Oh my god,” you slapped his arm around your waist, “put me down!”

“Nope,” he fell back on the couch, bringing you with him. It was unfair, the way he held you, like your previous conversation never happened. His breath tickled your neck as he promised, “Not until we get through at least the first two movies.” 

You did eventually make it back to your room that night, shutting the door and falling against it. Your hand came up to cover your mouth. You weren’t proud of the sobs that followed shortly after, or that chasm in your chest that now felt as if it had doubled in size. You groaned in frustration, pulling at your roots. 

“There were rules, I had rules…” you pleaded to the ceiling, as if someone would hear you, as you sank to the floor. “I said I wouldn’t change my expectations… that I wouldn’t let it go too far.” 

But at some point… it had. At some point, that fluttering you had felt began to wrap around the discomfort like a balm over your heart. It soothed, forcing your guard down. Letting you dream before you even realized you had been. Thinking about what it would be like to trust someone again. To have… not a man to babysit, but a partner who was equal to you in character and intelligence. You thought the girls who said they wanted a man they could turn their brains off with were naive, stupid even, until you started imagining how easy it would be with him. Not all the time, but like an even exchange. Being able to trust that he had you, just as he would trust that you had him. 

It was becoming increasingly obvious what had happened.

“Damnit.” You sobbed, your forehead dropping to your knees. 

You were upset, but also so angry. So pissed off at yourself for letting this happen. You were smarter than this, stronger than this. They said the most intelligent women didn’t fall for this bullshit, and here you were. 

You let yourself cry quietly for another thirty minutes, then you forced yourself up. Off the floor, away from the door. You got ready for bed, and didn’t let yourself cry again. You had felt this before, and you had overcome this before. Yet, as you laid down, closing your eyes, you had a nagging feeling that one realization wasn’t going to go away. 

You didn’t want to be alone forever, not anymore. 

~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅

Claps rang out around the room, a few people drying tears on the corner of their napkins. Yelena’s maid of honor speech was funny and lighthearted, and yet still made hearts swell as she recounted childhood dramas and memories (or lack of) of late nights in college. She was even biting her lip at the end, trying to hold in a smile as she explained how Natasha never thought she’d find her person, until she met Steve. The cliche lines earned raised glasses, and knocked back champagne. 

It was a gorgeous rehearsal dinner, with a small party. Both families had pitched in on the decorations. The colors were muted, but no less beautiful, with red roses centering each table. Candles lit up the entire room, washing everyone in a romantic, golden light. All of the guests were asked to wear colors while Natasha and Steve sat in white. It was everything Natasha had said was dumb before, and you enjoyed seeing her lean into it. 

You enjoyed all of it, so much that it made that ache in your chest feel the size of a canyon. It was the same ache that had been building for a year, and you hated yourself for it. It was their day, and you wanted it to be perfect. But as you watched Steve pull her in, kiss her cheek, and the tension fall from her shoulders… all you could think was that you wanted that. That softness, that intimacy. Falling into someone and not wondering if they’d catch you. 

But you’d been doing this for so long on your own, you weren’t even sure how to appeal to someone anymore. You weren’t necessarily flirty, or even playful unless you really knew the person. You also rarely found yourself attracted to strangers, so how would you even pick someone? There were too many variables, you wondered how anyone figured it out. 

Bucky rose from the chair next to you a few moments later, after Yelena sat down. You watched him, in his blue suit, go to pick up the mic and smile to the room. He opened with something that made the room laugh, but you found yourself in a daze. There was nothing surprising about him, nor how he was dressed. You had seen him walk out of his room, had driven with him on the way here, had plenty of time to adapt to the way he seemed to take up the entire room, and yet… suddenly it felt as if he was the only one in the room. 

You watched his eyes scan the room, “…Folks, I’m just the best man. I can’t speak for Steve or his feelings but, I believe love isn’t about lust or attraction… and yes, it is about friendship. About finding that woman who you want to share everything with, who you can’t get off your mind. But more importantly,” then his eyes landed on yours and he paused. Like it was just him and you and that wide smile, with eyes that matched his suit jacket. Then he found himself, cleared his throat, “it’s about finding the person you want to take care of for the rest of your life. The person that makes effort feel like a privilege…”

His eyes snapped away as he kept speaking, but you felt like you were about to throw up. This was the only variable. Every missing data point combined into one. Everything you wanted, right here. 

And he would be leaving soon. Soon, you would be coming home to an empty apartment that still felt like him. You would have to move on and rebuild each wall, knowing all it took from him was a single look to knock them down. 

Glasses raised, people cheered, the couple kissed. Bucky found his seat next to yours right as you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

“How’d I do?” He leaned into your space, his arm coming around the back of your chair. 

You managed a small smile, grateful for the steady and supportive tone of your voice, “Perfect, very romantic.” 

Dinner was served, and everyone gathered. It was lovely, every single moment of it. The drunken laughter and kind remarks. Natasha and Steve fawning over each other. Sam teasing everyone in sight. Even Tony stood for a speech towards the end. 

You chastised yourself every time the thought popped into your head: I want this. It wasn’t your day. It wasn’t yours to want. Even when your mind felt like it was racing a million miles a minute and you just wished that you had a soft place to land. A place to rest it all. Instead, you had driven away the one person who had been such a driving force in your life the past year. Now he was leaving too. 

You tried to distract yourself by moving to the other side of the table with the excuse of visiting with Natasha to discuss bridesmaids plans for the next morning. It helped, for a moment. She was so lively about how she wanted everything done, and you were good with lists. Little boxes to check off, that was your area. The wine was a good call too, because two glasses in you were giggling and successfully avoiding glances from down the table. 

It would only last so long though, you supposed, because once dinner was over you were out of options. You hugged every last person, even the family members you didn’t know, taking extra long on your goodbyes. But, finally, you met him back at the door with a tense smile. 

Bucky stood with his hands in his pockets, angling his neck to get a better look at you, “You alright?” 

You nodded, bouncing on your heels, “Yeah, ready to go?” The valet would be bringing the car back soon. 

He only tensed his brows and raised the back of his hand to your cheek, “You sure, you’re flushed?” 

“Oh,” you didn’t mean to flinch away, it was only a reflex, “I probably had too much wine.” Which you were regretting, just now remembering that wine did not get you tipsy in the same way vodka or tequila did. You were tired now, and every thought you had from earlier was rushing back. You turned for the doors, not wanting to continue the conversation and knowing he would follow. The valet had, indeed, brought the car around, and you hopped in the passenger side after thanking them. 

Bucky took the driver's seat, adjusting his arm behind your head to reverse out of the narrow lot. He was mostly quiet, save for when he made sure you were buckled. You held your breath against the swelling emotions, trying to bat away the voices in your head. You felt at war, like the two different sides of yourself wanted very different things. One screamed it’s better this way, while the other responded it doesn’t have to be. Both had valid arguments.

In the five years you had been single, you had made the most progress in your career and financial independence. You knew yourself better, had built a better routine, and had become comfortable without the opinions of others. However, there had also been nights where all you wanted was a pair of arms wrapped around you. There were times you ate dinner, and wished you had someone across from you to talk about your day with. Someone to dance in the kitchen with… or even the more intimate aspects. Someone who took their time with you, learning every inch of your skin without a selfish expectation. Someone who just wanted to be with you. 

That lump in your throat became too much, and you coughed into your elbow, trying to release some of the tension in your chest. You began to feel pins and needles breaking out over your skin, your hands feeling restless and unsure of what to do with themselves. 

You felt his eyes glance over at you before focusing back on the road. You were on a backroad now, the dinner having been out of the city. After several moments of quiet traveling, he finally spoke, “I’m not sure if I told you, you look stunning tonight.” It was a soft compliment, his hand slowly reaching over to squeeze your knee, because of course he knew something was wrong. “This dress is lovely.” 

It was too much, all of it. You couldn’t even remember the last time a man complimented something specific on you. When it was dangled in front of you like this, you found you enjoyed it too much. You felt greedy with the need for more, like you wanted this to be your normal. 

But he was leaving. 

The sob tore from your throat before you could stop it, all of it suddenly becoming too much. You brought a hand to cover your mouth, turning away, but it was already too late. Bucky only squeezed your knee one last time before bringing his hand back to the wheel with a pained sigh. You noticed the car slowing, finding him pulling over to the shoulder. You grunted in disapproval, something like an apology. For causing a scene? For being selfish? For having agreed to this in the first place? All of the above?

Once the car stopped, you heard him unbuckle and turn to you. Then, a hand gently pried the one from your mouth, “Sweetheart? Talk to me.” 

You only hung your head, your teeth clenching around more sobs. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block everything out. 

He was persistent. He moved your hair behind your ear, trying to get a look at you, “What’s going on,” with a plea of your name he said, “please?” 

You shook your head, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know–” 

“Don’t apologize,” then he was taking your cheeks in his hands, giving you no choice but to turn to him. He made a pained noise when he saw your tears, his thumbs brushing under your eyes, “Tell me what it is, pretty girl. Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

That felt like salt on a wound, your breath releasing from your chest broken and cracked. You tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let you. One hand slid to cup your nape while the other unbuckled you, tugging your knees till you faced him more. It only made you cry harder. 

“You gotta talk to me, I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me.” 

You finally broke with a, “You don’t need to do anything!” 

He wasn’t having it, “Bullshit. You’ve been out of it all night, and now you’re bawling your eyes out. Best believe I’m going to figure out what caused those tears and–” 

“I’m tired!” you emphasized the words, trying to give them more meaning than they had on their own. 

His brows furrowed, “Of what?” 

“Everything! All of it.” You motioned your hands as if that was a good explanation, “I’m so fucking selfish! It’s someone else’s night and all I could think about–all I’ve been thinking about–is how goddamn tired I am of doing everything myself.” 

“You don’t have to,” a hand runs through your hair, smoothing it, almost lulling you. 

“But I can! I was! For a long time! And-and then suddenly…” you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders and finally forcing yourself to look away from him. 

He squeezed your knee again, “Suddenly?” 

You shook your head again, but not necessarily to his question. More so, to the tone of his voice, the earnestness of it. He cared so much, and it was as heartbreaking as it was exhilarating to be the center of his attention. 

It must have been the exhilarated side that quietly answered: “You.” 

“Me?” 

“You!” You repeated with more confidence, “You showed me something different and now you’re leaving and… I don’t know…” You searched for the words, “do you ever get tired of being alone?” 

Your question seemed to send the car into such thick silence that you couldn’t stand to stare out the front dash anymore. Slowly, you turned to look at him. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were downcast, his mouth hung as if he had no clue what to say. 

Shame spread across your cheeks. You’d really done it this time. In a matter of months, weeks for all you knew, he’d be gone. He wanted to leave, and here you were saying silly things. Embarrassing yourself. This was why you hadn’t dated. 

But that was a lie. You hadn’t dated because you hadn’t felt this in a very long time. If ever.

When Bucky finally did move, it was to shift the car back into gear. His other hand moved back to the steering wheel at the same time that you said, “I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to shake his head, “Just…” his voice was rough, pained, “Just let me take you home. I think… I think you need to see something.” He pulled back onto the highway, careful of the speed limit despite the way his fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel. 

The ride was quiet, save for your sniffles as you tried to quit crying. You had no idea what he meant, no clue what he might want to show you at home that you didn’t already know about. Or maybe it was something else… a lease he’d already signed? His bags packed neatly in his room? Maybe he just wanted out of this car before telling you how tiresome this past year has been for him. Either way, you were determined to pull it together by the time you entered the parking garage. 

And you had, for the most part. To his credit, he didn’t seem the least bit angry getting out of the car. You both walked calmly up the stairs to the apartment, and you waited for him to unlock the door. When you walked inside, however, he did not lead you to his room to show you any documents or boxes. He did not turn and give you a piece of his mind. 

He walked to the bookshelf. 

Your face twisted in confusion as his hands went directly to the spine of the book he was after, not even taking a second to search. Like he knew the exact spot it lived in like the back of his hand. And when he turned, you saw the cover was the same book he had pulled months ago when you had stood against those shelves together. The Notebook. The same book he had annotated for you without a word, that you had put back before even beginning to flip through the pages. 

Now, however, he was thumbing through them himself. When he stopped, three fourths through the book, he opened it fully and turned it to you. His eyes met yours again, the first time since you had spoken in the car, as he handed you the book. You took it without question, looking at him for a few moments before finally turning your eyes to the page. And right there, where highlight draws over lines of Noah confessing to Allie what is loving her has meant to him, is the only annotation written in your favorite pink ink: 

When I read these love stories, about a man who cares for a woman until his dying breath, I only ever think of one person. Love at first sight might not exist, but I have cared for you from the very first moment. Then again at every party, every class, every dinner, and every night in this little apartment. 

Oh. 

You blinked several times, reread the words to the point that he probably thought you were illiterate, but you only wanted to make sure they were real. Then you looked up at him, with his bitten lip and puppy-dog eyes. You mouthed wordlessly for several seconds before landing on a single question, “James–” 

“I was betting on you getting curious when the book was missing,” he shrugged, “I guess I was wrong.”

You shook your head, “You weren’t, I-I did look. I just didn’t get too far because…”

“You got scared.” He understood. 

You finally met his eyes, “You don’t think I’m too much?” 

The exhale he let out was soft and full of pity, yet he still stepped forward. “I think,” he said, “that you have been left alone for far too long,” he gently took the book, setting it on the arm of the couch next to you, “and I am sorry that anyone ever made you think you had to do this alone.” 

You couldn’t breathe, “I—“

“I love you.” His hands cradled your face once again, tilting your head up so he could look at you properly. He was so close, close enough to do whatever he pleased, and yet he still waited. 

Only until you said: “I love you too.” 

Then he was kissing you without reprieve. There was no hesitancy in the way he took your purse from your shoulder, dropped it to the floor, and backed you against the door. You took no time in responding, your mouth matching his kiss or kiss. Your hands lifted to his shoulders, sliding down to fist his shirt in your fingers. It was a consuming sort of kiss, and not just for the fact that you hadn’t kissed someone in years. It was him, and it was overwhelming in the way that it felt right. 

You forced yourself to pull back before you could melt into him, giggling when his lifts tried to follow yours. “I just…” you leaned against the door, looking up at him, “I thought you wanted to leave?” 

His breath was already ragged, and you could practically hear his heart pounding. It didn’t stop him from shaking his head, “No, sweetheart.” The words were breathed against your forehead before his lips dropped to your skin, planting kisses on your forehead before reaching your cheeks, “I never wanted to leave, but being near you and…” his exhale was hungered, full of longing, “and not having you, it’s like torture.”

“I know the feeling…” you replied, voice no more than a whisper. 

The groan he let out was like nothing you had heard from any man before, and then his lips were on yours again. There was nothing held back about it. He fisted your hair and tugged your head back, his tongue sliding along yours when you gasped. You didn’t need him to hold you there, you were more than happy to arch into him, and he knew it. His hands slid down next, over the fabric of your butter yellow dress, brushing your thighs right where the hem ends. He mumbled something against your mouth, but you were too focused on the taste and feel of him. His muscles were both hard and soft all in one, and it was the safest place you had ever been. And as you ran your hands down the definition of his abdomen, you found yourself dizzy with more than just love. 

He pulled away when it was obvious you hadn’t heard him, and only then did you notice his fingers brushing up under your dress. Your breath hitched, fingers flexing against him. He nudged your nose with his, whispering again, “Will you let me?” 

You knew what he was asking without any clarification, because your body was miles ahead. Still, you hesitated. Could you do this? Did you still even know how? What if you messed up? Or couldn’t please him? Or–

Bucky whispered your name, thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re overthinking.” 

“It’s just been a long time for me.” You bit your lip, watching his eyes track the movement.

He nodded like he knew, because of course he knew. “I just want you to relax, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You weren't prepared for how easy it would be to listen to the gentle command, to uncurl your fingers from his shirt and let go of the urgency because he had you. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the back of your thigh as he pulled you up to wrap your legs around him. And then he really was against you, and you gasped once again against his mouth. He smiled as he turned to walk down the hall, undoubtedly knowing that you can feel all of him pressed to you. And judging by your perception of size, "all" was a considerable amount.

He entered his room, kicking the door shut behind him, and brought you to his bed. He kissed you once more before laying you down on the white comforter and leaning back to get a better look at you. Your hair fanned across the bed, your dress riding up your thighs. He smirked down at you, his hands coming up to your thighs.

"Gorgeous," he mumbled, more to himself, and ran his hands down to wrap around your ankles. You squealed as he gave a sudden tug, pulling you to the edge of the bed where your thighs fell on either side of him. Your dress was ridden up to your hips by that point, putting the cotton of your ordinary panties on display.

Not that it seemed to make any difference to him, he was still intent on looking his fill. So much so, you felt yourself start to squirm at the attention, letting out a whine.

He only tutted, shrugging off his suit jacket before his hands went to the buttons of his shirt, "Patience, sweetheart." Then he was shirtless, and you couldn't have formed a remark if you wanted to. He was all definition under soft, tanned skin. When he finally brought himself down, his body covering yours, you did not hesitate to run your hands along his chest and shoulders.

You could have stayed there like that for a long while, just feeling him pressed against you. But Bucky was the one losing patience all of the sudden, with his lips against yours and his hands at the hem of your dress. You moaned when he bit down on your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth, and he used the moment to drag your dress up your sides and over your head. It had been wired, leaving you without the choice of a bra, not that you regretted it when you heard the groan he let out at the sight of you under him.

Then his mouth was on you, leaving nips along your collarbone before dropping down to your breasts. You cursed in response to the sensation, gasping his name as your fingers flew to his hair.

"Fuck," his lips let go of your nipple just to mumble against your skin, "dreamt of this, having you under me," he sucked a hickey onto your skin, "thought I was an awful man for wanting you at my mercy, but look at you," his hips rolled into yours, you arched and pulled at his hair, "you're loving this."

"Please," you breathed as his mouth closed around the other nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

"Please what, baby?" He trailed kisses down your stomach next, before he dropped off the bed. Next thing you knew, he was kneeling in front of you.

You could only squirm, feeling pinned under him, "I-I don't know..."

He hummed, still so pleased with you, "I know, I know what you need. You just lay there and take it, doll."

The very idea made your insides burn, pleasure licking up your spine as his lips ghosted along the seem of your panties. He kissed over them, completely shameless to the eroticism of his actions. You, on the other hand, were speechless. Your thighs were already close to shaking and he had barely touched you. He knew the effect he had too, if his smirk was any clue. He watched for your reaction as he brought his hands to the sides, slowly bringing them down your legs.

You closed your knees on instinct, but he wasn't having it. He pulled them apart with a warning look at you and placed one thigh over his shoulder, his other hand pinning your knee to the bed. You couldn't take your eyes off his expression though, seeing the hunger in his eyes when they finally fell on you. He exhaled, his voice rough, "look at you," then his thumb was pushing through your folds, dragging down the seem of your cunt. "Already so wet for me. I think I deserve a taste, don't you?"

You gasped, not even thinking when you started nodding, your hips already grinding against his thumb.

He hummed, nipping at the inside of your thigh, "So good f'me." Then he was on you, his tongue dragging from your entrance up to your clit before his mouth sucked hard. It was your turn to cry out a curse, your hips coming off the bed. But he adjusted, an arm wrapping under your thigh and coming back up to hold your hips down. "So sweet," his voice vibrated against you, "can't believe you kept this from me."

"Didn't want to," you whined, words barely coherent, "didn't wanna--"

"Mm," he pulled back, thumb replacing his mouth and working your clit while he watched your reaction. "We're gonna make up for all that lost time, yeah baby?"

You nodded incessantly, muttering pleas as his pointer finger found your entrance.

"Gotta get my pretty girl ready," he mumbled, more so to himself, as he pushed the finger in and found immediate resistance. He wasn't discouraged, though. His mouth found your clit again, laving and sucking until your thighs began to shake. Slowly, you began to relax to the point that he was able to move the finger in and out, curving it into the spot that made you let out a needy whine.

"There she is," he smiled against you, and you thought you might have found heaven. When he used a second finger with his tongue, his arm pulling your hips flush against his mouth, you found yourself repeating words over and over. "Please"s and "I love you"s tumbling out. He talked you through all of it. The second your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth opened with a scream, he was encouraging you with "good girl"s and "give it to me"s and "please, baby"s.

He didn't stop until you were tugging on his hair and trying to pull him back up. When he sat up, he was breathing heavily and his pupils were blown wide. And when he brought himself back onto the bed, you could so clearly see the evidence of his arousal. You bit your lip, hard, and looked up at him with an expression you were sure gave away exactly what you wanted. If it didn't, it didn't really matter, because then you were tugging him down over you.

His mouth met yours again, and you tasted yourself on him. It was consuming, but you didn't let it distract you from moving your hands to the zipper of his slacks. You weren't about to waste any time, and with the way he was grinding against you, he wasn't either. He kicked his pants and boxers down the minute you pushed them past his hips, both of you groaning at the feeling of skin on skin.

He kissed you hard once more, taking a moment to admire you, before leaning up on his forearm. Using his other hand, he brought your leg over his hip. His forehead dropping down to yours, he whispered, "You gonna let me take care of you?"

You could only nod, feeling him adjust and run the head of his cock up through your wetness and against your clit. You could barely see straight.

He smiled, pleased, "Breathe for me, okay? Relax." He waited to watch you obey, pulling in a deep breath and melting against him all over again. Then he pushed against you, the tip of him sinking slowly inside. He took the moment to pinch the nipple of one of your breasts, making you cry out and push against him. It made the pleasure of him thrusting into you sharper, better than you ever remember this being.

He cursed once again, moaning your name against your ear as he pulled out only to sink back in. "So tight. Perfect. And just for me, aren't you?"

You nodded, eyes rolling back as he set a rhythm.

But he grasped your chin, made you look at him, "Say it, tell me you're all mine."

It took you a minute to find your words, too focused on the feeling of him dragging inside you. There was no way it had always been like this, there had to be something different about James Barnes. Him and the way his cock pushed inside you, making stars dance in your vision.

"'m yours, Bucky, all yours. Please--"

"That's right," he pushed harder, his thumb dropping back down to press against your clit, "My perfect girl and her tight cunt, all for me." He dropped his mouth to your breast, sucking and biting down gently, "All for me to take care of."

The words mixed with all of the sensations happening in your body were too much. You felt your legs tighten around him, your hips lifting to meet his, mumbling his name and whining into his neck when you began to press kisses into it.

"Mhm, that feel good, doll?" the room was full of the noises of slapping skin and heavy breathing, "You gonna cum for me?"

You cried out, hands grasping at his back and nails dragging across his skin, "Uh huh, please!"

"Don't gotta beg me, I'll give you anything you want. As long as you keep letting me take care of you." He groaned, his thrusts turning sporadic, "Fuck, and letting me spread those legs and ruin this pussy. Please, baby..."

You felt your body tighten around the pleasure, the buildup from your first orgasm to your second feeling ten times more intense. And being pinned down underneath him while he whispered dirty words and promises of love only added to the pleasure as it hit you. You screamed his name so loud he was forced to put a hand over your mouth so the whole apartment wouldn't hear. He didn't last much longer either, his mumbles turning to whimpers of your name as he thrust through his orgasm.

You were both left with ragged breaths and sweaty skin after, letting out quiet laughs as your kisses turned lazy and sweet rather than rough. He ran his hands up and down your sides as you combed yours through his messy hair.

"Are you okay?" You found yourself asking.

He chuckled, "That's my line." Then he slowly began to pull out, watching your reaction as you winced at the soreness. He brought a hand to your hip, rubbing soothing circles into the skin.

You bit your lip, feeling a hint of that worry seep back in as he gave you a once over, "But... are you?"

He met your eyes again, reading you like a book. You watched as it dawned on him what you meant, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, swiping your hair from your cheeks. "I'm not sure I could be better," he pulled back, "I love you. I mean it, I'm not going anywhere."

You sighed, any last bits of tension seeping from your muscles, "I love you too."

He smiled, standing and scooping you up into his arms once more. You squealed again, securing your arms around his neck and bringing your lips to his for one last peck. He then buried his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent as he walked towards the bathroom.

"What are we doing?" You rested your head on his shoulder as you let him take you wherever he pleased.

"Taking care of you," he said simply, "You barely ate at dinner. So, I'm gonna get you cleaned up, then we'll eat something."

You hummed, and for once didn't worry about the where, or why, or how of it all. You let him take the lead, knowing he had you. You were safe. You were loved.

~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅

note: this might have felt a little daydreamy... and that's because it really was just me daydreaming about actually finding a competent man. As a hyper-independent, anxious girly, I won't be putting bets on it. But I sure can dream about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. :)

The retail store is too bright and colorful compared to the stormy sky outside. 

You and your friends have been coming here ever since middle school. Back then, Yelena’s older sister was the only one with a driver’s license, piling all of you into her car to take you wherever you wanted to go. Halloween has always been your favorite excuse to spend time together, with Kate opening her doors for your annual sleepover: a night of mildly scary movies, gossip about the cutest guys in town, and enough junk food to leave all of you clutching your stomachs by midnight.

By the time you started high school, your older neighbor’s extravagant Halloween party had become the talk of the town. Hosted in her massive mansion, it was the kind of event people counted down to months in advance. You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but it was the perfect excuse to dress up and show off the elaborate costumes you and your friends spent weeks planning.

When college began, the four of you ended up scattered across different universities around the state. Nearly a year passed without shared laughter in the canteen and a morning dose of tight hugs to begin your days, until you finally agreed to reunite this October. It would probably be the last chance for you four to meet for a long time. With everyone caught up in their own schedules and studies, moments like this had become rare, that’s why you were determined to make the most of these three days together.

The store looks exactly the same as it did ten years ago: fake cobwebs dangling from the white ceiling, evil-looking pumpkins staring down at customers from the shelves, racks of masks and toys that once felt endless. Now, you swear everything seems smaller than it used to be.

The air still smells of dust and cheap plastic. Strangely, it’s that sharp, chemical tang coming from the latex masks lining the walls that makes the place feel so familiar.

The first room is completely devoted to rows and rows of children’s toys, while the second—normally a storage space—is crammed with costumes and accessories messily thrown together. From the ceiling, a dozen paper bats sluggishly sway in the cold draft slipping through the old windows, while somewhere on the counter, a motion-sensor witch clutches a plastic pumpkin-shaped bowl of sweets, cackling like a banshee every time someone reaches for a piece. The sagging orange letters spelling HAPPY HALLOWEEN are stuck to the front of the counter, crooked and peeling at the edges, and you’re pretty sure the owner has left them there all year round since you can remember.

The store definitely looked scarier and quieter when you were younger, the fact that it’s located in an isolated area of the town near the woods didn’t really help. Now, it’s just the kind of place that tries too hard to be spooky, only to end up looking a little tacky.

Wanda has been wearing a perpetual scowl since she started browsing through racks of angel wings and synthetic, overly lavish princess gowns, searching for something less glittery and darker. A few rows over, Yelena tries to give you a heart attack by silently hovering behind you, switching between different clown masks each time you turn around. Kate, on the other hand, is determined to find a Wednesday Addams costume—she’s been completely obsessed with the show lately.

You already have your outfit at home: a short skirt and a lace top paired with sparkling boots, the colors an homage to your favorite Barbie doll. You’re still bitter about missing Rachel’s Halloween party because of the chickenpox you caught from Kate in senior year. You had everything ready down to the smallest detail, that Barbie costume was flawless. Instead, you spent the night in fleece pajamas, curled under the covers as you peeked from behind your pillow at Art the Clown mauling people on screen, while the muffled music from the neighboring mansion made your walls vibrate.

Still, you decided to tag along for old times’ sake.

“Black or maroon?” Wanda holds up two identical dresses.

Kate hums, absently twirling a wig between her fingers as she studies the fabric. “Black.”

“Maroon,” you say without looking up, inspecting a bloodstained lab coat before placing it back on the rack with a grimace. “It suits your hair.”

“Lena?” Wanda turns to the blonde, who’s currently trying to stab her own palm with a fake knife to test how real it feels.

“Is that even a question?” She lifts her eyebrows, gaze landing on her dark red coat.

“I know, but it looks cute in both colors.” Wanda hesitates, eyes flicking between the dresses before finally putting the black one back with a sigh. “Alright, I’m done. Have you found anything interesting?”

“I can’t believe they don’t have a Wednesday costume,” Kate frowns, rifling through plastic bags for the third time. “It’s like, one of the most popular shows ever.”

“You know online shopping exists, right?” Yelena shoots back, tossing the knife into a display bin. “Just buy a black dress with a white collar.”

“But I wanted the school uniform, not some generic dress.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, already fiddling with a pair of popping-eye glasses.

“Hey, is Nathan coming to the party?”

You flinch, almost dropping the fake vampire teeth in your hand, not expecting Wanda standing so close beside you.

“Yeah. He has some things to take care of at his apartment first, so he’ll meet us at Rachel’s house.”

A disgusted ugh echoes behind you, and that makes your lips curl into a small smile despite the clear vitriol on the blonde’s features.

It’s no secret that Yelena can’t stand your boyfriend, Nathan. They’ve only met once, but that was enough for him to immediately pick up on her dislike. He often tried to get an explanation out of you, but you always brushed it off, claiming that your friend is just like that.

In truth, you know exactly why every word coming out of his mouth sounds like a fork scraping against a plate to her ears.

During the first months of your blooming relationship, Nathan had a habit of disappearing, ignoring your messages for days—sometimes for an entire week—only to come back with grand gestures as if nothing had happened. It left you confused and anxious, and Yelena more than anyone spent entire nights on the phone trying to calm you down, warning you about how unreliable he was. After a while, you convinced yourself he was just the type to get bored easily, the kind of guy who discards the “old toy” the moment a new, shinier one comes along.

Then, just before Christmas, he stood at your dorm room door with the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever received, and an apology on his lips. He explained—almost shamefully—that his behavior stemmed from his parents’ toxic relationship. He didn’t go into details, only that their divorce had been messy, something that left him with a warped sense of commitment. Still, he insisted he liked you, that he was finally ready for something real.

Yelena had been furious. Not only did you let him off far too easily, but there had been little to no groveling—nowhere near enough to make up for the emotional whiplash he’d put you through. She was certain, deep down, that he would hurt you again someday. And your best friend didn’t want to see you that miserable ever again, especially for an asshole like Nathan.

You can’t really blame her for feeling so strongly. She was the one who comforted you during those sleepless nights, listening as you tried to make sense of his sudden distance when everything had seemed to be going so well.

It’s not like she brings it up all the time, but whenever his name comes up, she can’t help slipping in a sarcastic remark or two—ones that, despite yourself, make you laugh.

“Oh, so Casper finally decided to show up.”

That’s another thing: she refuses to call him by his name. Back when you used to cry over him, she’d come up with ridiculous nicknames just to lighten the mood. Casper is the latest, because of how little you see him these days. Always busy, always somewhere else. Fleeting like a ghost.

“His professors are giving him hell, cut him some slack, Lena. He’s practically living in the library nowadays.” Wanda glances at you with quiet sympathy, nodding along as you speak. “I always tell him to text me when he gets home, but some days he’s so exhausted he forgets. And the few times he does remember, it’s like three in the morning.”

Yelena’s eyebrows lift at your explanation. For once, though, she doesn’t argue. She just shakes her head with a resigned half-smile.

You met Nathan at the beginning of your first academic year. He and his dad had just moved to your hometown; apparently, his father had grown tired of the chaos of the city and decided to start working from home. Home, in this case, meant his mother’s hometown—the place where Mr. Barnes’ parents met years ago, during a summer visit to their relatives. After marrying, they moved to New York and never really came back.

When the divorce happened, Nathan stayed with his father and eventually enrolled in the nearest university to remain close. Once your relationship grew more serious, the two of you started traveling back and forth together, mostly because he had a shiny, fully functioning car, unlike you. And that’s when he finally introduced you to his dad, James Buchanan Barnes.

Now, Nathan is undeniably handsome and after meeting Mr. Barnes, you can clearly see where he gets his looks from. The difference is... his father is on another level. It’s not just that he’s handsome. The man is hot. Yes, there are streaks of white in his beard, and crow’s feet appear whenever his smile softens his features—but those details don’t take away from his looks. If anything, they only make him more attractive.

He’s big, too: broad-shouldered, towering over you with an ease that’s both intimidating and… not unwelcome. And he’s a real gentleman. Every time you stayed over for lunch or dinner, he served you first, firmly refusing to let you lift a finger, insisting his son is more than capable of cleaning up after himself.

The first time he pulled out a chair for you, your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

Since February, your boyfriend has been buried in projects and assignments, and you’ve often gone back home alone. Because of that, you stopped visiting Mr. Barnes—it didn’t feel right showing up when Nathan wasn’t there.

That is, until you ran into the older man at the local supermarket one day, and after his usual gentle hug, he looked at you with his kind, blue eyes, his voice as warm as a cup of hot, creamy chocolate, “You know you’re welcome to visit anytime, right? It doesn’t matter if Nathan’s home or not.”

Despite your initial hesitation, you went. And then you went again. More times than you’d like to admit.

Conversations with him drift so effortlessly from ridiculous stuff he sees on the internet yet doesn’t quite understand, to more serious topics. At some point, you even started confiding in him. No matter the problem, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to soothe your worries. More than anything, he treats you like an equal, an adult. He doesn’t tiptoe around your age, or reduce your personality to his son’s girlfriend. With him, you’re just… you.

It’s almost unsettling, when you think about it—how often he’s been there for you compared to your boyfriend. Nathan replies late, often too late. There’s always an excuse: a project he still has to finish, a study session that ran too late, outings at the bar with friends he supposedly never sees. The times you try to ask about his day, he brushes it aside, steering the conversation back to you after a two-word response, until eventually he disappears again for hours.

At first, you had your doubts, and you hate yourself a little for it now.

You never told anyone—not even your closest friends—but once, you went to his faculty library. Not to spy, you told yourself. Just to... check, to make sure he was actually there.

And he was. Completely absorbed in his books.

You left with shame burning hot on your cheeks. That night, when he texted you to let you know he was home, you couldn’t even bring yourself to reply. The guilt only got worse when you realized how often your thoughts drifted to Mr. Barnes throughout your days. Over something small, like seeing a cat minding its own business in the streets—because he once told you he used to feed the strays when he was a kid, but his chance to adopt one of his own is now long gone since Nathan is allergic—or when you need advice on an assignment. He’s always there. Even when he’s busy, Mr. Barnes still takes the time to send a quick message, apologizing for delayed replies. You told him he didn’t have to do that, you understood he had work, responsibilities... Yet he just smiled and kept putting you first anyway.

During one of your weekly video calls, Kate asked about Nathan, mentioning she hadn’t seen him in the background for a while. You brushed it off pretty quickly, explaining how busy he’s been with his studies, and the conversation ended there. 

Later, while talking about food, you casually mentioned a restaurant Mr. Barnes had recommended. He’d made a habit of suggesting places he’d tried with his colleagues, knowing how much you and your friends enjoy exploring new cuisines together.

The silence that followed was mortifying.

Your gaze slowly lifted from the blanket you were knitting to find your friends staring at you, half amused, half shocked. Promptly waving off their nosy questions, you insisted you just saw each other from time to time. That he’s kind, funny, easy to talk to. Still, they teased you about having a tiny crush on your boyfriend’s dad.

The joke got out of hand the following week, when you accidentally admitted the blanket you were working on was for him—Mr. Barnes had discovered your hobby and casually mentioned that he’d love to have something made by you some day.

Yelena nearly lost her mind. At one point, she actually dropped to her knees in front of her phone, dramatically begging you to leave Nathan and just sleep with his dad.

You awkwardly laughed it off, your face burning as you resisted the urge to hang up and disappear under your covers.

In the end, Wanda stepped in, declaring there was nothing wrong with being friends with your very attractive almost-father-in-law. That helped… a little. Because you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just two adults who get along, who often text each other for hours between a good morning and a good night. Who share an occasional cup of tea when you’re back in town that promptly turns into you staying for dinner because he is a great cook and always has a new recipe he found on Pinterest that made him think of you.

It just so happens he’s your boyfriend’s father.

You do like Nathan—a lot. And he wants you just as much. You’ve been together for two years now, for fuck’s sake! Life just… gets in the way sometimes. Things will settle down once he graduates in winter and you both understand where you want to go from there.

Every relationship has its ups and downs.

This is just a rough patch.

This year, your neighbor truly outdid herself. Rachel was the ultimate popular girl: indulgent parents, cheer captain of the only high school in town, and glossy dark waves that every girl tried so desperately to imitate. Everyone wanted to be her, but few had the privilege of sitting at her table. She wasn’t the stereotypical mean girl—just ambitious and filthy rich. Her pretty features had sharpened since the last time you saw her. After enrolling in one of the most prestigious law schools in the country, many thought her days of excessive drinking and wild nights were behind her.

Apparently not.

The rumors of her Halloween parties had spread far beyond your town. Everyone counted on her keeping the tradition alive, and now she returns each year, bringing more and more people with her, to host the biggest party in the county.

One look at the claustrophobic living room, now a dance floor, makes your lungs constrict, the strobe lights not helping at all as they blind you while flashing across the sticky floors. Costumes blur together: you saw at least a dozen demons, three cowboys, and Rachel and her two best friends as the iconic Plastics. Though every time you think you see the flash of Nathan’s leather jacket, it turns out to be a stranger. He had texted an hour ago that he’d just parked, having thrown together a leather biker jacket and black trousers to pass as Danny Zuko from Grease, but so far, no sign of him.

Laughter ripples through Rihanna’s Disturbia from a group leaning against the kitchen counter, the walls of the lavish mansion rattling along the pulsing bass. Someone spills a drink in front of you, narrowly missing your top. Your temples pulse with an excruciating headache when a group of guys holler like animals after completing a keg stand: they each wear a plastic bag with a condom sign attached to their chest, hugging each other in victory. Yet you can’t help but imagine how Nathan would’ve laughed at the scene.

Right. Nathan. Where the fuck is he?

“Hey!” Your shoulders jump at the shout over the beginning of Thriller. Yelena and Wanda appear at your sides, pulling you toward the open patio windows overlooking the huge backyard without much ceremony.

“Have you seen Nathan?” You ask while scanning the crowd by the punch bowls.

“Nope.” Yelena mutters something else under her breath, but you decide to ignore it. It must be another one of her tailored nicknames for your boyfriend.

The cold air sharply hits your face as they lead you outside, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“Why are we here? It’s freezing and I still need to find Nathan. He got here an hour ago and—”

“I’m starving!” Wanda cuts in, practically skipping across the grass. “C’mon, they’re grilling sausages! Hot dogs! Want one?”

You squint at her, confused. Her rambling is classic Wanda, nervous energy spilling out at a mile a minute.

“Wanda, stop, for fuck’s sake.” Yelena snaps, planting her feet on the ground firmly.

“What’s going on?” You glance back and forth between the two of them, but they are too busy staring each other down to acknowledge you, a silent conversation you can’t follow unfolding in frowns too subtle to catch.

Wanda shakes her head, addressing you with a polite, closed-lip smile. “It’s nothing. Let’s just eat.” She reaches for your hand, but you step back, glancing at the other.

“What’s going on, Lena?” Her jaw clenches.

“There’s no need to make a scene right now.” Wanda hisses.

“There’s no need—” The blonde sputters outraged. “This is fucking insane, what is your problem?”

You step between them, grabbing their wrists. “Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, guys, but I need you to calm down and tell me what’s up.” You bark. “Kinda feeling left out here.” Your attempt to lighten the mood is entirely overlooked as Wanda tilts her head, silently begging the blonde to be patient.

“She deserves to know.” Yelena grits out.

“Not now! It’ll just make things worse for her.”

“You think it’s better if we wait?”

The argument draws a few stares from the patio. Kate, watching from the door, clumsily invents a story about a lost lipstick to defuse tension, quickly making her way to you as most people shrug and return to their drinks.

The air suddenly feels heavier, tension crawling up your spine and settling in your shoulders.

“Someone tell me what the fuck is happening. Right now.” Your voice shakes despite your effort to stay calm. “Is Kate okay? Did Nathan do something?”

Yelena simply exhales a long breath, pushing her tongue into her cheek in annoyance. Wanda takes your hand at once, her eyes pleading.

“It’s not about Kate. She’s fine. We’ll explain later, okay?”

“No,” you snap, wrenching your wrist free. “Explain now.”

Yelena huffs. “You’re just making it worse.”

Wanda’s auburn hair swings as she faces her, her voice turning serious. “Me? We know you hate his guts, Lena. You’ve been waiting for him to fuck up since the moment they started dating. But could you please put your fucking ego aside for once and think about her wellbeing? We’re in the middle of a party and you’re ruining her night.”

“Oh! I am ruining her night? You have been kissing his ass since the very beginning. And you talk about my fucking ego? You’re such a bi—”

“I saw Nathan upstairs making out with a girl!” The words pierce through the booming music like thunder.

Yelena and Wanda go abruptly still, all their annoyance vanishing at once as they slowly turn to face you with wide eyes. Kate is standing behind you, half-squirming as she watches you with something akin to desperation.

The ominous pit of nervousness you’ve been carrying in your stomach for the last hour suddenly doesn’t feel so irrational.

“I’m so sorry.” Kate whispers after a heavy pause, fingers fidgeting.

“Upstairs… where?” The words taste bitter on your tongue.

“In one of the bedrooms. The one closest to the bathroom.” She looks mortified, unable to meet your gaze.

You shove past her before you can even fully digest what’s going on, barreling through drunk students and ignoring their startled stares.

The strobe lights fracture the room into flashes of color—violet, red, sickly white—laughter spiking through the air in uneven bursts. The sharp tang of beer clings to everything, mixing with the artificial sweetness of fake fog that curls low around your ankles. It should feel alive, electric. Instead, it dulls to a distant, muffled hum as Kate’s words settle heavy and cruel deep in your chest.

Step after step, heavier than the last, your chest tightens, each breath catching halfway in, sharp and fast. For a moment, it feels like the world simply... pauses. It’s just you and the growing ache in your throat, threatening to spill over.

You hear Yelena screaming your name as you burst into the bedroom on the left. It’s empty, dark, and the bed is intact. Heart hammering painfully against your ribs, you storm into the next room, scaring a couple of people lingering nearby for a moment of intimate quiet. The door slams against the wall with a splintering bang, and in that moment you swear your heart stutters—one missed beat, maybe two—before it kicks back in, pounding wildly like it’s trying to break free. The sound rushes up into your ears, a violent, dizzying thrum that makes your head spin.

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, not knowing whether to scream, to run, or to crumple right there and let the floor open up and swallow you whole.

Maybe throwing up seems the best option as you take in the disgusting scene before you.

Nathan turns, confused by the sudden commotion. A girl is straddling him, but the light is too dim to recognize her, though you can clearly see how her skirt is bunched at her hips, exposing her lower half. The moment his eyes meet yours, he roughly shoves her away, causing her to squeal as she falls on the other side of the bed. Nathan’s weak voice calls out your name, but you are already turning away. 

The scene is quite pathetic, Yelena thinks, as Nathan clumsily tries to run after you, but he keeps stumbling into the pants creased around his ankles.

“Wait—fuck, baby wait! It’s not what it looks like!” He shouts as he runs in the living room, fingers clumsily trying to zip up his pants.

“Shut up, Barnes.” Yelena’s voice cuts sharp from the stairs, Wanda and Kate close behind her. The music fades further, letting nearby partygoers witness the drama.

With a sharp inhale, you stop right in the entryway, fingers curling into fists at your sides to steady the chaos inside you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction to see you cry.

In the spur of the moment, you decide to turn around, lips parted to tell him to go to hell, but a shriek erupting from the top of the stairwell stops you.

“You’re an asshole!” The girl stands there, mascara smeared and skirt hastily pulled down.

“Jesus Christ.” Wanda tiredly rubs the bridge of her nose.

The girl’s face seems familiar, but you can’t place her. Maybe she used to go to high school with you? One of the many forgettable faces of your past.

“You’re a fucking liar, Nathan Barnes. You promised you’d tell her about us. You promised me you’d leave her.”

Someone in the crowd gasps, but it barely registers.

“What the fuck, Nathan?” You grimace, repulsion tightening your chest.

“I—I didn’t…” His voice falters, head turning back and forth between the two of you, a mix of shame and panic flashing across his features.

“I’ll tell you what he did, since he’s too much of a coward.” The girl interrupts, slowly stepping down the stairs. “We’ve been dating since March and he kept promising me he’d break up with you. He told me he did it as soon as he got here... But apparently it was just another lie.” She throws him a look of disdain, arms crossed to her chest.

Since March.

He’s been dating another girl for eight months. No. He’s been cheating on you with another girl for eight months.

The floor crumbles under your feet.

The constant busyness, the unanswered texts, the lack of intimacy, all the weekends you decided to come back here and he never once seemed to care about tagging along, not even texting you to make sure you had safely arrived, knowing your car is literally a jalopy.

The image of her straddling him flashes behind your eyes over and over again, cold sweat rushing down your back as you realize how many times they have acted like that undisturbed, how Nathan was about to have sex with her while his girlfriend was in the same house, waiting for him downstairs.

You refuse to meet some stranger’s pitiful eyes, or worse… their small smirk, the amusement dancing in their eyes. Somewhere nearby, people keep laughing, dancing, kissing, while you stand there, in front of the person you wasted two years of your life on, feeling like the butt of a scornful joke. 

Guilt has been eating you alive since you doubted his words that day, yet he has been betraying your trust all along. Something shatters inside you at the realization that maybe everything you shared at first—the whispered plans for traveling the world together, the way his hands always found yours under the table, the warmth of him wrapped around you late at night—was never real at all.

You feel exposed, far beyond anything physical. The rawest parts of you burn under all these curious eyes, laid bare in a way you can’t hide from. You need to cover yourself, to disappear behind something—anything—a blanket, a jacket, a closed door.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you force out one last question.

“All the assignments, the projects—were they real at all? Or were they just a cover to fuck another girl behind my back?”

Nathan opens his mouth but doesn’t answer. His pleading brown eyes only stoke the fire in your veins, looking at you like he deserves your sympathy.

Shaking your head, you sprint toward the door, ignoring your friends’ desperate calls of your name. They try to reach you, but there’s too many people gathered there to watch the scene like a movie. By the time Yelena, Wanda, and Kate get to the front yard, you’ve long vanished into the dark.

Yelena curses out loud in Russian, stomping back inside to give that asshole a piece of her mind, and Wanda and Kate can only hurry after her, trying to stop the blonde from sending Nathan to the hospital.

Walking in the biting October cold clears your mind a little, even as the tears keep flowing. You hadn’t even noticed them until you had to slow down, your feet hurting in those damn boots. Sniffling, you keep your head down; despite being alone in the dark, that mix of humiliation and disbelief still makes your skin burn in shame. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet thoughts of how stupid you’ve been cloud your mind.

How could you have been so blind? All the signs were there, and you chose to ignore them.

That girl… she went to your university, which is why she felt so familiar. She’s pretty, you can’t deny it. And yet, was that enough for you to deserve that? Was she funnier than you? More caring? Better in bed? What were you lacking? You’ve always considered yourself average-looking—decent, sure, but not someone guys have ever fought over. You flirted, went on a few dates, but it never went beyond that. Maybe someone had a crush on you at some point, but you never knew.

It hurt your confidence, of course, but then Nathan happened, and that was your first mistake, probably—tying your self-worth to the way he treated you.

And now you can’t even go home and cry yourself to sleep. Kate was the only one with a purse, so you left all your belongings with her, except for your phone since you were waiting for Nathan to text you.

Going back is not an option, it feels like walking into a cage full of starving lions, especially since Nathan will probably be there still—either with her, or already laughing the whole thing off. She didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by his betrayal. If you were in her place, you’d be questioning him, wondering if you’d be on the other side as well someday.

You’ve seen it before. Your aunt was miserable after forgiving her cheating husband. He begged, cried, swore it was a moment of weakness. She was too busy with her job and he needed her, that’s how he justified himself.

So he fell into another woman’s vagina.

Your mom refused to speak to her for a while after her decision to not divorce him. Your dad then eventually convinced her to change her mind: that good-for-nothing was likely to do it again, and she couldn’t risk leaving her sister alone and vulnerable. Four months later, your aunt came home early from a work trip to surprise him—but she was the one whose heart fell to her feet.

He was in their bed with one of her closest friends.

After witnessing and experiencing that kind of pain first-hand, you can’t bring yourself to wish the same hurt on her. Even if she knew Nathan was already taken, even if she willingly started a relationship with him. But why would a single girl like her worry about your relationship when your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—didn’t seem to care in the first place?

You sigh, thinking of your parents. They’re out of town for your dad’s birthday. You can’t call them at one in the morning to tell them what happened. It wouldn’t be fair; you know they’d drop everything to come home if they knew and you can’t ruin the rare time they decide to treat themselves. After working so hard, this trip is the only moment of peace they are willing to indulge in once a year.

The back of your hand brushes over your raw cheeks in a useless attempt to clean yourself a little, tears still clouding your vision as you stare down at your phone screen, your finger hovering over that one contact that could save you, but shame pins you in place.

How can you face Mr. Barnes? Calling him now doesn’t just mean worrying him, but also possibly interrupting his night with… well, a woman. He’s a single, attractive man with a big house all to himself. Nathan was supposed to stay over, so who knows what the older man had planned for tonight?

It also means telling him about what happened.

The possibility of him defending his son makes a lonely tear slide down your cheek. No, Mr. Barnes would never justify a cheater. He’s too smart, too emotionally intelligent for that, even if the cheater in question is his own child.

Taking a deep breath, your mind races, torn between desperation and hesitation. The thought of disturbing him like a little kid makes you want to crawl into a hole and never get out, but it’s freezing outside and you are starting to not feel your toes. Your finger trembles with indecision above the screen, until reflex takes over. It presses the call icon.

You gasp, quickly bringing the phone to your ear when it immediately comes alive with his muffled voice.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? Do you need something?” His deep, serene voice eases the wild thumping in your chest at once.

Right, another thing about Mr. Barnes. He calls you sweetheart, and seldom, other cute pet names slip by that make your traitorous heart flutter and your cheeks burn.

When you sniffle, he calls your name urgently.

“Are you busy?” You swallow, biting your trembling bottom lip.

“No. Never for you. What happened? Do you need me to come get you?”

You nod, then let out a frustrated huff when you remember he can’t see you. The faint clink of keys reaches your ears, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. You haven’t even replied and he’s already getting ready to come for you.

“Please… if you’re not busy.” You mumble.

“I told you I’m not. Don’t worry.” You hear a door close. Moments later, his voice returns. “Are you alright? Are you safe?”

You glance around, telling him you’re sitting on a bench in front of Ms. Garcia’s house. From his silence, you can gather his shock—you’re almost thirty minutes away from Rachel’s place.

“Why are you there, sweetheart? Is Nathan with you?” His words are slightly distorted by the rumble of the car engine.

“No, I’m alone. He’s still at the party.” You shiver as the cold metal of the bench presses against your bare thighs. “And I’m alright. Just tired.”

He doesn’t need all the details right now. The least you can do is explain in person.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he murmurs under his breath. “You’ve been crying.”

You simply hum at his statement, expecting him to hang up, but instead he waits, respecting your silence, keeping the line open rather than leaving you alone in the dark.

When the familiar black SUV pulls up in front of you only a few minutes later, your body reacts instinctively. You hang up and watch as Mr. Barnes steps out. Before you can even find the right words to thank him, he’s around you, holding you close against his broad chest. Your lips part to whine out a pathetic apology, but the sound dies in your throat. Tears fall again, soaking his shirt.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t know who to call,” you sniffle, swallowing an embarrassing sob. “My parents are out of town and Kate has my keys, but I didn’t want to go back there—”

“Hey, hey.” He gently pries your head away with a hand on your cheek, enough to examine your devastated eyes. “I’ve always told you I’m here if you ever need something. Anything. So don’t you dare apologize. I’m so proud you remembered that and called me, sweetheart.”

Your gaze drops at once on a random spot on his neck, unsure what to say next.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” His other hand cradles your left cheek now, thumbs brushing away the lingering tears at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head lightly, jaw tightening at the thought.

“Alright, alright. We’ll go at your pace.” He frowns. “Do you want to come home? It’s freezing and you’re—”

The next words die in his throat as his blue eyes sweep over your body like they are acknowledging the rest of you for the first time that night. Now you feel so foolish for not bringing a jacket. Despite the cold, you’d known Rachel’s house would feel like a furnace, packed with sweaty dancers and drinkers. A dramatic escape in the middle of the night was not in your plans and yet here you are.

Even in the middle of your internal scolding, you can easily notice how Mr. Barnes blinks, seemingly snapping out of whatever thought had caught his entire attention, only to quickly glance back up at your face. Being under the lamppost, it’s easy to spot the blush creeping across his cheeks.

You’re his son’s girlfriend, of course he would feel awkward with you so close and barely covered.

“I guess you didn’t want to hide your pretty outfit.” He comments instead, amusement lacing his tone. Your eyes widen. “You’re always beautiful, by the way. A jacket wouldn’t have ruined it.” He winks as his hand comes to rest on your back, guiding you toward his car. You’re still processing his tone and its meaning as he opens the passenger door to help you inside.

He’s never explicitly called you beautiful before, compliments used to stop at your outfits or your makeup.

Once inside, the engine hums to life, but before he takes care of anything else, he makes sure to turn on the heat. You shiver, muscles slowly loosening as the warmth seeps through your chilled body.

“Better?” He glances at you, receiving a simple, grateful nod as answer.

“Fuck, should have thought about bringing you one of my jackets.” He was probably talking to himself but you catch it anyway, pressing your palms lightly to your thighs. It’s just a jacket—nothing grand—but the thought behind it makes you breathe slightly more easily.

Bucky maneuvers the vehicle on the roadway, unhurriedly driving back the way you came from. A sense of dread abruptly washes over you at the realization that you are about to pass by your neighborhood, right in front of Rachel’s house. You try to be as subtle as possible when you slide down the seat, at least to not be completely recognizable from the outside, your head turning toward the window as if that could be enough to disappear completely. Bucky notices anyway, keeping a careful eye on you as you drive by the mansion looming chaotic in the dark.

“I saw Nathan with another girl.” You blurt out once Rachel’s house is at a safe distance. The car swerves slightly, your stomach twisting with a hint of fear as your hand instinctively reaches to grab the edge of the seat. Your worried eyes fly to Bucky, meeting his shocked gaze.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” He clears his throat. “How…”

You take a deep breath, eyes back on the road, feeling too ashamed to face him.

“Kate caught him in one of the bedrooms upstairs. When I opened the door… a girl was straddling him. They were kissing, and… probably about to do other things.” Another lump swells in your throat. “Apparently all those assignments and projects were just an excuse.” You scoff out a humorless laugh, the back of your hand already brushing a lonely tear away.

“They’ve been together since March, and he promised her he’d break up with me soon.”

Each word feels like biting broken glass.

From your peripheral vision, you see his body stiffen, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Apologies form on your tongue as a reflex, but why? For calling him to pick you up? For having to be the one to reveal such a horrible thing about his son? You don’t even know, yet his crushed expression is enough to make you feel terribly guilty.

Then, something happens that completely catches you off guard.

His hand reaches across the console, covering yours, fingers intertwining.

Mr. Barnes is good with words, yet that simple gesture is worth more than any speech right now. Tears come back with such a violent speed that shocks even you, but you try your best to bite them back, mortified about the whole situation.

Confused, you watch the car steer, eventually coming to a stop at the roadside. Bucky exhales heavily once the engine is turned off, plunging you both into darkness. His body then turns toward you as best he can in the cramped space.

“Can you look at me, sweetheart? Please?” His voice is barely a murmur, fingers squeezing yours gently. Reluctantly, you lift your chin, catching him in your peripheral vision. “Thank you.”

“I know you’re hurting right now, and words might feel meaningless in the face of this betrayal, but please… listen to me carefully.” His blue eyes burn fiercely. “Sometimes people don’t know how to treat something good the way it deserves, but that says nothing about its worth. I’m deeply disappointed in Nathan. I didn’t raise him to behave like this, and believe me, I will have words with him. Very strong ones.” You squeeze his hand back, the corners of your lips lightly lifting despite pain stabbing your chest.

“Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Barnes. Your words are never meaningless to me,” you murmur, frowning at your knees. “He is an adult, responsible for his own actions, and still chose to do this. He could’ve ended things with me before starting something with her, but instead took the easy way out without remorse.”

Bucky slumps back against the seat with a slow sigh, staring absent-minded at the dashboard. Eventually, a humorless laugh falls from his lips. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Your eyebrows jump up at the bitterness in his tone, and he allows a rueful smile. “My ex-wife cheated on me. That’s why we divorced.”

Your jaw drops.

“Nathan was thirteen and he still had to witness how much his mother’s choices affected me. It wasn’t easy for him. I never spoke badly of her, never kept him from seeing her... but he still chose to stay with me.” He sighs tiredly, head softly falling back against the headrest. “They only went back on speaking terms a couple years ago. Nathan felt like she betrayed him as well… refused to even text her at Christmas.” His neck turns just enough to look at you. “Has he ever told you that?”

You shake your head, swallowing.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Mr. Barnes. I didn’t know… Nathan never talks about his mom, much less about your divorce.” Your words are not louder than a whisper.

His hand squeezes yours. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. The scars are there, but they don’t hurt anymore.”

Mr. Barnes straightens up after that, looking more resolute. “My point is, I’ve been through that kind of betrayal. For a long time, I was miserable, frustrated with her for ruining what we had, and with myself for missing the signs. And Nathan… he was the only good thing to come out of that marriage.” His gaze is fixed on yours with newfound strength, his voice tender. “Some days you’ll be angry at the world. You’ll stay in bed and cry your heart out, you’ll even miss the happy moments with him. But it won’t last forever.”

You clear your throat at that, staring down at the glove box for what feels like minutes. “Is it wrong,” you start quietly. “That I’m more upset about him betraying my trust than actually losing him?”

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head slightly, the simple gesture letting you know he’s here for you, ready to listen.

“He was always busy, and deep down I knew something was off. I guess… unconsciously, I’ve been trying to distance myself emotionally so I wouldn’t get hurt.” Your eyes widen at once, quickly trying to correct yourself as you realize you are still talking to his dad. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I liked Nathan and I’m shaken by what he did. He built a whole, new relationship behind my back. But…” You sigh, shoulders falling in dejection.

“I’m not actually sad about losing him.” You whisper. Saying that out loud only makes you feel more uncomfortable, causing you to shift your weight in your seat in a last attempt to ground yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m making any sense right now.”

“You’re angry because he made you doubt your self-worth.” He says softly.

“Yes!” You exclaim, facing him with surprise.

Bucky nods pensively. “And you’re upset because he betrayed your trust.”

“Exactly.” The dam breaks. “I’ve been feeling guilty since that day I followed him to the library to see if he was actually there to study. I felt awful for a whole month! I was doubting all the work his professors piled on him while he was breaking his back on those damn books. But in reality he was just fucking someone else the whole time.” Your hand flies to your mouth as you hear him chuckle, eyes wide at your own honesty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so crude.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I feel so bad whenever I curse around you.”

You share a soft, meaningful laugh, before the car falls into a comforting silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You murmur, taking a deep breath. He returns your smile, squeezing your fingers once more before starting the engine.

“You know I’m here for you. Always.”

He claps his hands lightly, and somehow it feels like that dark cloud pressing on your head has finally lifted. “C’mon, let’s get you home so you can get more comfortable and rest. You had a long night.”

“Are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to crash your free night—”

“Are you kidding? I love your company. And you didn’t interrupt anything, I was just watching a movie and eating some leftover candy, waiting for a text that you got home safely.”

Once the car is parked in its usual spot, Mr. Barnes is quick to get out and jog to your side to open your door. You whisper a shy thank you, still not used to all these caring gestures.

“Alright, here we are.” He breathes out, shoulders relaxing as if the familiar smell of his home alone is enough to soothe any worries. He leaves his sneakers in the shoe rack by the entrance and you follow suit, placing your boots neatly in the space he vacated for your shoes long ago, back when Nathan had started bringing you over more frequently.

“Are you hungry? Wanna shower first?”

You press your palm to your temple, eyes closing briefly. “A shower would be perfect. I feel sweaty from the party and I’m pretty sure my clothes still smell of weed.”

He doesn’t ask if you drank—he knows you despise the taste of alcohol, but also any type of substance that could make you lose control. He simply leaves a glass of water and some Advil on the kitchen counter, then jogs upstairs to grab some clean clothes for you. You take your time finishing the glass, savoring the simple act of rehydrating after walking and crying for so long in the cold.

Once you are alone in the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror makes you flinch. Your makeup is completely ruined: lipstick smudged at the corners, eyeshadow streaked under your eyes, mascara melted. The thought of Mr. Barnes seeing you like this has you shuddering in shame, but you push the embarrassment aside for now. You’re too drained.

A sealed bottle of micellar water and a package of cotton pads on the counter catch your eye immediately. With a relieved sigh, you remove the ruined makeup, silently making a mental note to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

The warm water cascading over your skin and the floral scent of the products tidily lined up on the shower caddy are enough to ease the strain in your muscles. Once dry, you pull on the black shirt he left on the small stool and a pair of boxers, adjusting them according to your comfort. You are actually so relieved he provided you with his own clothes, instead of Nathan’s. Making sure you’re presentable enough before heading downstairs, you glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before you have to take a second look. Because on the far left of the counter sit unopened some products you recognize too well: a moisturizer for your skin type, a gentle cleanser, some neutral-smelling deodorant, and a purple toothbrush. All pristine and unopened.

Did he buy all this for you? Even after nearly a year since the last time you slept here?

Your chest tightens at the thought of someone caring enough to remember such simple, forgettable things about you, taking a deep breath before diving into your skincare routine.

When you enter the kitchen, the breathtaking sight of Mr. Barnes’ broad back makes you pause momentarily. The domesticity of it all—him cooking for you, the quiet familiarity of being surrounded by his smell in his home—fills you with a strange fuzzy feeling that leaves your skin pleasantly warm and tingly. You’ve never been here at this time of the day, alone with him, clad in his clothes.

Turning around, he places the plate he was previously arranging on the table, before he glances up at you. Smiling, his lips part as if he wants to say something, but the words die on his tongue when his blue eyes fall on your naked legs. Clearing his throat, the man abruptly turns back around to swipe the counter.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thank you for the clothes.” You sit, eyeing the plate with interest. “And the sandwich.” You add with a smile. Your stomach aches a little from all the sugary soft drinks, so a proper meal will only do you good.

“They look good on you.” He mumbles, glancing down. Then, with a playful smirk. “Still, I miss the Barbie outfit.” You giggle, unsure whether he’s teasing or truly means it.

“Oh, and the hygiene products—thank you for those as well. When did you get them?” You quip, devouring half of the bread as if you haven’t eaten in ages. 

“I’ve been stocking them since you started staying over, just in case you forgot something.” He shrugs with another effortless smile.

Bucky knew you were going to spend multiple nights here and wished for you to be comfortable and safe in his home. Simple as that.

You had to pack an overnight bag with all your things whenever you went over to Nathan’s apartment. It never occurred that you could just leave something behind, because it was so sporadic for you to spend the night there. Plus, he lives with three other people, so you didn’t want to intrude. Yet, now that you’re realizing how much Mr. Barnes has been going out of his way to take care of you, you can’t help but think about how many things Nathan took for granted.

Your own boyfriend.

Only when you finally settle on the sofa do you realize how much your body has been hurting from all the dancing and the walking. It instantly becomes one with the cushions.

Your phone lights up once on the coffee table, half of Wanda’s message visible from here. You texted the group chat to let them know you’re safe with a friend. Yelena will understand immediately, you are certain of that. Your eyes mindlessly catch a really sorry, but you don’t have the energy to deal with the situation right now. They know you’re alright and sheltered from the cold, and that’s enough for tonight.

The TV drones on in the background; a mediocre horror movie is playing on cable, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on it—or anything else, for that matter. Not when Mr. Barnes is sitting comfortably beside you, the warmth of his body tempting you to move closer. For a moment, it feels like he’s glancing at you as intently as you’ve been watching him.

The moment you properly look up and he doesn’t shy away, the air between you hums with an unspoken, charged tension. You must be imagining things, half delirious from exhaustion, because he keeps glancing back and forth between your eyes and your lips, something akin to desire burning hot in his eyes.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly the space separating you disappears. The first touch is tentative, a timid brush of hands, and then, as soon as the tips of your noses touch, he is pressing against you like he’s been craving your lips for ages. One of his hands cups the back of your head, guiding you closer until your fingers tangle in his shirt.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel this right. It shouldn’t...

It shouldn’t happen.

“Wait—” You gasp, abruptly pulling back. Your eyes snap open, staring at him with horror dawning on your features. “W—What… what are we doing?”

“Shit,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, chest heaving as he tries to regain a crumb of control on his raging heartbeat. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my God, I’m a terrible person!” You slump forward, hiding your face in your hands as hot tears threaten to spill again.

“Hey, c’mon now sweetheart.” His shaky palm smoothes over your back. “Why would you be a terrible person? You did nothing wrong.”

Your head snaps towards him, regarding him with red and glassy eyes.

“I just kissed my ex-boyfriend’s dad!”

“If anything, I kissed you.”

“We both leaned in!”

Bucky moves closer, taking your other hand in his. “Okay, okay. Let’s take a deep breath now—”

“Oh God, if Nathan finds out—”

A firm call of your name has your shoulders fall down in defeat. Bucky’s hand travels to the back of your neck, gently turning your face until you are forced to look at him.

“You know you don’t owe him anything, right?” His voice is grounding, calm, but it’s not enough to quell the storm in your head.

“Why are you so calm? You’re his dad! I shouldn’t feel—” You pause abruptly, swallowing thickly. The way his eyes are wide with hope makes you want to sob in his arms.

“Feel what?” He urges, squeezing your hand.

“I…” 

“Feel what, sweetheart?” Shame keeps your throat closed, physically unable to utter any sound. So Bucky takes the matter into his own hands, cradling your cheeks with both rough palms.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you ran in here, smiling about your A on that paper about online language evolution you spent weeks stressing over.” Bucky admits softly. Your breath hitches.

“You looked at me with stars in your eyes,” he continues with a proud smile. “And I felt so lucky to be part of such a happy moment for you. And then you hugged me and believe me, I tried to ignore it, but I just felt… complete.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “I felt like a dirty pervert whenever my eyes fell on the curve of your waist. Whenever I imagined the adorable sighs you’d make against my lips. Whenever you strutted here in my house with those damn revealing shirts, jealous that the whole neighborhood got the chance to admire your beautiful cleavage.” Sighing, his eyelids flutter shut for a second, as if trying to focus.

“You were Nathan’s girlfriend and here I was, resenting my own son for getting to have you like this. For being the one to call you his.”

He lets his words hang, heavy with honesty. “I promised myself I’d keep my distance. But no one ever compared to your pretty eyes, your passion, your energy.” He swallows, kind eyes flicking once between your eyes and your parted lips.

“Nathan had his chance and failed to take care of you, to love you like you deserve. He was so cruel, baby, and I can’t allow myself to stand by and watch you suffer when I’m right here, begging you to let me show you how much I am enamored of you. Let me be the man you deserve by your side. Someone who knows what you need just by looking into your eyes.”

“And what do I need now, James?” His breath hitches, not expecting his first name to sound so right on your tongue.

Bucky, James, Jamie… He doesn’t care. He just needs you to demolish that already fractured wall of propriety that has kept you apart all along. 

“My lips on yours.” His blue eyes shine, smitten, and that is enough to give you that confidence boost you’ve been looking for a while. Your fingers graze his jaw for a fleeting moment, before they grab his shirt to pull him forward.

You meet him in an urgent kiss, your other hand tangling in his hair, pulling just enough that the guttural sound clawing out of his throat has your thighs squeezing close. His tongue roams freely in your mouth, until oxygen leaves you entirely. You kiss for what feels like a lifetime, your lips fitting together like the final two lost pieces of a puzzle.

His palms fondle the curve of your waist until he finds the courage to guide you on his laps with a hand on your thigh. A moan is muffled against your mouth when your covered core comes into contact with his crotch, his bulge the proof that you’re not the only one affected. One hand sneakily trails up your torso, resting ultimately on the side of your breast, a gentle squeeze of your flesh eliciting a gasp out of you, so you take the chance to grind down on Bucky, the teasing movement leaving him moaning under you.

When you separate, he regards you with blown pupils, his chest raising and lowering with ragged breaths. 

Your fingers finally allow themselves to do what they’ve secretly wished for since the moment you sat on this couch: starting from the gentle creases on his forehead, they tenderly trace down his dark brows, until they reach the sharp profile of his nose, his blushing cheekbones, the trim stubble on his jawline. His mouth parts just a fraction when your thumb strokes his bottom lip, his next breath shaky, frightened to interrupt this sublime, quiet connection. 

“You’re stunning, James.” You utter softly with a faint smile. His eyes flutter shut with a sigh when your fingers move then on to his collarbone. Shivering, the older man wraps one muscular arm around your back, bringing you close, until he can comfortably lean in to return the favor, lavishing the column of your throat with wet kisses. Your head falls back, brokenly gasping each time his teeth gently graze your skin.

“You’re driving me crazy with all these cute, sinful sounds.” He growls, a grin blooming on your mouth at his poorly concealed desperation. The hand firmly resting on your ribs slowly travels down to your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind; then over your half-bare thighs, until it lands on your covered ass. Your gasp gets promptly swallowed by his mouth when he hungrily squeezes the flesh, encouraging the circular movements of your hips against his erection. The sound of his low groan makes your pussy throb, suddenly shifting your focus on the embarrassing dampness of the boxers you’re wearing.

When was the last time someone touched you as if you were their most precious treasure?

This time your kiss is more animalistic, all teeth and tongue, than the ones you previously shared, a testament of your growing arousal. 

“Baby,” he breathes out, cradling your cheek to assure you’re making eye contact. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Mmh?” Your movements are a little more lethargic after the way his hands have gently played with your curves, your fingers weakly curling into the fabric covering his broad shoulders. The ghost of his palms on your chest and thighs still tingles on your skin, and you slightly tilt your head when he starts talking again, regarding him with half-lidded eyes.

“We can do whatever you want. You wanna watch a movie? I’m already opening Netflix. You wanna sleep by yourself? I’ll make the bed in the guest room right away. We can cuddle all night if you’d let me—” 

“What if I want you to fuck me?” The words feel like cotton candy in your mouth, yet you don’t miss the way his eyes widen.

There is a brief, meaningful pause.

“Are you sure?” His voice shakes a little as his hands squeeze your hips. 

“Please.” Your sigh almost has him maneuvering you on your back to see what other sweet sounds he can coax out of you. Just for him.

“Yeah? You’ve been thinking about it, sweetheart?” You simply hum, slowly nodding. “About all the ways I could make you come on my tongue?” He whispers, towering over you as his firm fingers keep your chin raised, preventing you from hiding.

Squirming in his lap, you are forced to look him in the eye as your slick steadily soils his boxers, cheeks scorching hot with a hint of mortification.

“Did you think about me when you were fingers deep into your sweet pussy? Imagining it was my cock making you scream?” He continues calmly. “Did you come like a good girl with my name on your lips, mmh?”

You whimper, nodding jerkily. “I was... so lonely.”

“Well,” he chuckles smugly. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore, pretty girl.”

A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky lifts you without much of a fuss. You keep your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, your arms circling his neck with newfound strength. Moaning, he has to stop multiple times on the stairs as you can’t resist leaving small pecks all over his jaw, teeth softly biting the most sensitive spots.

It’s the first time you cross the threshold of his bedroom, yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as it should. 

You completely ignore the big walk-in closet and his en-suite bathroom as soon as you are placed in the center of the large bed, his six-foot frame covering yours without actually resting his full weight on you. Your lips meet again and this time, his palm travels under the shirt you are wearing, finding your bare chest. 

“James, wait—” You moan, hips twitching up as his fingers graze your already erect nipple. You’re now fully lying on your back with his hard body straddling you, but a weak push against his chest is enough for Bucky to immediately lift his torso up. 

“Are you oka—”

“More than okay, I feel so good. I just—I need to make something clear.” This time it’s you who cradles his jaw, swallowing thickly. “I like you, James. I think I have for a while, actually. It wasn’t just... pure admiration, or friendship. And this,” your finger wriggles between the two of you, pointing at your chests. “It’s not a one-night stand for me. I don’t want you to think you’re... some sort of revenge; much less a rebound.”

“This is a dream come true.” He mumbles against your lips, caressing the back of your head in awe. 

“I’m gonna make this right, okay sweetheart?” Bucky kisses your forehead, then focuses on both cheeks. “I’m gonna take care of you.” His mouth trails south, on your neck. “Play with your sweet pussy until you are nice and ready to take me.” Your eyes roll back, shuddering at his low voice whispering right in your ear.

“Worship your body until you are left shaking and gasping in my arms, orgasm after orgasm.” The fingers trailing up your thigh finally reach the inner part, his thumb stroking the wet fabric right where you need him the most.

“Then I’m gonna fill you up,” your hips buckle up, causing him to huff out a chuckle. “Yeah? You like the sound of it, angel? Like the idea of me stuffing you full with my cum until you can’t take a step without it sliding down your thighs?” 

“Bucky, please.” You breathe out, trembling fingers squeezing his forearm. 

His shaky exhale gives his excitement away, despite his confident and collected behavior. He makes sure to look in your eyes for his next words.

“Gonna take you on a date tomorrow, alright?” You simply nod, swallowing as his other palm traces your bare stomach, lifting the shirt up and up, until your ribs are exposed to the warm air of his bedroom. “Give you everything you deserve and more.”

His smirk grows when you whine at his hands moving away to take off your top. A low groan falls from his lips when your naked chest is finally exposed. His large hands cup your tits without much thought, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples, eliciting another whimper out of you. You finally look up at his face, biting your bottom lip when you notice the way his eyes have turned darker, just like the ocean abyss, as they marvel at your breasts, perfectly fitting inside his palms. 

“Such gorgeous tits, sweetheart.” Your cheeks instantly heat up at the praise; overwhelmed by the sudden attention on your naked torso, you try to turn your chin away, but Bucky is faster. Cradling your cheeks, he turns your head until you are forced to stare right at him.

“None of that hiding shit.” He mutters against your breasts between kisses, your back arching the moment his tongue starts lavishing your nipples, until they are both raw and turgid. 

“You’re going to lie back and watch me as I ravish you, darling.” 

The boxers are suddenly discarded on the floor. It’s electrifying, being so open for Bucky to freely admire you. You’re quivering under his devoted gaze and tender smile, your breath hitching each time his fingers stroke a patch of burning skin as he takes his time in appreciating every single curve, every aspect that you might consider a flaw. To him, they’re new features to cherish. A way to learn you in the most intimate of ways.

You don’t even notice your eyelids fluttering shut. The rustling sound of fabric is what drives you to open them, just in time to catch Bucky throwing his shirt somewhere on the carpet.

He truly is handsome, with his strong physique and his muscles still defined, even with the small layer of fat covering most of it. 

With a lewd twist of his lips, his hands guide your legs up until your feet are firmly planted on the mattress and your knees bent. You are certain your heart is going to come out of your chest if Bucky doesn’t hurry up, rather focusing on pressing sweet, delicate kisses from your ankle to your thigh, just stopping short of where the skin turns wet with your arousal. His smirk is devilish when your breath hitches in frustration, taking his time in giving the same reverent treatment to your other leg.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

By the time he finally lies between your spread thighs, you are a shaky, sensitive mess, palms instantly covering your face when his nose almost touches your clit as his thumbs delicately part your folds.

Bucky lightly gasps. “Look how pretty you are. Already so wet for me, pretty girl?”

To be fair, you think this is the most aroused you’ve been in your whole life.

It’s mortifying how quickly your first orgasm approaches, it only takes Bucky a few languid circling movements on your clit and you’re already clenching, shivering against the beige bedsheets. 

Breathy moans and whimpers fall from your parted lips as his fingers toy with your nub some more. “You’re so responsive, darling.” He marvels, licking his lips. “But not yet.”

Your pathetic whine once he focuses on your hole only fuels his teases.

“I know, sweetheart.” He soothes, a thick finger gently tracing up and down the seam of your entrance. “Just a little more. I promise it’s going to feel so good later.”

And just like that, one of his digits is inside you. Your limbs go rigid, before his other arm comes up to rest on your belly, his thumb finding a leisure yet firm rhythm as it rubs your clit, grinning when your body melts at once against the cool sheets.

You sigh at the heavenly sensation, and Bucky feels the exact moment it starts feeling good, your hole slowly making room for another finger.

“There we go, pretty girl. Is that the right spot? You are gripping me so tight, darling, bet it feels so good, right?”

Your eyes squeeze shut as you can only manage a nod, your own hand shooting down to anchor itself to one of his shoulders as the tip of his tongue replaces the finger taunting your nub. The first swipe makes your head fall back. 

“Bucky!” A loud moan resounds through the dimly lit room, making his cock twitch. 

“Jesus Christ.” His growl vibrates pleasantly against your tender core. “Has anyone ever tasted you, baby?”

“No!” You sob at his fingers pushing against your sweet spot. 

“Fucking fools.” He snarls. “I’ll take care of you from now on, sweet girl. You won’t have to worry about anything.” He rasps out, feral with the thought of you making a mess on his face now that he has been blessed with your taste. “Just need to sit back and be good for me.”

You sniffle, the muscle of your stomach clenching to keep your orgasm at bay. You’re completely enraptured by his gentle yet solemn voice, not so different from the way his fingers play with your body. You subtly rock back on them, drawing him deeper and deeper.

“Oh I know, I know baby. I can feel you want to come.” Your hips twitch up, but the arm blanketing your belly keeps you nice and still as he enjoys his meal. His stubble leaves crude marks on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the rough friction causing your back to arch as high as his heavy arm allows.   

“You know, sweetheart felt like the safest option.” He pants, coming up for air, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Now I can finally call you whatever I want.” 

“Baby,” he leaves a kiss on your mound, half-lidded eyes fixed on your crumpled features. You couldn’t be more grateful for Nathan to have his mom’s eyes. “Darling,” his lips move on your clit next, sucking harshly. “Pretty girl—oh.”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice the way you clenched at that, but of course the smug bastard does. 

“You like when I call you pretty girl?” You toss your head back as his thumb goes back to flick your nub. He can only coax out an embarrassed squeak that vaguely resembles a yes, but it’s enough to make Bucky smirk with pride.

“Yes, my pretty girl?” He relishes in the way you clench again, knowing you’re at your limit now. 

“Give it to me, angel. C’mon,” he growls, ravaging your clit with steady suckles. “I’ve been too well-behaved and patient.” 

Your head falls back against his pillow as your eyes fall shut, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and leaving you whimpering and dizzy under his palms. Your body tightens as wave after wave of pleasure seeps deep into your bones. Bucky groans at the sight of your pussy practically swallowing his damp fingers. You have never felt so good you could cry, the added sensation of his coarse beard against your sensitive core making your thighs tremble precariously around his head.

“Gorgeous.” Your nails cling onto his shoulder as you ride it out, humping his face with abandon under his soft grunts of encouragement. Bucky’s hips have been twitching against the mattress for a while now, unable to stay stoic in front of a goddess like you unraveling so sweetly before him. With a final teasing kiss to your clit, his thick fingers finally pull away.

You’re still breathless when Bucky lifts himself up, enough to pull you into another hungry kiss. Tasting yourself on someone’s tongue is definitely new, but not unpleasant. Not when a pathetic sound—half moan, half whine—claws out of your throat at your tongues dancing.

“Wish I could stay between your thighs all night.” He mumbles against your lips. Kissing Bucky… It’s just so lovely. Particularly like this, when he is towering over you, so close that the trimmed hair on his chest softly brushes your nipples as it heaves against yours. Your body lurches at the light stimulation on your raw nubs, completely missing the way one of his hands abandons your hip to swiftly discard his boxers. 

It’s only when Bucky gets into an upright position that you can finally catch a proper glimpse of his body. Even his cock is beautiful, for fuck’s sake, all flushed and thick, proudly curving up toward his belly. You gulp thickly at the sight of how majestic he looks, naked and kneeling for you, before you promptly shy away at the amusement twinkling in his eyes. His strong arms wrap around your thighs without a word, dragging you closer to him until his length lightly nudges your core. His tongue is inside your mouth before you can even let a full gasp out. Whining, your fingers slip into his hair as he teases the seam of your entrance with the tip. 

“So impatient.” He chuckles at your eager hips, before extending his arm towards the night stand.

“No!” Your fingers shoot forward and wrap around his bicep, causing Bucky to freeze entirely.

“I’m clean, got tested last month, and I’m on the pill.” You wheeze out, suddenly fearing your implicit request will be rejected. 

Bucky scrutinizes you with open surprise, before a long, pensive exhale slowly leaves his nostrils.

He places a sweet peck on your forehead. “I’m clean too. But are you sure, sweetheart?” His brows furrow in worry.

“I’ve never let anyone else do it without.” You swallow nervously, taking his hand in yours to guide it to your cheek, unconsciously leaning into his palm.

“Want you to be the first.” You whisper. 

“Fucking hell.” He grits out, letting his forehead fall on your shoulder. It’s your turn to smirk now, until you feel the bulbous head of his cock insistent against your hole.

“Oh.” You squeak out once he slides in halfway without much resistance on your part. The sight of your glassy eyes rolling back has him groaning.

“Feeling alright, doll?”

“Fuck—yes, fuck, it’s just—big!” You gasp, stiffening at the burning stretch. “More... More, I need more please.”

Despite your begging, Bucky feeds you his cock gradually, fearing he could hurt you and possibly scare you away forever. Once he bottoms out, his jaw clenches at the mere realization of finally being inside his girl. Attempting to calm the both of you down is difficult, yet he finds the strength to still, his lips finding yours at once. His self-control weakens precariously the more your body grows pliant under his, your walls hugging his cock so tightly he can feel every little, eager movement. The lewd, wet sounds of your mouth moving against each other only spur him on as his hips involuntarily jerk forward.

“Bucky.” 

“Yes, yes, I know sweetheart.” He coos at your ragged breaths. “Gonna make the ache go away, mmh?”

Dragging his hips back slightly, Bucky carefully studies your expression, and only when he finds no sign of discomfort he lets himself slip right back in, harder. 

“Oh, sweet girl.” He grins at you clinging onto his shoulders. “That feels good, right? Hear how she sings for me?” Leaning in to plant his lips right over your damp brow, he allows his hips to slowly move back, biting back a loud groan at the squelching sound.

“Need to see you fall apart on my cock.” He grunts.

“Please, need—harder.” You cry out, eyes rolling back as the tip nudges your sweet spot. Your moans grow higher and louder once he starts pounding you earnestly, your slack body trapped under his broad one, sliding up and down the mattress with each brutal thrust. 

Bucky loses himself a little the moment he buries his nose in the damp skin of your neck, licking and kissing away the salty tang of your sweat, finally fucking you properly. The slapping noise of your skins meeting shamelessly fills the bedroom, mixing with your labored breaths and desperate moans. 

“Shit, doll.” His growl vibrates against your pulse. “Need this all the time, need to hear your sweet squeals as I carve a place for my cock inside your cute little pussy.”

The way he kisses your mouth like a starving man, and how his cock fits so perfectly inside you, stirs a warm feeling inside your chest, far too tender compared to the throbbing ache in your belly. 

“Such a good girl for me, taking all of me so well.” He gushes deliriously, smiling at your connected lower half. “My girl. My pretty, sweet girl.”

“Come with me?” You whimper, your nails digging into his soft skin as pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.

“Want to give you another one.” He pants, slowing down just enough to properly look you in the eye. “I’m not so young anymore, sweet thing.” The back of his hand brushes your cheek with such tenderness you almost forget the hard length plunged deep inside your pussy, before Bucky resumes his punishing pace, coaxing moan after moan out of you. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your body tensing as your back arches, finally letting yourself go.

“That’s it!” He draws the words out, keeping his eyes firmly on your face. Your legs feel like they are falling to pieces, sore but still squeezing helplessly his waist.

“So tight, so good for me. You look like an angel, sweetheart. A pretty, fucked-out angel. Wish you could see how beautiful you look with a big cock giving you exactly what you need.” He can hardly fend off the devastating orgasm threatening to make him fall apart; yet he keeps going, wanting to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. It’s only when your whimper borders on painful and your palms shoot down to push at his chest, that his hips gradually come to a stop.

“Holy fuck.”

Your lower half is pleasantly aching by the time you are coming down from your earth-shattering climax. Bucky is still trying to dominate his instincts, jaw clenched and nose lightly tracing the soft skin of your collarbone, breathing in your scent. The primal urge to make you his violently rattles at the cage of care and protection that Bucky scrupulously crafted day by day, just to keep it contained. He’s at his limit, yet he always makes sure to take such good care of you first... your stunning, kind Mr. Barnes. 

But now it’s your turn to have your fun with him.

“Get up.” You mutter, pressing on his pecs. Panic briefly crosses his features as he clumsily lifts up on shaky muscles. You don’t let him go too far though, gently pushing him until he’s laying on his back. When you land directly on his crotch, cock still snuggled inside you, his eyes widen in astonishment. 

Everything feels more sensitive like this.  

You don’t care about your aching joints, nor about your sensitive and sore body still going through the aftershock, immediately setting a fast pace. You bounce up and down, biting your bottom lip as you stare at his parted lips. Your combined ragged breaths make you clench around his length, loving the way you sound together. Bucky is too busy pawing at your hips with one hand and groping your breast with the other to rationally think about something clever that would surely turn this debauched doll in his laps into the timid sweetheart he likes teasing.

You’re not sure how long it has been, but what makes you still is definitely not the sudden uncomfortable stiffness in your lower back, but rather a loud, muffled noise.

Like something falling, or... a door slamming shut.

You stop at once, your wide eyes meeting Bucky’s astonished gaze. His shock, though, has short life, as his hands land on both of your thighs with a resounding smack, encouraging you to go on.

“Bucky!” You reprimand him, gasping at the abrupt stimulation against your sweet spot. The older man under you slowly lifts his torso up, encircling your waist as he gently guides you down with him, until your forehead rests against his.

“We have already established that we like each other and that this,” he points between you two just like you did before. “Is not a one time thing.” You nod quickly, still panting and alarmingly aware of all the noises coming from downstairs: bare feet thumping against the tiles, a cabinet closing, a small sigh of relief after drinking some water.

“Don’t you want to give him a taste of his own medicine?” You can’t believe the shadow of malice falling over his eyes.

“He’s your son!” You whisper-shout, partial to his proposal but still too timid to go along with it.

“And you are my girl.” He growls with the same heat, his fingers digging into your skin bruisingly. “The same girl he cheated on for eight months.” 

Something shatters inside your chest. You don’t know if it’s the reality finally catching up to you, or the humiliation gradually mutating into a fiercer, hotter thirst for vengeance. Or maybe it’s the way this absolutely lovely man just defined you his girl so easily. No shame, no reservations.

Your palms press against his shoulders, urging him to fully lie back down. The slow smirk forming on his lips matches your playful smile.

“Fuck.” Your hips resume their pace with a newfound strength. 

“You’re doing so well, angel. Look at you, taking all my cock in your tight little pussy. My pretty girl, all mine.” His dirty words only spur you on, taking his hands to guide them back on your curves. In the meantime, the stairs creak under careful yet not-so-silent steps, as Nathan warily makes his way up. 

“Oh my God. Mr. Barnes, ’s so big.” You gasp, completely forgetting about your ex probably standing just outside the door. You don’t miss the way Bucky’s breath hitches at the name you used to softly utter with so much admiration and respect, now sounding so beautifully obscene as you cry for his cock. Faintly grinning down at him, you squeeze the hand fondling your breast, Bucky immediately looking up from your core engulfing his length so well. 

“Yeah? And whose pussy is this, mmh?” His fingers settle on your clit with determination, careful to put the right pressure, and you respond at once, riding him faster. 

“Yours! Fuck, always been yours!”

"Good girl.” He groans, using every bit of self-restraint to not succumb to the heavenly feeling of you desperately gripping his leaking cock.

“That’s it.” His jaw locks. “Come for me, my beautiful girl.” Your third climax of the night is the most intense. You shatter with a breathy shriek, collapsing against Bucky’s chest as he promptly catches you. The urgent noise of footsteps climbing down the stairs and the final bang of the front door slamming shut are completely disregarded as you fall apart in the most delicious of ways.

“Fuck, you just tightened so fucking hard, baby girl. Feel so fucking good coming all over my cock, you were made for me.” His head falls back, exposing the refined line on his throat. “Taking it so well.” You cling to his large frame, shaking and whimpering as his hips ruthlessly chase his own pleasure. 

“’M gonna ruin you for anyone else, angel.” The crack in his voice tells you he’s close, his hands keeping you nice and still as you try to relax, letting him use you.

“Bet you’ve never looked this lovely with him,” he hisses, his thrusts frantic and sloppy. “Never came this hard—shit, you’re gonna be leaking my cum from now on.”

With one last effort, your chin lifts enough for you to whisper right into his ear, “’M yours, Mr. Barnes. Always have been.” 

His grip around your thighs borders on painful, but you don’t care as long as his filthy groans turn louder and needier. His hips thrust up once, twice, and then he is holding you down as rope after rope of his cum reaches the deepest part of you. Your content sigh at the surreal sensation of finally being filled soothes Bucky a little, his body finally falling back against the mattress as his cock keeps twitching inside you.

“Shit,” his next exhale is harsh, tired eyes staring dumbfounded at the ceiling. “I’ve never come this hard in my life, sweet girl.” His palms trace a slow path up and down your back, and you silently thank him for staying inside you. You are not sure you’d react well if Bucky were to part from you at once after what you just did.

Your weak body settles on his little by little, until you are completely pliant in his arms.

“C’mere and give me a kiss, I miss my pretty girl.” His mouth moves against your temple, before his thumb and index finger tenderly hold your chin to coax you out of your hiding place.

You lazily yield, meeting him in a languid kiss that is more tongue than lips. 

“The best.” Kiss. “Prettiest.” Kiss. “Girl.” Kiss. “You’re so good to me, took it all inside and didn’t waste a single drop.” He playfully growls against your jaw, eliciting a tired giggle out of you.

“Bucky, it tickles.” You squirm slightly, wrinkling your nose when he leaves a gentle peck right on the tip. He couldn’t be more proud of how serene you look, safe and thoroughly fucked as you lie drowsily on his chest.

“So,” he sighs after a while, arms squeezing your waist as he beams up at the ceiling. “About that date…”

END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 💕

I mentioned it before but the inspiration for the title comes from this spectacular meme, of course lmaooo