Imagine Dating Spencer And You Come To Visit Or Something And Make Him So Distracted That He Literally

Someone knocks at the door while you and rockstar!Eddie are fucking and instead of stopping he goes faster while yelling ‘In a minute’ to the person at the door

the one where your friends keep catching you and eddie having sex (rockstar!eddie universe, established relationship, implied enemies to lovers, cw for smut 18+)

Let it be known, that it would take a nearly apocalyptic nuclear war — or something rapture adjacent, at the very least — for Eddie Munson to stop fucking you. Most people have learned this the hard way. You included.

You’re a panting mess beneath his pale, tattooed form. Eddie’s body, made of milky white silk, grows slick with a fine layer of sweat as he thrusts mercilessly into you. His curls sway around your face each time his lean hips collide with your open thighs. The dull clapping sound that fills the bedroom is punctuated by Eddie’s choked-back groans and your subdued whimpers.

The two of you always make it a point to be polite about your fucking — never quite as loud as you want to be, so as to keep from traumatizing your roommates. Like respectful adults. So it’s entirely Steve’s fault when he barges in with a halfhearted knock like a total psycho.

“Hey, do you guys wanna—” The boy freezes at the sight of his best friends, in a pile beneath the covers, who before now hated each other’s guts. His face screws together like he’s tasted something sour. “Jesus Christ…”

Eddie ceases his thrusts to toss Steve a look over his freckled shoulder. He never moves off of you, effectively shielding your naked body from his view, nor does he pull his stiff cock from your pulsing confines. Much to your horror.

“What?” the wild-haired boy wonders through labored breaths, face flushed red with sex.

“I was gonna ask if you guys wanted to come to the movies with me and Robin,” Steve answers with a roll of his eyes, already on his way out. “But you’re obviously busy—”

“Wait— That new buddy cop movie?” Eddie calls to the boy’s retreating form.

“Eddie!” you hiss through your teeth, filled with panic and distant pleasure, ‘cause the idiot’s trying to have a conversation like he isn’t balls deep inside you. He flashes you a wide-eyed chocolate stare like he’s innocent. “Stop,” you mouth to him.

“Yeah. Start’s at eight.”

“Well, don’t leave us, alright?” he tells him. “We’re coming.”

“Gross,” Steve mumbles and shuts the door behind him.

Eddie turns back to you. His curly bangs are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead in places. His glowing cheeks are tinted a faint pink color. His lips are swollen and rosy as they curl into a smirk. Sex is written all over his face, painfully so. 

“That pun wasn’t intended, by the way—” Eddie jokes before you swat at his lanky bicep. “Ow!”

—————

A year or more later, you and Corrodded Coffin are selling out venues across the country. The world is a whole lot bigger than The Hideout, apparently. ‘Cause, as it turns out, more than just a couple of drunks care about seeing your band play. 

Somewhere down the line, you and the lead guitarist of said band are more serious about each other than you ever planned to be — much to the dismay of the rest of your bandmates. Not because they hadn’t spent years waiting for you guys to get together (they most definitely had), but because it was virtually impossible to have privacy while living on a tour bus.

Despite your feeble efforts to stay as subtle as possible, it’s dreadfully apparent when you and Eddie are fucking. The door to the bunks slides slowly shut, and Jeff and Gareth wait with walkmans over their ears until it opens again. This time, they flip a coin to decide who has to interrupt.

Gareth loses (‘cause Gareth always loses) and curses under his breath while he knocks on the closed door. 

“Do you guys want food?” you hear him ask over the heavy breathing in your ear. “That fancy ramen place across the bar just offered us dinner.” 

Meanwhile, Eddie Munson is riddled with post-show adrenaline as he all but fucks you stupid. His curly hair is as wild as his glassy eyes, now smokey around the edges with smudged black liner. He keeps his chest flush to your spine as he pounds into you with a primal sort of vigor — one ringed hand curled in your hair, the other gripping the plush of your hip.

“Nah, man!” he calls back, choppy through labored breaths, ‘cause he never stops thrusting into you. You’d be worried about the quiet clapping sound of his hips against your ass if your head weren’t so fuzzy. “We’re good!”

The promise of food reminds you that you haven’t eaten since earlier that day. Suddenly, you’re overcome with unexpected hunger and looming pleasure. 

“Wait, Eds,” you pant. “Food actually sounds really good right now.”

Eddie rolls his eyes in response, even though you both know he’s gonna give you what you want either way. First, a leg-shaking orgasm that you’ll in feel in your limbs for a half hour after it’s over. Second, all the damn ramen you can eat.

“Fuck, fine— Okay, we’re coming!” Eddie shouts. “Just give us, like, ten minutes, will ya?!”

Gareth grumbles faintly from the other side of the sliding glass door. “Yes, master,” you hear him grouse as he stalks off back to the living area of the tour bus — where it’s safe. 

A laugh rumbles in Eddie’s chest as he starts fucking into you again. You bury a whine into your pillow when his balls slap your clit. He presses his mouth to your ear, and you feel his lips curling into a lopsided smile there. “You call me that, and we’ll be outta here in thirty seconds flat, sweetheart.”

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

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A Hands-On Exercise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Word count: 5631 Summary: You hate your job, your life, and the cracks in your bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime after hacking—ethically hacking, that is—into Tony Stark’s systems. Unfortunately, your interview ends with you inadvertently pissing off the Winter Soldier. Will he forgive you for hacking into his arm? Warnings: mild swearing, mild sensuality, mildly unethical behavior A/N: Some of you may recognize this as my entry from @themaskedwriter​! Thanks for reading—let me know what you think! xoxo

Your index finger hovers over the enter key.

“Should I do it?” you ask.

“No.” Kim’s voice brokers no argument, even with the slight lisp due to the highlighter in her teeth. She turns another page in her book.

“Hmph.”

You’re lying on the floor in Kim’s room, your legs stretched up the wall and your laptop digging into your stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but you’re trying to make the biggest decision of your life. Moving would be suboptimal.

The program you’re maybe about to run is one you’ve been working on for years. One that might land you the job of a lifetime. A teenage dream, and now a potential reality.

If.

If, if, if.

Keep reading

Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before.  There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him.  There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.  

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.”  She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school.  She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.  

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore.  All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life.  Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

- 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life.  There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger.  Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.” 

 You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.  

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week.  The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together.  He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom.  Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you. 

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.  

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.  

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom.  There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.  

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway.  He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand.  The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it.  Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.  

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.  

-

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school.  On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop.  Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.  

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other.  Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.  

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly.  You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes.  You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite.  Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again.  You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA.  All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves.  He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date?  Was it a date?  Did you say the word date when you asked him?  Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson.  How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state.  “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students.  He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed?  I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.”  Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.  

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke.  He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.”  Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good.  “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger.  “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.  

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.”  Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy.  Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships.  Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school.  He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place.  Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party.  Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.  

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve.  Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.”  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you.  “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed.  None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.  

“Okay.  I really like her.  I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever.  We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it?  Is it a date?  Should I bring her flowers?  What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.  

“Woah there, buddy.  No need to get all freaked out about it.”  Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face.  “Let’s just start with the details, okay?  Who asked who?”

“She asked me.  I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man.  Take a deep breath.”  Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.  

“Then let it all out.”  Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer.  “Alright.  So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested!  Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay.  Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment.  How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.  

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling.  Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there.  You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed.  She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight.  She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there?  For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging.  “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder. 

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same.  The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest.  Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

-

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.  

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.  What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason?  What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day?  What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list. 

Pick out an outfit.  Dress! too fancy…jeans?  Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine 

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet.  You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love.  You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one. 

-

It was finally Saturday.  Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today.  He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago.  Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.  

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.  

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots.  On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man.  Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways.  Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now.  He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up.  He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

-

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare.  You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par.  You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down.  You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one.  When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman.  Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing.  Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you.  Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm.  Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man. 

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself. 

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds. 

-

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.  

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood.  There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color.  Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.  

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man.  Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees.  You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs.  He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down.  You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn.  You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  

“These are for you.  I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.”  Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.  

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason.  You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie.  These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals.  “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick.  Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home.  He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live.  As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.”  The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space.  Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room.  There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10. 

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.  

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house.  His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here.  You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.  

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies.  You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him.  Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously?  That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips.  Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers.  You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.  

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

-

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA.  He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down.  The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone. 

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist?  I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.”  Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically.  “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.”  He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road.  You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica.  You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression.  He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type.  Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.  

“What?  A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.”  You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms.  “But!  I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are!  Girls rule, alright?  Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat.  And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.  But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics.  Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his.  He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

-

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom.  You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom.  He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.  

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie.  He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island. 

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together.  A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk.  He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store.  As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead.  You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face.  Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures.  The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle.  But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh!  That’s one that I’ve got in my room!”  You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt.  Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember.  Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately. 

 No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail.  You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless.  You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease.  The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection.  You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again.  He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face.  The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are.  But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence.  This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction. 

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.  

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face.  His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours.  Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks?  Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it.  You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights.  A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.  

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better.  He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw.  His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand.  You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.  

Is he going to kiss you right now?  

In IKEA?

On your first date? 

Is this even a date?  

Do you even want him to kiss you?  Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you.  Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.  

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly.  You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek.  He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him.  Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

-

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.  

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you.  He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.  

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen.  You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain.  Not as long as you’re happy.   He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.  

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand.  You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does.  Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall?  Which side of the bed does he sleep on?  You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously.  You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.  

-

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.  

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified.  He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism.  Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer.  A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t  help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it.  The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.”  You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.  

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up.  As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course.  How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!”  Eddie exclaims.  “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like.  I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully.  “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.”  You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness. 

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan.  This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again.  He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses.  He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.  

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.  

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot.  You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console.  You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his.  He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

-

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway.  He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.  

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his.  The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today.  I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question.  “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no!  I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.  

“Good, that’s really good.”  The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought.  “Um…how’s tomorrow night?  Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome.  Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable. 

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in.  He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now. 

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you.  You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards.  Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.  

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move.  Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot.  It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.  

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness.  Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time.  The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.  

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined. 

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss.  Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss.  It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm.  But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.  

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life.  This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed.  You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.  

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him.  The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted.  You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too.  Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own.  You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more. 

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.”  He kisses you again.  “Is that okay?”  Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday.  He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck.  He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.  

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.  

TAGLIST:

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐲 | 𝐞.𝐦.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Fem Reader [friends -> lovers]

Summary: You and Eddie ditch the party of the semester to fall into something you both know is meant to be [fluff, 3k]

A/N This is just fun, fluff, and feels. Felt like a vibe while I was writing it. This fic is part 1 of 3.

The music vibrates through the floor so intensely that Eddie can feel it in his bones. Even in the sunroom where he and a few others have settled. The small space gives sight to the backyard, where people mingle as they smoke, illuminated by string lights combating the night’s darkness. Those inside the house with him chatter, sing, and toss their heads back in carefree laughter, feet shuffling against the hardwood as they dance.

The entire scene buzzes with the kind of life only Steve Harrington’s place could ignite on a Friday night. One of these days, he swore he was going to loosen up and allow himself to get swept up in it too. 

For now, he watches. Eyes flitting to various faces, but always returning to you. If you weren’t smiling, you were talking, and the way your lips formed around your words was just as beautiful. The two of you spoke briefly when he first arrived, and he could still feel the delighted hug you’d given him over the fact that he decided to come. He wondered what he’d have to do to make it go away, but good thing he didn’t mind the feeling. It was a reminder of how much he wished your nearness could be all his forever.

Longing was a peculiar thing. Selfish in its occupation of his entire being. 

As Eddie takes another small sip from his drink, something fruity spiked with vodka, The Hair himself saunters up in front of him in a pair of slacks and a Polo sweater. Though rather polished for the occasion, it manages to look fitting on him. His cheeks are a little flushed and the metalhead raises a curious brow as his friend stares down at him with a smirk. 

Rebel Yell starts pulsing through the stereo as Steve offers him a hand off the couch. They end up weaving their way out back. The fall air is cool, but not all of summer’s warmth has vanished. A few people wave and greet them as they head towards a pair of chaise lounge chairs. Billy Idol’s voice is muffled as it continues thrumming from inside. Grooving bodies are visible through the windows as the party carries on. 

Steve pulls out a fancy metal cigarette case before they sit, flipping it open with a soft click. Eddie can’t help but snort as he relaxes into the chair. 

Steve’s brows furrow as he slips out a joint and begins lighting it. “What?” 

Eddie nods to the case in Steve’s lap. “Rich people shit.” 

Steve takes the first couple puffs before passing the joint to Eddie. “Jealous?” 

A smile cracks Eddie's face before he takes a drag. The answer is no, he isn’t. Once upon a time, jealousy was all he burned with, even though he was Hawkin’s poster child for no fucks given and had every reason to be grateful he wasn’t worse off. Grateful for Wayne, that he wasn’t in the pen with his deadbeat father, for finally finding solid friends. He had more than he could ask for, and it took growing up to see it. 

Eddie tips his head back and blows smoke up into the night before giving Steve his turn. What he can’t see is that your eyes have fallen on him from inside the house, sparkling and curious as Robin grins by your side. 

“So did I save you back there or what?” Steve asks as he ashes the joint onto the ground. “Looked like you were zoning in and out, man.” There’s genuine curiosity in his gaze though his tone is playful. 

Growing up with parents like his, Steve had gotten good at reading people. They vacationed a lot, but still managed to walk around with arc reactors in their chests whenever they were home. Bound to detonate in the wake of the most trivial inconveniences. Sometimes he wished he could shut everyone and their feelings out, but he wouldn’t quite be himself then. 

Eddie runs his ringed fingers through his hair. “Just a bit overwhelmed.” 

Steve takes a thoughtful look around. “These kinda things can be a lot.” 

Not even half the faces outside belong to close friends. There was a magic to it, nevertheless. For a few hours, everyone could throw their worries to the wind as Hawkins, Indiana began to feel less like a nowhere town and more like the top of the world. Lord knows Steve didn’t mind the distraction. 

“Not my scene,” Eddie settles on saying. The joint has found its way back into his hand. 

“Everyone’s got their escape,” Steve says. “You’re just too evolved for this one.” 

Eddie snorts. “Shut up.” 

“Yet here you are in the flesh,” Steve continues, thinking as Eddie smokes. “You should tell her how you feel.” 

Eddie coughs, lowering the joint from between his lips. “Dude. Fuck.” 

Steve bites back a smirk as Eddie recovers, extending his hand for the joint. Eddie refuses, taking another drag out of spite, for himself or Steve he isn’t sure. A distant swell of giggles makes multiple heads turn towards the back door, where you and Robin file outside. There’s an immediate flutter in Eddie's gut as he takes you in, your skirt flowing at your thighs. It takes him a second to realize you two are headed their way. 

By the time you make it over, Eddie has straightened up. Meanwhile Steve remains unphased. “Ladies,” Steve greets.  

Robin wrinkles her glittery nose at him. “Why weren’t we invited out here?” 

Chuckling, he makes room for her on his chair and she plops down beside him. “‘Cause you hate the way weed makes you feel like you’re going insane.” He leans into her with each word until she pushes him away with a helpless laugh.

“It’s the principle,” she counters. 

Eddie motions for you to join him and you smile as you take a seat beside him, bumping your shoulder against his in a gentle hello. When he offers you the joint, you shake your head. Steve reaches for it yet again, but Eddie pretends not to notice, taking another drag. A small smile pulls at your lips. 

“Actually, I think I will take a hit.” Eddie doesn’t hesitate passing it to you. 

Rather than indulging, you hand it to Steve, who laughs in victory. Eddie shakes his head, feigning betrayal in a way that earns a laugh out of you. It’s a sweet, melodic sound. He tries to ignore the way your thigh feels pressed against his, but it’s in vain. Even the vanilla notes of your perfume manage to cloud his mind in the softest way. No matter where he was, if you were near, he would always be painfully aware of your presence. 

It was your invitation that had driven him to this party in the first place. Although Steve’s invite came first, your insistence made him change his mind and say yes. Sweaty bodies and blaring music wasn’t your ideal scene either, but you gave in from time to time and looked good doing so. Earlier that night, Eddie almost hadn’t made it through Dancing In the Dark as you and Robin swayed and jumped around like you were alone in your room. There was something about the freeness of the way you moved that made it hard to look away. 

“Munson’s been meaning to tell you something,” Steve announces, looking straight at you.

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach as he glares at Steve. Robin glances between the two of them, brows furrowed as amusement plays on her lips. You hug your arms as a cool breeze rolls through, but you’re more interested in what Eddie has to say than escaping the chill. In meeting your gaze, however, he silently begs you not to entertain the claim. It only piques your curiosity all the more. 

“Are you gonna spill or what?” Robin prompts.

“There’s nothing to spill,” Eddie insists, looking down to twist his skull ring. 

Reaching over into his lap, you gingerly take his hand into yours to slip off that very ring. He doesn’t pull away or argue, just watches as a helplessly warm feeling melts down his ribcage. His lips twitch upwards when you put it on your thumb because it’s the only finger big enough. It’s warm from being against his own skin for so long. Robin and Steve share a brief, knowing look.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.” There’s hope woven within the lilt of your voice. Eddie chuckles, and you commit the breathy sound to memory as if you’ll need it one day more than you do now. 

Robin slaps her hands against her knees. “Well, it’s getting kinda chilly out here so I’m gonna head back inside,” she says, rubbing her arms as she stands. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” you tease. 

“I’ll stick to something tame like snooping around in Harrington’s room,” she says as she turns to leave. Steve rolls his eyes.

A comfortable silence settles between the three of you. However, his brows eventually pinch together as he reconsiders Robin’s words. Taking one last drag, he passes the joint back to Eddie.   

“She was joking, Steve,” you assure him, chuckling. 

“No she wasn’t,” he worries as he stands to jog back into the house. Eddie snickers. 

With a soft sigh, you lean back onto your hands, looking towards the sky as silence falls again. There are a few clouds visible in the light of the crescent moon, but the stars are everywhere. Like tiny shining freckles peppered against the face of the night. Part of you wonders if he’ll talk now. 

“What if the stars have been watching us back our entire lives?” you murmur. 

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he looks over at you, chest rattling with a startled laugh. “That’s something to think about.” His eyes are a bit glossier now. “Don’t think I’d mind if that were true.” 

You tilt your head, a smile budding on your face. “You wouldn’t mind billions of little eyes observing your day-to-day life?” you ask. “That’s a pretty big audience.” 

A grin eases across his face, half playful, half cocky. “I’m a pretty interesting guy.”

You lift a teasing shoulder, feigning indifference. “You’re alright.” 

Eddie laughs, but a weighted look flickers in his eyes as he studies you, catching the fondness you hadn’t tried all that hard to hide. Even with the pleasant buzz beneath his skin and somewhat of a looser mind, he can see it clearly. 

“Hey,” you speak up again. There’s a new softness to your voice, something mischievous dancing around the edges. “Wanna get outta here?” 

Eddie blinks like he can’t quite believe you’ve asked, but finds himself saying yes anyways.

••• 

Sitting in the passenger seat in his van, you realize you didn’t think much further than this. The air smells like him in all the best ways. Pinewood and faint cigarette smoke. As the engine rumbles to life, you shift in your seat and peek over at him, your confidence a distant memory. The radio bursts to life as well, but he quickly reaches out to turn it down. You bite back a smile at the fact that his skull ring is missing from his finger because it’s on yours. Eddie settles in with a sigh, turning to you. 

“So,” he says, eyes sparkling and a little red under the glow of the street lights. 

There’s an intensity to the warmth of his gaze. It drives you to hide your face in your hands. Which does nothing to make him disappear, if the way he exhales a chuckle is any indicator. “Stop looking at me, I didn’t think this far ahead.” There’s no real distress in your voice, only giddiness mixed with nerves. 

“Now I feel like an idiot,” you whine. 

“Well, you’re not.” He sounds more sincere than the moment calls for. “And I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop looking at you, so I guess we’re both in a pickle.” 

“A pickle?” You snort, lowering your hands to meet his gaze. More laughter escapes you. Maybe it’s your body's way of not having to address the implication of his words. 

There’s a flutter in his gut as he watches you. It’s like old times, back when you were freshmen who stayed up too late laughing over the most ridiculous things. Except now, you were more than the girl who sat beside him in Biology because you thought it was cool he had a tattoo. You’d grown into a friend, perhaps even more. As composure finds its way back to you, that truth weighs heavy in the small distance between you.  

Eddie clears his throat. “We could hang at mine for a bit. Wayne’s at work.” When you don’t say anything, he bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s up to you.”  

“Sorry, yeah, that sounds good,” you breathe. 

Eddie gears the van into drive, only to put it back in park with a heavy exhale. You blink when angles himself to look at you, opening his mouth a few times before speaking. 

“There is something I need to tell you,” he admits. “No way in hell did I ever think we’d be friends, but you’re the raddest person I’ve ever met.” A lump forms in your throat as his words wash over you. “And you’re so pretty that sometimes I wonder how every guy in the world isn’t giving you whatever you want all the time.” 

You can hear your heart in your ears as you say, “Maybe that’s ‘cause there’s only one guy I want in the world.” 

•••

A small sound of surprise rises up your throat when Eddie backs you against his bedroom door. His apology is hushed against your lips as he continues kissing you, hands gentle where they grip at your waist, feeling along your sides. You’re warm all over as if you’re laid out before the sun, arms hooked around his neck. It hadn’t occurred to him how much he wanted to kiss you until you looked at his alarm clock and realized that it’d probably be best if he drove you home. It was well past midnight. Time had escaped you as you talked and laughed. 

When he does pull away, he studies your face like he’s looking for something. A few seconds pass, and he still doesn’t know what for. Perhaps your smile as it shyly appears. You move your hands to cup his face, thumbs stroking his flushed cheeks. You’ve never been close enough to notice he has the faintest freckles over the bridge of his nose. It almost feels like you’re getting a glimpse at sacred markings you’re not supposed to see. 

Eddie remembers to breathe when you peck his lips again, running your fingers through his hair. His breath is startled out of him, more like. It’s a wonder his knees haven’t buckled beneath him. He wants to kiss you again to see if that’ll finally knock him back down to earth, but instead he exhales the softest sigh over your lips, squeezing your hips to confirm you’re real. He’s not expecting the sense of guilt that creeps up on him. 

Your brows pinch together. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I just… I haven’t taken you on a date or bought you flowers.” He swallows. “I swear you’re worth all that, swear I’m gonna.” 

You gently scratch his scalp. “That’s nothing to worry yourself over.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t want you to feel like I’m just trying to come onto you,” he says. “I like you a lot—”  

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever too.” Your voice sounds braver than you feel. 

A smile breaks across his face as he rests his forehead against yours. “Well, that’s maddening news.” 

Humming, you kiss him again, delicately running your tongue along his lips so he shivers. “Where are we gonna go?” you breathe, clarifying when he makes a soft, confused sound, “For our first date.” With the way you continue kissing him, he assumes you don’t really want an answer, that you’re trying to drive him crazy on purpose. 

His mind changes when you gently push his chest so he knows to pull away. He listens immediately, eyes dazed. 

“Maybe the arcade,” you supply, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Or a picnic by the lake.” Your hands slip under his shirt, gracing the skin of his lower stomach, your touch sending a rush of heat through him faster than any high ever could. 

You’re not trying to be suggestive, it’s more exploratory. A shared thrill in finally being able to touch him how you’ve wanted for so long. Eddie’s hands remain at your waist, grounding him even as he feels his resolve starting to slip. 

As much as he wants to indulge a step further, maybe even several, he holds himself back. It might be old-fashioned, but he wants to do this right, do a bit of course correction. He can almost hear Uncle Wayne’s voice from those lazy afternoons of his younger years, talking about life and how to treat a lady. 

“Next Friday,” he says, staring into your eyes intently. “It’ll be nice. I’ll surprise you,” he promises, taking your hands in his, relishing their softness, their warmth. His skull ring is still on your thumb. 

“Really?” Your smile is unabashed. 

He nods, a grin creeping onto his face. “It’s a date.” 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

Turn on notifications for @taleseverlasting so you don’t miss the next one.

NEXT PART (18+)

MORE

ouroboros

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Look, you're only helping him out because your friends have taken pity on him. It's totally not because of his stupid, pretty face and how much you want to kiss it. Totally.

words: 8.1k

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, mild choking, dom!eddie, smoking, drinking, reader is in college and eddie's age, overuse of the word fuck, i googled motorhomes circa 1984 for this fuckin thing, slight canon divergence ig, also slightly inspired by touch tank by quinnie

additional notes: i am AWARE he doesn't have an ouroboros ring don't look at me. it's about the symbolism

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

“All right, Munson, it’s me. Don’t fuckin’ attack me with a broken bottle, kapeesh?”

The line is dead for a long moment, and then Eddie Munson’s staticky voice crackles through the speaker of your walkie. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes and clap the antenna down with a small sigh, then cut the engine to your far-too-conspicuous Pontiac. You suppose that the only thing working in your favor is that Reefer Rick’s lake house is surrounded by overgrown foliage that you can tuck the car back into, away from the road. 

As the eldest of the Hawkins crew, you’ve taken on the job of “Eddie duty,” as Steve calls it. As if he could be bothered to leave the Wheelers’ basement to run errands instead. There had been a long discussion, wherein your entire group insisted that you were the choice candidate because you’re old enough to pick up a six pack of beer on a moment’s notice. Plus, you aren’t directly linked to Eddie in any way, so it’s a win-win. You look after Munson, and everyone else works on hunting up this “Vecna” creature that you can’t exactly wrap your head around.

Honestly, you could offer to have Eddie stay at your place for a while. You would, except you really don’t love the idea of being arrested. But the more trips you make out here, the more that seems to be becoming a moot point.

Carrying a paper grocery bag in one hand and a six pack in the other, you trudge up the front porch steps and find the door to the house already unlocked for you. There’s a musty cloud of stale air that hits you as you pass through the threshold, and then your eyes find Eddie’s dark head of hair leaning halfway out the kitchen window. 

“What… are you doing?” You ask as the screen door swings shut behind you. 

Eddie pivots his torso, looking down his nose and smiling brightly at you as he continues fiddling with something on the window frame. He has a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, which bounces up and down as he mutters, “Window’s jammed. Don’t wanna leave it like that, someone could break in.”

“The door was fully unlocked,” you grumble at him as you plop the grocery bag on the counter and rip a beer out of the six pack to crack it open.

“But that’s ‘cause I knew you were coming.” There’s a snap, and the window slides noisily shut as Eddie blows out a cloud of smoke. “Hey- who wrote ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s?’” 

“Truman Capote, why?” 

“I finished Rick’s crossword, I just needed 24 across.” He sidles up beside you, grabs a pencil from the kitchen table and scrawls ‘Capote’ in the only empty space on the newspaper’s crossword of the day. 

“You’ve been sitting here doing crossword puzzles for the last two days?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. High intelligence, low charisma and all.” 

“What?”

“It’s, uh… D&D stats? Dungeons and- you know what, never mind. Point is, I’m no good for anything else at the moment.” Your senses are assaulted by cheap beer and tobacco as you take a sip from your can, and then hold it out to Eddie. He takes it appreciatively, with a quiet nod at you as he trades you his half-smoked cigarette for the can. 

You avert your eyes almost bashfully as you grab the cigarette with your mouth rather than your hands, which are pulling cans of Campbell’s soup out of the grocery bag. Your lips brush the tips of his fingers before you straighten up, and Eddie clears his throat and turns away from you to lean against the counter. You both regress into an awkward, pregnant silence. 

You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been on shift with Robin and Steve when Dustin Henderson came running in and turned the video store into his personal manhunt headquarters. It was the worst case of right place, wrong time. You don’t know what you’re doing at any given moment, but you can say with absolute certainty that Eddie isn’t a killer. And with everything going on, the only moments in the last week that have made any sense to you at all are when you’ve been alone in this dusty ass house with Munson, sharing a beer or a cigarette or both before you have to leave him to his devices again. You find it comforting that he seems just as clueless as you are, and there’s no other expectations that you put onto each other besides that mutual confusion. 

Plus, you’ll admit it: you find him intriguing. Interesting. Eddie was supposed to graduate the same year as you, but while you moved on, got a job and spent a few semesters at community college, he stayed at Hawkins High. You hadn’t paid much attention to him while you were going to school together, but you’d had an idea of him in your head. You figured he would be your stereotypical, cookie-cutter metalhead with a chip on his shoulder. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, it seems. 

“Oh, um, I got you some fancy ass chocolates,” you say, breaking the silence so suddenly that he almost flinches. You pull a gold foiled box out of the paper bag, setting it on the tile counter beside him. “Just figured, y’know. It’s good for morale or whatever.”

Eddie stares down at the box of chocolates like it might explode. He drums his fingers anxiously on the side of his beer before his brown eyes flick up to yours. “You’re serious?”

“Um… yes? They’re just,” you shrug, looking for the right words to offer him, as he’s looking a bit overwhelmed and you aren’t really sure why. “I mean, they’re my favorites. They’ve got this caramel center that isn’t, like, super sweet, so you can eat a bunch and not feel sick to your stomach. I dunno, I just thought maybe it would be good for you to have a little variety. Or something.”

Eddie stares at you for a long time. Then he says, “Were they, uh… expensive?”

“What?” Your eyes widen, and your face feels suddenly hot. They were expensive, as far as candy goes, but you figured it was a luxury he could probably use right about now. But he looks so hesitant to even touch them, almost like he’s horrified that you might have dared to spend more than the bare minimum on him. Which, fuck that. Absolutely fuck that. So, you correct yourself quickly, and you lie, “No, they’re normal priced. I guess. It doesn’t matter.”

It still takes a moment for him to nod, but he still doesn’t move to touch the box. “Thank you.”

You blink down at the paper bag, and figure it would be best to change the subject. “I also got some TV dinners in case you were maybe getting sick of soup. And, uh… I picked up a deck of cards. In case you were getting bored.”

“Because that’s the most important thing on everyone’s mind right now. Whether I’m bored,” Eddie says with a smirk, but takes the unopened deck from you and sets his beer can down, regardless. You see him fiddling with something out of the corner of your eye as you shove the frozen dinners into the freezer, and when you turn back to him, he’s holding a silver ring out to you. 

“What is it?” You ask him with a short laugh, taking the ring from him.

“An Ouroboros. A snake swallowing its own tail. It’s, uh… a symbol of eternal life.” He shrugs one shoulder, and then nods slightly toward the box on the counter. Your eyes follow the curve of his lips as he smiles. “For the chocolates.”

“I told you it’s not a big deal,” you argue, trying to hand him back the ring.

“The ring isn’t a big deal either. It’s cheap metal, I got it for a buck and a quarter from a guy downtown.”

You can’t think of anything to say to that. If it’s really not that big a deal, you shouldn’t treat it as such; but something about him giving you one of his rings in exchange for a box of chocolates is a bit formal. And despite what he says, the ring is a bit heavier than you’d expect from ‘cheap metal.’

Eddie laughs and reaches forward, but instead of taking the ring from you, he plucks the still burning cigarette from the fingers of your other hand. “Do I look like I’d bullshit you about that?”

“Dunno. I’m learning not to judge a book by its cover.” 

His stare lingers on yours for a long time, while he kind of curls inwards on himself as he takes a drag of your shared cigarette. If you were any kind of romantic, you would probably think that now is a good time to smack the cigarette out of his hand and kiss him, or something equally idiotic. Maybe hyperfocus on the fact that you’ve shared that cigarette multiple times, so you most definitely have him in your mouth already. That his lips are ridiculously pink, and look so lush and stupidly kissable. And if you were to kiss him, he’d probably taste just the same as you. Familiar. Desperate. 

But, you’re not. A romantic, that is. You don’t even really like him- of course not, you barely know him. You just… really like his hair. And his neck. And his hands, and fingers, and the way he holds himself, and how you’d really love to see the look in his eyes if you pushed him against the counter and took his cock in your mouth-

You don’t have the time or the energy for wishful thinking, so you let it drop, and you put the ring into your jacket pocket. “Just let me know when you want it back, yeah?”

“Sure. Just as soon as I figure out how to play ‘go fish’ by myself,” he snorts playfully, shaking his unopened deck of cards at you, but his eyes flicker down at your empty hand for half a second. Then, his tone gains a note of seriousness when he adds, “Hey, thanks. For everything. Really.”

“No problem, babe,” you chirp. You clap him on the shoulder, trying to pass off the gesture as just you being friendly, but you nearly stutter when you add, “Who the hell else am I gonna share half a beer with, y’know?”

Eddie nods with a small smile, but you can tell that there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s refusing to voice. When you leave the house, you feel a bit like you’re running away from a bomb about to detonate.

You don’t sleep anymore.

Well, you haven’t slept soundly in about a week. It’s getting more and more like you’re scared to, for fear of getting Vecna’d, or… or whatever the hell the kids are calling it now. You like to think you’ve mastered the art of staying awake, staring at the Aerosmith poster across from your bed and trying not to nod off. 

Maybe it’s a bad idea to deprive yourself of sleep, but until you know that everything’s okay and there isn’t a man-hungry, Freddie Kreuger-ass monster lurking around in the dark ready to crush your bones, you’d rather play it safe. It would be easier if you had someone to stay with you, but your only compatriots are all crashing in the Wheeler’s basement, or in a dilapidated house on the edge of town. You’re on your own. 

Or so you thought.

“Guys? Dustin? Wheeler? Code red, I repeat- ah shit- CODE RED-” 

You nearly jump out of your skin, scrambling up and out of bed to grab the walkie that you’d plunked down on the dresser top when you got home. You frantically tug the antenna up as Eddie continues babbling through the line.

“Eddie? What’s happened?”

“Oh thank Christ, it’s you,” he says, and his relief is apparent in his voice. “We’ve got a problem- A bunch of fuckin’ basketball players are here, they’re in the house, I think they’re looking for me-” 

Your foot catches on your messed up bedsheet as you stumble to grab a pair of flannel pajama pants. Hopping on one foot to pull them on, balancing the walkie in your other hand, you interject, “Okay, where are you?”

“In the boat.” 

“The boat?” 

“The boat, the fuckin’- the boathouse, man, the shed! I’m in the shed!”  

“All right, I’m on my way. Keep the walkie on you, talk to me if anything happens, okay?” You set the walkie down on your kitchen counter to finish pulling on your pants and grab a denim jacket off your footboard. 

“How the fuck did they find me?” 

“I don’t know.”

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know, Eddie, just-” you trip down your doorstep to your car, fumbling with your keys. “Just try to relax. Is there some place nearby that you can safely go? Can you get to makeout point?”

“I’d have to go uphill.” 

“Can you get there?” You tear out onto the road, pushing 90 as you turn onto a back road and head toward the lake. 

“Yeah, I can- I can try.” 

“Meet me there. Go, now.”

The line goes dead for a solid ten minutes, and in that time you’re trying not to panic. Periodically banging the flat of your palm against the steering wheel, punching the accelerator as hard as it can take the heap of metal uphill toward makeout point. You tear past Reefer Rick’s house to see lights on in the windows, and what looks like Jason Carver’s car pulled up next to the porch, but you have no genuine ability to focus on anything other than getting to Eddie as soon as possible. 

Makeout point takes the form of a gap in the trees right in front of a scenic highway pullout. You jerk the car over onto the shoulder of the road and hit the brakes, lifting the walkie off the dashboard. 

“I’m here, Eddie, do you copy?”

Silence. You sit in it for a minute, heartbeat thudding in your chest and knee bouncing beneath the steering wheel. You start worrying that you might have to get out and hunt for him. You try to take stock of what all you have in the trunk to defend yourself, if Hawkins’ very own basketball playing cult-leader-in-the-making decides to try and attack you, too.

“Eddie, I swear to fucking god, if you’re dead I’m gonna kill you-” 

Eddie barrels out of the bushes towards the car, and fully dives headfirst through the passenger’s side window. 

“You couldn’t just open the fuckin’ door like a normal person?” you splutter, using one hand to try to steady him as he grunts and kicks his way into the front seat. 

“Nothing about this is normal- DRIVE!”  

You whip the car around, flying back down the hill towards town. You brake as you approach Reefer Rick’s, seeing a couple dark silhouettes loitering outside of the house. 

“Fuck, get down,” you hiss, yanking on the lapel of Eddie’s jacket. 

“What?”

“Get. Down.”  

Eddie grunts as he turns and face-plants directly into your lap, his nose digging into the meat of your thigh through your pajama pants. He gives a muffled whine of discomfort, shuffles around a bit, but relaxes once you place your hand solidly on the back of his head to keep him there. You don’t slow as you pass the house. You think you can make out Jason Carver’s blond head moving toward the boathouse, but you refuse to spend any time rubber-necking. 

“What the hell took you so long?” you ask as you release Eddie’s head. Your hand smooths over his tangled hair a bit as he pulls back from you.

He shoulders his way into a sitting position and reaches into his jacket to pull out a mangled golden package. “I knew you were lying when you said they weren’t expensive.”

“You went back for the fucking chocolates?” you wheeze, caught somewhere between absolutely livid and stupidly endeared to him. “You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“Yeah? Well, how do you think I felt?” He tries to adjust his legs on his side of the car, but his knees knock against the glove box, regardless. “I had to launch the fucking boat to get them off my ass. Good thing I fixed that window, I could just slide it open and grab the box off the counter before I ran-”

“You could have just left them,” you argue with a roll of your eyes.

“I didn’t even get to open it! I wasn’t gonna waste them.” He huffs an indignant sigh and remains quiet for a few seconds, before he inevitably asks, “So, what’s the plan? Where are we going?”

“Big Rock Park.”

“The campground?” Eddie scoffs, snapping the sun visor on the passenger’s side up and out of the way so he can see the road, for what it’s worth. “Why would we go there?”

“It’s where I live.”

“You live at the campground?” Eddie turns his head and stares at you incredulously. You shoot him an annoyed glance.

“First of all, it’s a fucking RV resort, I pay monthly rent. Second, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? Fucking try me, I’ve got a group of jocks trying to hunt me down, the cops after me, a brain-sucking killer monster sonofabitch who crumpled Chrissy Cunningham up like a piece of paper in my goddamn living room-” Eddie’s voice comes out shrill as he ticks off his different points on his fingers, which you can see out of the corner of your eye are shaking with nerves. “Can’t get a whole lot more complicated than that!”

You sigh, refraining from rolling your eyes again and trying to determine the best way to describe your living situation. “Senior year I was saving up for a car, I ended up buying the family camper off my parents so that I could move out instead. I keep it at the RV park, it’s nice, there’s a water hookup and I don’t have my parents breathing down my neck 24/7.” You shrug, adjusting your grip on the steering wheel. “My cousin dumped this piece of shit on me last year so I didn’t have to drive my house around when I needed to get to class at the college. So, yeah. I live at the campground, sure.”

You can feel his eyes on you, heavy like a lead weight on your shoulder. You sit in silence for a few more seconds before you grit your teeth. “What is it?”

“I just… didn’t expect you to do that, y’know. I mean, I always knew you had balls-” He scoffs, and when you glance at him, his eyes are glued to the road ahead. “I remember when you told Jordan Byrd to eat shit in the middle of the cafeteria in junior year for dumping chocolate milk on your shoes, and that was the most trouble you ever got into.”

“That you knew about.”

He shoots you a deadpan look. “I just always thought you were so… straight laced. Never thought you’d rather live in a fucking camper than with your folks, I guess. I mean, I’d love to be able to do that for myself,” he mutters. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, and then gives you a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Except now I actually have to somehow prove I’m not a murderer, or I’m gonna be arrested and then my life is over. So I guess that’s the last thing I should be worried about right now.”

“Fair enough,” you say as you finally pull into the RV park and cut the engine in front of your camper. “But maybe we should just focus on one thing at a time. Like getting you a shower. You smell like shit.”

He dramatically swoons before giving you a shit-eating grin. “Aw. Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think you really like me-”

“Or I could just leave you in the car.”

“Right.” He throws open the door. “I forgot, you don’t have a sense of humor.”

Eddie Munson is in your shower. 

You sit on the floor of your motorhome, back to the built-in fridge and legs sprawled across the floor, feet nearly touching the front door. You can hear the water running in the sad excuse of a bathroom cubicle, and the sound of the spray dulling out occasionally with each move he makes under it. It’s making your skin crawl and the short hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He’s in your shower.   

Your discarded denim jacket hangs off the side of the bench that behaves as your sofa, just across from the booth that acts as your dining table. The gold foil package of overpriced chocolate that he stupidly risked his neck saving lays on the floor beside your hip. You're trying not to think of the fact that he’s naked on the other side of the door, in cramped quarters like this. The water on his naked skin, dripping down his torso and washing away the dirt and sweat from the last week. Him being forced to use the fruit-scented shampoo that you have, because up until this point it’s been only you. 

He’s in your shower. 

You rip your eyes from where they’ve gone a bit foggy, staring off into space at the open window above the microwave. You look down at your hands instead, in your lap, twirling the Ouroboros ring idly back and forth. It had fallen out of your jacket pocket when you took it off, and you didn’t have the heart to shove it away again. The snake is rather ornate, like it serves to prove a point. Even if it’s supposedly made of cheap metal, and it has no color other than its gleaming silver, it insists on standing out.

The sound of the water cuts out and only leaves the quiet noise of the local rock station playing Whitesnake on the transistor radio on your kitchen counter. You perk up a bit, your heart rate picking up speed as you hear a sort of wet rustling on the other side of the bathroom door, and then it pops open a crack. You see one of Eddie’s eyes, a flash of brown hair, and a white towel hung low on his hip. 

“Uh, do you have anything I can wear-?”

You snatch an extra pair of flannel pajama pants from the kitchen booth beside you and awkwardly try to jam it through the crack in the door. Eddie fumbles with it for a second before says a quick, “Thanks,” and all but slams the door shut. 

You try to collect yourself. Your face feels hot and you can almost feel your blood thrumming in your veins, and you go back to twirling the ring back and forth with more urgency this time. Fuck. Is this what it’s like to have a crush? It can’t be. You haven’t honestly had a crush on anyone since sophomore year, and it’s infuriating to think that Eddie Munson would be the one to call an end to your streak. 

Eddie pops his head out of the bathroom. “You don’t have any shirts, do you?”

“I don’t think any of mine would fit you, babe,” you mutter, pointedly not looking at his body. 

“Babe,” he echoes absently, like he’s trying to absorb the pet name. He hauls the wadded up pile of his previous outfit out of the bathroom and holds it up like it’s radioactive waste. “I got, uh… clothes.”

You blink, making eye contact with his knees. “Just toss them anywhere, I’ll do laundry tomorrow.”

Eddie tiptoes across your sprawled out legs and neatly tucks his pile of clothes into the kitchen booth before gracelessly plopping down onto the floor across from you. He lets out a long sigh, tilting his head back against the cabinet behind him and peering up through his lashes toward the ceiling. 

“We are so incredibly screwed, aren’t we?”

You turn your head towards him, and there isn’t a physical way that you can’t stare, now. Eddie’s hair is wiry and retains its curl when wet, long enough to hang down past his collarbone. His dark eyes are still pinned to the ceiling, but his head is tilted back, letting you get a good long look at his neck. His chest is riddled with small, discombobulated tattoos that range in style and color, like he just laid down on a table and told his friends to have a crack at doodling all over him. Which, if you’re honest, you could absolutely see him doing. 

You try to swallow down an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. The ring slips onto your thumb, and circles it with room to spare. “Maybe you are. I’m just the getaway driver, remember?”

His eyes find yours, but he doesn’t change the way his head is tilted, so he succeeds in looking down his nose at you and giving you a cheshire cat smile. “Aiding and abetting is a pretty serious crime, sweetheart. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

You make an ugly snort-scoffing sound, swiping the box of chocolates up off the ground and roughly ripping it open. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

“Why do you call me ‘babe?’”

“I- hhhh.” You grunt in irritation, digging a single chocolate out of the box and shoving it into your mouth while you try to think of an answer to that. “I call everyone ‘babe.’”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do!”

“You don’t call Harrington ‘babe,’” Eddie points out, a little smirk on his face as he takes the box of chocolates from you to dig one out for himself. “Or Nancy. I think you called Robin ‘honey’ once, but you were being sarcastic.”

“Well, maybe none of them get on my nerves like you do,” you snap. “Why are you paying so goddamn much attention to what I call people, anyways?

He dramatically clutches his hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I? Get on your nerves? Impossible. You’re the most patient person I’ve ever met. Why, if I had all the ability in the world, I’m sure I still couldn’t get under that skin,” he proclaims with an over exaggeratedly deep voice. Noticing you shaking your head at a pathetic attempt to argue without saying anything, he outright laughs. “Honestly! If I get on your nerves so much, then why are you the one who brings me shit? Why’d you go out of your way to get me these expensive chocolates- which are really fucking good, by the way- and then save my ass from almost certain death?”

“Not certain death,” you grumble down at the box.

“Certain death,” he insists. “Why? If I’m so incredibly infuriating to you?”

“Because the others didn’t want to, and I’m not heartless.” Your voice is snippy and hinting at your distress. There’s a harsh ache in your chest, and the more you stare at him, the more you want to reach out and grab him. 

“Mhm, and is that why you also stuck around to smoke with me every time?” Eddie asks with a sing-songy tone.

“No, I did that because I like-” Catching yourself about to admit something you can’t take back, you interrupt yourself with a swift breath, and accidentally inhale a bit of chocolate. It takes a few awkward seconds for you to clear your throat, and you try hard to act normal, but he just has this way of not blinking when he’s focused on something, and right now that something is you.

“‘Because you like’ what?” He nudges your knee with his once you stop coughing like an idiot. You lift your eyes to meet his, finding a softness in them that you aren’t used to. “Go on.”

“Because I like…” you trail off, your eyes falling to a tattoo on his shoulder, half hidden by his hair. You lose your train of thought, squinting at the mark. “Ouroboros.”

“What?”

You shuffle onto your knees, shoving yourself forward to get a closer look. “Your tattoo,” you say as you move his hair out of the way and touch the ink on his skin. It’s small, it’s no wonder you didn’t notice it immediately, but it’s very obviously an Ouroboros, a snake swallowing its own tail to match the ring on your thumb.

“Oh.” Eddie lets out a laugh that sounds a touch nervous. “Well- yeah. Eternal life and all. It’s my favorite.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and your hand falls to rest on his chest as you start examining each of his tattoos. There’s a rabbit, a winged skull, a spade; as your fingers trail down his chest, you feel his breathing getting a little bit faster. “I think it’s my favorite, too.”

He sits still for a moment, his dark eyes watching your fingers as they ghost across his skin, outlining each of his tattoos as you scrutinize them. He says your name, quietly; it’s barely even a whisper, but it comes from so deep in his chest that it emboldens you to continue, to shuffle in closer and let yourself explore him. It’s only when you reach one at the edge of his ribs that his hand catches your wrist, and his fingers completely circle it. 

“You’re wearing it,” he observes quietly, his thumb brushing to touch the loose-fitting Ouroboros swinging freely around your own. 

Your gaze snaps to his, and he’s staring at you now, not his hand on your wrist or your hand as it rests against the flat of his stomach. You think you could drown in the look that he’s giving you. 

“‘Because you like’ what?” Eddie asks. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I like you,” you say in a rushed exhale, and once it’s out in the air, the words keep flowing like you’ve opened the floodgates. “I like spending time with you. And your stupid, pretty face. And all your tattoos that I could spend hours memorizing. And the way you blow smoke into my face because you know I won’t say anything, and the way you drink the absolute worst brand of beer, and the way you make me want to kiss you speechless.”

He ghosts a finger across your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “So, what are you waiting for?”

Your mouth hovers over his. His breath hits your lips, and it occurs to you to move into his lap, to straddle him, but you don’t quite manage to get that far before his forefinger hooks under your chin, and he kisses you. 

Or, something like that. Rather, you sort of attack each others’ faces.

There’s something cathartic about it, and not worrying about it being good so much as it finally fucking happening, like you’ve just taken a sledgehammer to that last remaining wall between you. Eddie tastes like tobacco and chocolate and he makes a soft grunt into your mouth, and you don’t think it has to be perfect, because nothing about the situation or the two of you is. 

Your hands scramble up his chest for something to hold onto, to tug him closer or just keep him there against you. They settle around his neck, getting him in a loose-laced chokehold that makes him stiffen and moan into your mouth. His Adam's apple jumps against your thumb. It’s a good thing that you didn’t manage to crawl into his lap at the last second, because Eddie’s hands come up to cup your face, and he lays you down on the floor as you pant into his open mouth. 

His hands adjust the angle of your head, his tongue licking at yours, and it occurs to you that this is Munson- Eddie “the Freak” Munson- and you really shouldn’t like him, or the way he’s absolutely devouring your mouth. But you do. You like him so much, you could scream it. 

“Christ, you’re so fucking gorgeous- and I want to kiss you all over- and I could just fucking- eat you alive,” Eddie rambles at you, staggered between kisses that steal the breath from your lungs. 

Your legs open around his hips, and by some unconscious instinct you tug him further in. Your fingers dig at his shoulder blades until the bulge in his pajama pants presses up against the crux of your thighs. You didn’t realize that your distracted touch on his chest turned him on as much as it did, but you can feel your effect on him clear as day. A desperate whine leaves your throat as you slowly grind your hips up against his, letting the hard length of his cock drag over your clothed pussy. 

Eddie groans, a sharp and dangerous warning sound that echoes in his chest and vibrates on your lips. He breaks away from you with a whispered, “Goddamn it,” and then his teeth graze your neck. 

You hiccup as his tongue drags along the slope of your neck, and his teeth catch on the hem of your camisole at the same time your hands plant themselves on the back of his skull to keep him there. He makes a quiet mmph, but he doesn’t stop, his breath ghosting against your breast and his damp hair tickling your skin. 

Fuck. You don’t even know what you’re doing, just that he makes you nervous. And not in a bad way either, but more in a can’t-fucking-think way. Especially when he’s dragging his lips softly over the lace at the neckline of your top, and his eyes are focused on your face, and his hand is settling on your waistband so you know where he’s going with this.

And his mouth leaves you just long enough for him to yank the neckline of your camisole down, and you barely have time to register the cool air before your nipple is engulfed in heat. 

Air stalls in your chest, an animalistic noise coming out of your mouth as if you’ve become possessed. It takes every last bit of your mental ability to articulate, “I’m never gonna take the ring off, now.”

“Don’t.” Eddie’s voice has taken on the darkest tone you’ve ever heard, so much that you nearly swear it couldn’t come from him. Your hands tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll give you every one of my rings if it means I can have you like this.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks, and lower, where your body is screaming for him to move his hand away from your hip and inwards. “Eddie, baby-”

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs, then presses a slow, sensual kiss to your exposed nipple. “Do you want me to?”

Hm. Do you want Eddie Munson to go down on you? The question pings around in your skull for a moment due to the absurdity of it, that he would even think to ask- 

“Y-yeah?”

Eddie breaks into the cheekiest grin you’ve seen him wear, one that lights up his entire face and makes his eyes shine like polished obsidian. And then he foregoes any formality, and positively rips your pants down your legs, taking your underwear with them. 

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, jerking your legs to help him get them off. You expect a quip from him in return, something about not being shy, or  relaxing, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s entirely focused on wedging himself between your legs and dipping his tongue through the soaked folds of your pussy. 

Eddie fucking moans . He moans, and you latch onto his hair with an iron grip that you didn’t even realize you had. The world tilts- or maybe it’s just your back arching off the ground and your eyes rolling backwards into your head. Either way, you can’t rip your focus from the gentle sucks and nips he’s giving you. 

His lithe body pushes further in towards you, until your legs are folded over his bare shoulders and you’re crowded up against the kitchenette. You can’t seem to take a fucking breath around all the hoarse cries coming out of your throat. It honestly sounds like you’re sobbing, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you lifted your hand to find tears forming in your eyes. 

Broad hands come up to caress your thighs, giving you almost comforting strokes as you roll your hips against his face. As if he could possibly get you to relax, unless he pulled his mouth away from you- which, you think if he did right now, you might kill him. You can feel how wet he has you already, and his tongue is no better. Slick and hot as fire, and making your toes curl against his back with every small circle he makes over your clit. 

And then. You make the mistake of opening your eyes. 

He’s all rosy cheeks on pale skin, dark hair and round eyes blown wide and black. Staring at you, reading your every microexpression from under his lashes as a flash of pink juts out of his mouth and eagerly laps at your cunt. 

It should be fucking illegal to be this pretty. Somehow, Eddie does it so effortlessly, and you could die trying to fight how it affects you. 

“Eddie, waitwaitwait- hoh fuck-” you gasp, fingers clawing at his head, as he takes his fucking time pulling away from you while you’re spiralling toward oblivion against his mouth. It takes a forceful push against his forehead to get him to pull back just slightly, and he’s out of breath by the time his head rests against your thigh. 

“You all right, sweetheart?” He murmurs from between your legs, and he nearly sounds more aroused than you do. 

You blink dazedly up at the ceiling for a few seconds before you collect your wits. “You were gonna make me come, and I just- I wanna fuck you so bad.”

You can practically hear the smirk on his face when he coos, “You wanna fuck me? Right here on the dirty floor?”

You take a second to think of a response to that. You could move back into the nook where your bed is, but why bother? “You were already halfway there.”

A low noise rumbles in his chest. “I can still finish what I started, if you want.”

The tip of his tongue traces a gentle, teasing line through your folds, enough to make you squirm and dig your heel into his back. “Eddie please-” you whine so pitifully, you’re not even sure the sound came from your own mouth, “god, I’m gonna come and- and I want you to feel it-”

Eddie hisses through his teeth like he’s in pain. “Fuck. God fucking damn it,” he swears, and his hands leave your thighs before you see him run one through his hair. “All right, sweetheart. You win. Dunno how the hell I’m ever gonna be able to say no to you.”

Eddie sits back on his knees, straightening up so that you can admire the entirety of his lean frame. He’s a bit on the willowy side, but he has soft areas where you know just from touching him that muscle lurks underneath. His thumbs hook on his waistband, then reaches within to lift his erection out, and his gaze settles heavily on yours. “Is this what you wanted?”

You blink at him. As if he needs to ask, when your entire body is shaking as you’re biting your lip, staring at him fisting his cock. “I… stop stalling and come. Here.” 

Slowly- too slowly for your liking- Eddie does what he’s told. You can’t help but feel like he’s being a little bit cocky now that he has the upper hand, biting down on his lip before they come level with your own. The huff of a laugh that he makes billows across your skin. “Needy.”

You whimper high in your throat as he presses in, feeling like you could tell him exactly how needy you are, how you have been for him this entire time. If only you could get the words out, but he sinks his cock into you so deep that you can’t think, you can barely even breathe. He stretches you so wide, makes you so full that you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat. 

It’s absolute heaven. 

Eddie grits his teeth, rocking his hips into yours just a bit sharper so that you fling your legs around his waist. “Been thinking about this,” he groans into your shoulder, while you’re naturally unable to answer him. “Thought about fucking you on Rick’s floor- I would have. God, I fucking wanted to. Didn’t think- fuck- didn’t think you’d go for it-”

“Eddie-!” Your voice is too shrill. Is that your voice? You can’t tell anymore, your ability to articulate anything other than his name feels like it's entirely left you. Your hands are tangled in his hair and clawing long marks along his shoulder blade, your lungs punching out hard and hollow gasps each time he reaches the end of you. 

You know that he can be gentle when he wants to be. You know. Which is why you know that he’s not trying to be gentle with you now, and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s a punishment or a reward for finally letting him do this to you. 

And, perhaps his cruelest trick of all- his hand comes up to clasp around your throat, as your head is tilted back against the hard floor. The metal of his rings dig into your skin, not enough to cause pain, but just to let you know they’re there. To remind you that one of them is missing. 

Eddie’s thumb presses into your mouth, until you can taste the salt of his sweat on your tongue. He spits out a curse when you mindlessly close your lips around it, letting your teeth scrape his skin as he drives his hips into yours. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, and his mouth is so close to your ear that you feel his breath fan against it. “That’s my good girl.”

Oh god, he really is a dream. It’s the only way you know that you’re still here, that Vecna hasn’t gotten to you yet. You couldn’t make this up, and you couldn’t imagine any nightmare where this takes place. 

Eddie lifts his head to look at you, and you know you’re done for. Sinful heat sinks low in your gut, ripe and pinpointed between your legs, and you clench desperately around him. He’s so pretty. So pretty, so pretty, so pretty. It plays on a loop in your head like a scratched record, until you’re almost certain he’s ransacked your brain and superimposed every one of your thoughts with it. 

“Oh, she’s gonna come, isn’t she?” He muses, a bit breathless. A smile stretches across his face, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Go on, sweetheart. You wanted me to feel it- let me.”

You sob brokenly, biting down on his intrusive thumb in your mouth as your orgasm splinters through you. It’s so good, so strong that it nearly hurts. Your hips jolt up to meet his on their own, entirely separated from where your mind is, in the clouds. 

You hear him swear again, this time more of a primal growl than an actual word, and he rips his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop. You manage to whimper, before Eddie dips down to groan his own release into your open mouth, smothering you in a kiss as he comes. 

Eyes closed, your senses are almost entirely dampened to everything except the feeling of Eddie’s elbow buckling under him, and his body pressing in on top of you. You feel like you’re floating, despite his weight anchoring you down. His breath on your neck and his little mumbled praises that go in one ear and out the other as he rolls off to the left. 

It takes his hand on your face to finally rouse you from the stupor he put you in, and even then, you expend twice as much energy than normal trying to open your eyes to him. 

He lays beside you, head resting on the fake wood floor. Thumb stroking the side of your face, he smiles affectionately at you. “Hey there, pretty girl.”

You can’t really bring yourself to give him much more than a sleepy smile and a weak ‘mm.’ Your legs are tangled in his, the warm, wet mess of his spend seeping out from between your thighs. It feels dirty, and sort of fucked up, and yet…

This was always going to happen. Whether it happened here, or happened at Rick’s, or if sometime in the future it happens at his place. On the dirty floor, in the kitchen. Because that’s just the way you are with him.

“‘Low charisma’ my ass,” you manage to croak at him, your eyes sluggishly refusing to stay open. 

He blinks at you. You watch the wheels turn in his head, watch him connect the dots between your words and the ones he said to you two days ago. Then, he just looks… enamored. Like he didn’t expect you to have been listening to him, to remember whatever nerdy thing he’d mentioned off the cuff. 

Eddie tuts, his fingers soothing over your sticky, hot skin. “We have to get up, baby. Shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” you repeat, slurring your words tiredly. “Haven’t been able to for a while… too scared…”

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me.” Eddie pats your cheek softly, and the quiet timbre of his voice threatens to lull you further, rather than wake you. “C’mon. I tell really good bedtime stories.”

You whine grumpily as he pulls you up, clumsily maneuvering you past the bathroom stall and into the nook at the very back of the motor home that acts as your bedroom. “How the hell’d you get a whole fuckin’ bed in here?” he mutters in disbelief as he packs you into it. At some point you guess he decided he didn’t need the pajama pants anymore, and crawls in beside you entirely naked. 

“Eddie?” you ask, as you feel him tucking your rumpled sheets around you. “Can we do this, like, every night?”

“Depends. Do you want to wake up to me every morning?”

You blink your eyes open at him, so appalled that you almost entirely wake back up. He’s looking blankly back at you, like he doesn’t exactly grasp the weight of what he just said. 

“Eddie, I-” you stammer, looking for the fucking words to express how you feel about him. “I-I didn’t think I was even going to get this far. You have no idea how much I want to… fucking… I want to wake up to you every morning. Yeah. I do. Stupid fucking pretty face and all. Making me lose my mind. Bitch.”

Eddie snorts loudly, and pulls you close to him as he holds in his laughter, pressing a kiss between your eyes. “There’s my girl. I’ll stick around until you get sick of me, sweetheart. I promise.” He picks up your hand and laces your fingers together, letting the metal of his rings clack against the one around your thumb. 

You hum contentedly. “You better.”

“Now, shut up and close your eyes. I’m gonna tell you a story.” You begrudgingly do as he says, sighing as you melt into the warmth of his body. “‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat-’ Why are you laughing? What?”

You crack your eyes open, body shaking as you giggle with your lips pressed together. “Are you reciting The Hobbit?” 

“Yeah.”

“From heart?”

“...Yeah.” Eddie blinks, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks. “I know the first three chapters.”

You choke down another fit of giggles. “Eddie?”

“Mm?”

“I’m in fuckin’ love with you.”

A Day in the Life

won't even apologise for the bucky spree i've been on lately. have another one.

so i've been daydreaming about being bucky's housewife a lot, and i just wanted to write something about what a day in the life of bucky's housewife would be like. so here it is.

Content Warning: CEO!Bucky x Housewife!Reader, domestic fluff, slight angst but no conflict, sad!steve rogers but he'll be fine, dirty talk, smut (daddy kink, mommy kink, dom!bucky x sub!reader, handjob, fingering, role-playing, breeding kink, penetrative sex, lactation kink), aftercare, soft!bucky.

A handful of peanuts are put into a small container and slotted into the lunch bag, along with a homemade Italian sub sandwich, hummus, pita chips, and some strawberries which you cut to look like hearts. You also pack a bottle of peach iced tea which you've decorated with a few heart-shaped stickers, before zipping up the bag and giving it a proud smile.

The dishwasher behind you hums with the sound of the breakfast dishes being washed, and the smell of coffee from the thermos fills the air.

It's the start of a great day.

You light up when Bucky enters the kitchen in his suit with his briefcase in hand, shooting you a wink as he walks over. "Ready?" You ask him, pushing his lunchbag and thermos towards him.

"Mhm," He replies with a smile, walking over to give you a kiss. It's short and sweet and he rests his forehead against yours once he pulls away. "Don't wanna go."

"Then don't," You whisper coyly, holding onto the hem of his freshly-pressed suit jacket. "Call in sick and stay with me all day."

He chuckles at your words, pulling your body closer to his. "I wish I could, peanut, but I have that big meet-"

"Meeting with Mr. Barton, I know," You finish with an eye roll, before smiling up at him. "I made your favorite for lunch."

"I love you," Bucky mumbles, kissing you again. "Wish I could just take you with me. Sit you on my desk so I have something pretty to look at all day."

"But then all your coworkers would be jealous," You tease him.

"Oh, they would," He agrees with a smirk. "Jealous that I have the prettiest little wife in the whole world."

"Sap," You mumble, hitting his shoulder lightly. "What time will you be back?"

"Should be home by 6," He tells you, making you pout.

"That's so long away," You whine immaturely.

"Let me make you feel good, daddy," You whisper back as his hard cock pulses against your palm. You take it out of his pants before leaning forward to spit on it, making him shiver. Your spit and his pre cum mix together as you begin to stroke his length, making him shudder.

"I know, peanut, but time will fly by," Bucky promises you before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hands roam your waist before moving down to grab your ass, making your stomach flutter. You trail your hand down his chest until you meet his belt buckle, which you unfasten. "Baby, what're you doing?" He whispers, biting his lip when you slip your hand under his boxers.

He grabs the counter on either side of you, boxing you in as his jaw falls slack. "Oh, fuck," He groans, bucking his hips slightly. "Just like that, oh God, don't stop."

You move a little faster, knowing you're pressed for time and not wanting to make him late for work. To speed him up, you press your lips to his neck, taking advantage of how well you know his body and making him whine as you suck on his sensitive spot.

"Baby, fuck," He moans as his eyes roll back. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, daddy, please," You beg him playfully. "I need your cum."

Your words push him over the edge and before long, his seed spills out. Some of it shoots out onto your thigh, but the rest you catch in your palm as you continue to stroke him through his high. His dick throbs in your hand as his whole body shudders, grunts leaving his mouth. Once he's spent, you wipe your hand on a tissue, smiling up at him.

"You're so naughty," He utters lowly between heavy breaths, chuckling. "My naughty little girl, aren't you?"

"Can't help it, daddy," You say innocently while zipping his pants back up and buckling his belt. "It's your fault for being so hot."

Smirking, he pushes you against the counter before lifting up your short dress. "My naughty girl deserves to feel good, too," He mumbles, stroking your inner thigh.

"You're gonna be late, Jamie," You warn him, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"I don't care," He growls as he finds your heat, chuckling. "No panties. Just like I've taught you, hmm?"

Your breath shakes as he scoops up his cum from your leg, before using his free hand to spread apart your folds. With his eyes locked on yours, he rubs his cum over your clit, making your stomach flutter.

"James," You whimper, clinging onto the counter behind you.

"Shh, it's okay, peanut," He whispers softly as he continues circling your bud. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"So good," You reply weakly, lifting up your leg to give him better access to your pussy.

He moves his fingers down to your entrance, biting his lip when he feels your warm juices coating and soaking it. With ease, two of his fingers slip into you, making you wince at the width as he spreads you open.

"My pretty little pussy feels so fuckin' tight around my fingers," He groans into your ear. "Always so tight for me. Fuckin' hell."

He starts fucking his fingers in and out of you rhythmically, curling them upwards every so often and making you squirm. The knuckle of his thumb rubs against your clit, making your core burn with delight. You cry out loudly as he hits your spot deep inside you, making your legs shake.

"That's it, baby, sing for me," He grunts, fingering you faster. "Your moans are so fucking sexy. Fuck." He licks his lips as he watches your face contort in pleasure, a proud smirk blooming on his lips. "That's it. Breathe deeply for me, baby, deep breaths. That's it."

Your entire body feels like it's floating as he coaxes you to the edge, expertly playing with your pussy the way only he knows how. With a loud cry of his name, you throw your head back as the floodgates burst open.

"Cumming, daddy," You all but squeal as your cunt clenches around his fingers, juices flowing out of you.

"That's my girl," He praises you before kissing you deeply as you fly through your high. "Just like that, doing so well for me."

You breathe heavily as you slowly come down, your eyelids drooping with fatigue. Bucky wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. The two of you stay in the blissful peace for a few moments, your hearts beating as one. He strokes your hair and you cling to his torso, never wanting to let go.

"Could stay like this forever," Bucky whispers, swaying you gently.

Looking over his shoulder at the clock, you sigh. "You're gonna be so late," You warn him.

"Just a few more minutes," He begs, holding you even tighter. You have no choice but to give in, obsessed with his smell and touch and embrace.

A few more minutes pass and you pull away, pushing his shoulders back. "Alright, bubba, you need to go," You say sternly. "You have to prepare for the Barton meeting."

He groans with an eye roll, but he knows you're right. Giving you another kiss, he pats your ass. "Alright. Alright, you're right," He utters with defeat.

You pick up his lunch bag and follow him through to the door to the large garage. When he opens it, cool air washes over you, making you shiver.

"What do you think?" He asks as he glances over the hooks of keys. "Who should I take out today?"

Thinking it over, you tilt your head. "Take Krissi- no, take Mason. He hasn't been out in a while; he's probably feeling neglected."

"You're right," Bucky mumbles, grabbing the keys to the black Maserati Ghibli.

"Here you go," You say sweetly, holding out his lunch bag.

"Thank you, peanut," He says appreciatively, leaning forward to kiss you. "I love you."

"I love you more, Jay," You reply sweetly, booping his nose.

"I won't be able to call you until 2 today, because of the meeting," He informs you, stroking your hip.

Pouting, you nod. "Okay, bubba," You reply, kissing him once more before he starts to walk away. "Good luck with Barton!"

"Send me pictures if you do end up going shopping with Wanda," He calls out to you as he walks past the row of cars to get to Mason the Maserati. "And if Coulson comes over to check on the security system, tell him to make a note of everything he does."

"I will," You promise, leaning against the doorway as he opens the car door. "Drive safe!"

"I love you, peanut," He says once more, blowing you a kiss before getting into the car.

You watch as the garage door opens and Bucky carefully backs out. He beeps the horn twice before driving away, and you wait until the garage door is fully shut before leaving, with a love-drunk smile on your face.

Bucky returns home at around 5:45, after rushing to get back to you. He parks the car in its spot in the garage before making his way into the house, the smell of your cooking immediately wafting over him and making his stomach grumble.

He wanders over to the kitchen where he knows you'll be, the sound of soft music and the blade against a cutting board inviting him in. "I'm home, peanut," He calls out, not wanting to scare the life out of you like he has done many times before when he walked in unannounced.

When he enters, he sees you at the counter chopping up tomatoes, but you're not alone. Steve is standing with his arm around your shoulder, watching closely as you finely cut up the salad ingredients.

You look up at him, your eyes lighting up. "Jamie!"

"Hey, baby," He greets you, walking over to where you and Steve are standing. He places his lunch bag on the counter before leaning forward to give you a kiss, pushing Steve off of you. Embracing you, he lifts you off the ground for a few seconds, holding you tight.

"Hi," You mumble with a wide grin once he puts you back down. "Missed you."

"Missed you more," Bucky replies sweetly before giving Steve narrow eyes. "I thought you were sick."

He shrugs sheepishly, leaning back against the sink. "Didn't wanna go work," He says casually.

Bucky raises a brow. "Probably not the best thing to say to your boss, punk."

"Where's my kiss?" Steve asks, returning to wrap his arm around your shoulder.

"Right here," Bucky replies, grabbing his chin and kissing his cheek before slapping him lightly. "Kiss my wife and you and I will have a problem, Rogers."

Laughing softly, you shake your head before gasping. "How did the meeting go?" You ask, returning to your salad cutting.

"It went great," He tells you proudly, shooting Steve a bitter glance. "Would've gone a lot smoother if my CFO was there, but we survived."

"Anyone can read out numbers," Steve claims flippantly. "You didn't need me."

"Idiot," Bucky mutters, before taking a few steps back. "I'm gonna go wash up. Back in ten."

Although he wants to be annoyed that he isn't getting the quality alone time with you that he's been looking forward to all day, Bucky can't be mad at Steve. Ever since the divorce proceedings begun, he's been sensitive and withdrawn, so you and Bucky have done your best to be there for him.

Once he's showered and changed into some comfortable clothes, Bucky returns downstairs where he can hear Steve's yelps. The kitchen is empty so he walks into the living room, where you're sitting on the couch with Steve's head on your lap while you tweeze his brows.

"Ow!" The blond cries, to which you roll your eyes.

"Hold still, Stevie," You mutter, concentrating on plucking the stray hairs. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Easy for you to say," He grumbles bitterly, wincing when you pull out another hair.

Bucky comes to sit behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Hi, peanut," He whispers into your ear. "How was your day?"

"It was good," You reply, pulling out another few hairs while Steve whimpers. "Didn't go shopping, but I did get lunch with Happy and May."

"You third-wheeled? How embarassing," Steve teases you, making you and Bucky roll your eyes.

"Did Coulson come over?" Bucky asks you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"Not today," You tell him. "He called and said he's coming on Friday, instead."

"Really? This Friday?" Bucky asks you with a frown.

"Yeah," You confirm. "Why? Is that a problem?"

Bucky bites his lip. He was planning on whisking you away to Italy for the weekend on Friday morning to celebrate the anniversary of the day he proposed to you, but he can't tell you that.

"Uh, Fridays are statistically when most break-ins happen, so I don't want him messing around with the security in case he fucks the system up," He excuses quickly. "I'll call him later and ask him to come next week, instead."

Raising a brow, you let out a laugh. "Uh, okay then," You say, before patting Steve's shoulder. "All done, Rogers."

"Finally," He breathes out with relief.

"So, are you going shopping with Wanda tomorrow, instead?" Bucky asks, rubbing your shoulders soothingly.

"Uh, I don't know, why?" You question him while playing with Steve's hair. "Do you need me to get you something?"

He needs you to get your fucking nails done for the trip, but he can't tell you that.

"Yes, actually," He claims. "Uh, cufflinks. I need a new pair."

You turn to look at him, a look of dejection in your eyes. "Oh. Did- do you not like the ones I got for your birthday? Do you want me to exchange them?"

He inwardly curses himself at his blunder. Of course I fucking like the cufflinks with your damn initials on them, peanut. "Did I say cufflinks?" He asks, feigning confusion. "I'm such an idiot; I meant... tie. I want a new tie."

"You want a new tie?" You ask, while Steve, who knows of Bucky's plan, struggles to keep in his laughs.

"Yes, I want a new tie, and I want my pretty baby to pick it out," Bucky says firmly. "For the party next weekend."

"Oh, okay," You agree with a growing smile. "Then I'll buy you the best damn tie you'll ever wear."

"I know you will," He replies lowly, kissing your cheek.

"Shit," You hiss suddenly, pushing Steve off your lap. "I need to check on the food!"

With that, you rush into the kitchen, with Bucky following you in. "What's for dinner?" He asks, watching as you take a dish out of the air fryer.

"Fried chicken," You answer him with a grin. "And potato wedges."

While you mix the salad, Bucky comes up behind you, stroking your hips. His hand slips up your blouse, where he pulls down your bra cup and grabs your boob. With his mouth at your ear, he strokes his thumb over your nipple, making you shudder. "I wanna be inside you so bad, baby," He whispers, making you shiver.

"Jay," You whine, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Before he can do anything else, Steve walks in, making Bucky pull your bra back up and take his hands off of you. You catch your breath while looking down at the salad, trying to regain your composure.

"Smells incredible," Steve says with a grin.

"Could you grab the wedges out of the oven?" You request while continuing to mix the salad, to which he complies.

Bucky steps closer to you and gently grabs your hands, turning you to face him. "You go ahead and sit down at the table, peanut; Steve and I will dish up."

"No, bubba, you go sit down," You insist. "You've been working all day-"

"So have you, now go sit down," He repeats firmly. "Don't make me say it again."

Defeated, you give in, leaning up to kiss him quickly before making your way into the adjacent dining area. You take a seat at the head of the table and pour yourself some water before realizing there's no wine.

"Steve, could you go grab a bottle from the wine cellar?" You call out to the kitchen. "I hate going down there alone."

"Sure thing, ma'am," Steve replies, making his way out to you.

"Just grab whatever you want," You tell him nonchalantly as he treks over to the cellar door.

Sticking his head out the kitchen door with a dish cloth over his shoulder, Bucky raises a brow. "No, Steve - grab the '95 Sassicaia," He corrects pointedly, to which you roll your eyes.

"Pretentious dick," You mutter, making him walk further out into the dining area.

"Excuse me?" Bucky scoffs while Steve disappears down the stairs. "You love my pretentious dick."

Sighing, you nod and sit back. "I really do."

He smirks as he comes closer, standing over you. Slowly, he reaches his hand out and wraps it around your throat, tilting your head up. "You want it deep inside you, don't you?"

Letting out a shaky breath, you squeeze your legs together. You nod, bucking your hips up. "I do, daddy."

Leaning down, he tightens his grip on your neck, making your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about railing you all day. Can't wait to fuck your brains out tonight," He growls.

"Please," You sputter with wide eyes.

"Say it, baby," He orders you. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I- I want daddy to fuck me," You let out weakly, clinging onto his wrist.

"Oh, daddy will, baby," Bucky coos softly, leaning forward to kiss you forehead. "Daddy's gonna fuck you so good tonight."

The sound of ascending steps from the cellar make him release your throat and step back, while you cross your leg over the other and feel your heart racing in your chest.

"Found the sassy shit you wanted," Steve announces as he enters the room, placing the bottle of Sassicaia on the table with a proud look.

"Thank you, Steve," You say graciously, giving him a polite smile while trying to get Bucky's dirty words out of your head.

Bucky and Steve get on with plating up and serving the food, and a few minutes later, you're all sitting at the table and digging in.

"So, how were your days?" Bucky asks you both. "Did you do anything besides annoy my wife, Rog?"

"Actually, I bought a car this morning," Steve says pointedly, making you frown.

"Steven, what have I told you? This is not the time for you to be spending money so carelessly," You scold him.

"I'm gonna sell the Ferrari, so it's fine," He defends himself. "Besides; Peg and I signed a pre-nup. I'm smart, and I'm safe."

"Still," You press sternly. "You're gonna be buying a new house, soon, and you know how much you love to renovate."

"Darling, relax," Steve says calmly. "I'm rich!"

"Peanut has a point, Rogers," Bucky adds curtly. "It's not a good look, going on a spending spree when you're supposed to be going through a divorce."

"I don't care how it looks," Steve retorts bitterly. "I just wanna leave that bitch and be done with it."

"Steve," You whisper with wide eyes, shaking your head. "Don't say that."

"Whatever. Everyone gets divorced nowadays; it's fine," He claims with a shrug, before giving Bucky a frown. "Did you guys sign a pre-nup?"

"Of course not," Bucky replies instantly.

"Really?" Steve asks, bewildered for a second before he relaxes. "Eh, makes sense. You two have always been horrifically in love."

"Peanut already knows that every cent of my money is hers," Bucky goes on to say, squeezing your hand. "We didn't need to sign anything to confirm that. And we definitely didn't need to prepare for a... I can't even say it."

"Yeah, man, how do you think I feel?" Steve asks with a dry laugh. "Fuckin' sucks."

"Anyway," You interject, sitting up. "More chicken, anyone?"

After changing the subject to a much lighter topic, the dinner continues. You share jokes, Bucky rants about his new, 'utterly incompetent' assistant, curses Peter for taking paternity leave and leaving him with the new incompetent assistant, and Steve makes false promises to cook for you next time.

"That was incredible," Steve groans as he puts down his knife and fork. "I haven't had a decent home-cooked meal in so long."

"You were eating my lasagne three days ago, you dramatic oaf," You point out with a laugh.

"Three days is a long time," He claims stubbornly.

Bucky reaches out to take your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. "It really was amazing, baby," He tells you earnestly. "Thank you for always feeding us so well."

"Of course, bubba," You reply bashfully through a grin. "I love making you food; you know that."

"And I love you," He replies lowly, kissing your hand again and keeping it close to his lips. God, he can't wait to see the look on your face when he flies you out to Italy. Lately, his bigger romantic gestures have been few and far between, and you deserve to be swept off your feet and spoiled rotten.

Watching the basic interaction between you both brings up feelings to the surface that Steve didn't even know were there. Suddenly, he's hit with a horrid wave of hurt, but he does he best to keep up a brave face.

You glance over at him and immediately, you can tell something isn't right. "You okay, Steve?" You ask him softly with a concerned look in your eyes.

He nods, avoiding your gaze because he knows it will only make him feel worse. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I just... Fuck," He mutters as his eyes tear up.

Getting up to your feet, you rush over to pull him in for a hug, holding his head to your torso as you feel your heart break. "It's okay to be upset, Steve. You're allowed to be upset."

"I'm not even, I... fuck," He utters with a scoff, shocked even at himself. "Shitting fuck. Why am I crying?"

"You're okay, my darling, you can cry if you need to," You mumble while Bucky begins to collect the empty dishes and take them back to the kitchen. Looking down at him, you bring up your thumbs to wipe away the stray tears from Steve's cheeks. "I can't even imagine your pain, but I promise you'll get through it. Jamie and I are here to help you through it. Never think that you're alone."

"I know. I'm fine, I swear," He claims with a sniffle, resting against you. "Too much wine, maybe."

Steve nods before pulling back and letting out a sigh. "Right. Enough of the dramatics," He states firmly.

You stay with him for a while, swaying him gently while Bucky clears the table. Once he's done, he walks over to join you, patting Steve's head. "You're gonna be more than okay, pal," He promises. "You're gonna be better. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but there is a way through this. We've got you."

"Anyone up for dessert?" You ask expectantly. "Mary-Ann made these cheesecake brownie things for some event at her daughter's school and had a bunch left over, so she gave us some."

"Mary-Ann, as in the one who's in love with your husband?" Steve asks with a raised brow as you make your way to the kitchen.

"The very same!" You call back with a laugh.

"She is not in love with me," Bucky argues firmly, sitting back down in his seat. "I honestly have no clue where this joke came from."

"Uh, it came from her obvious obsession with you," Steve says with a chuckle. "And it's not a joke, Buck-a-roo."

Once you've retrieved the brownies, you waltz back into the dining area. "Wanna know what she said when she gave me these?" You ask rhetorically, leaning down to utter with a sultry voice in Bucky's ear, "Make sure to let me know if James likes them; I know he's hard to please."

"James?" Steve repeats incredulously. "She called your husband James?"

"Calls him James," You correct him, putting the brownies down on the table. "Can you believe the nerve?"

"It's not that serious; not everyone wants to use a nickname," Bucky defends. "Some people I work with call me James."

"I have never even introduced you to her as James," You tell him. "Hi, Mary-Ann, this is my husband, Bucky. And what does she do? Calls you by my name."

"I think you oughta beat her ass," Steve suggests with a smirk. "Do it in front of her daughter for optimal humiliation."

"I might just," You mutter bitterly.

Bucky pulls you down onto his lap, gently biting your arm. "You have nothing to worry about, my baby."

You scoff at his words. "When did I say I was worried?" You ask him with a raised brow, before looking over at Steve. "Did I say I was worried at any point, Steven?"

"No, Mrs. Barnes, you did not," Steve answers you. "But, Mr. Barnes' comment does lead me to think that you might actually have something to worry about."

"Shut up, punk," Bucky grumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Pair of dumbasses, the two of you."

You lean forward to grab a brownie, before bringing to Bucky's lips. "Let's see if your secret lover's baking is better than mine," You say teasingly as he takes a bite.

Bucky slowly nods as he chews it, keeping his eyes on yours. Once he swallows, he lets out a hum. "You know what?" He asks. "I might just have to fuck Mary-Ann again, it was that good."

"Bastard!" You cry, hitting his shoulder while him and Steve laugh heartily.

"I love you," Bucky says as he prevents you from standing up by tightening his grip around you. "I love you, and this brownie sucks."

Steve grabs a brownie and takes a bite, his eyes widening as he chews. "Can you give me Mary-Ann's number?"

"Pricks," You mutter with an eye roll, before bringing the rest of the brownie in your hand up to your own mouth. You take a bite and, admittedly, it's pretty fucking good.

"What's the verdict?" Bucky asks curiously, bouncing his leg beneath you. "Good enough to let her off for being in love with me?"

"First of all, you just admitted she's in love with you, so Steve, I'd like you to make a mental note of that," You say, pointing at him. "And secondly, no. It's good, but mine would taste better - if I ever stooped so low as to make cheesecake brownies, that is."

Bucky grins at your words. "Now who's the pretentious dick?"

"Speaking of pretentious," Steve begins. "You coming to the party next weekend, peanut?"

"Don't call her that," Bucky cuts in with a tone of disgust.

"Oh, so you don't like it when someone else calls me the name that you use for me?" You ask him with a raised brow.

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky sighs. "Okay, so I see how that could be annoying."

"Thank you very much!" You exclaim with relief. "And thank you, Steven, for demonstrating it so well."

"Yeah, whatever, anyway, are you coming?" He presses expectantly. "It's gonna be at that hotel you like; the Gold Leaf."

"I guess I have to come, as Bucky Barnes' beautiful wife, and all," You say dryly with a shrug. "Might be fun - unless Graham's gonna be there."

"Ugh, he is," Bucky confirms with disdain.

"Fabulous," You sigh. "Always fun talking to him."

"If he says a single thing I don't like this time, I'm gonna be having words with him," Bucky says threateningly.

"Ooh, words," You repeat teasingly. "He must be so scared."

"Yeah, way to intimidate a guy for flirting with your wife," Steve adds with a snort.

"What do you want me to do?" Bucky asks incredulously. "Kill him?"

"Yes," You say curtly. "You should kill every man who even glances in my direction with less than pure intentions."

He narrows his eyes. "Believe me, peanut, I want to."

"On that note," Steve states, standing up. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Are you sure?" You ask, standing up too. "You don't want a coffee, or another drink?"

"Nah; I need to drive back," He tells you, stealing another brownie. The three of you walk to the front door which Steve opens before turning back to you. "Thank you for everything, sweetheart; dinner was great."

"Thank you for coming," You reply as he pulls you in for a hug. "You're always welcome here."

"Oh, I know," He says as he pulls away before grabbing Bucky for a quick hug. "I appreciate you both, very much."

"We love you," You tell him sweetly.

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his side. "You better be at work tomorrow, Rogers," He warns him.

"I will be," Steve promises with a wink, walking backwards. "And you two better have some mind-blowing sex tonight, for me!"

"Idiot," You say between laughs while Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve stuffs the brownie into his mouth before giving you a wave and walking over to his car. Once he's driven off, you shut the door and lock it. Before you can even say a single word, Bucky throws you over his shoulder and begins to make his way to the staircase.

"Jamie!" You squeal with excitement.

"Been wanting you all day," He grumbles, spanking your ass as he jogs up the stairs. "Do you know how insane the thought of you makes me?"

"I have an idea," You tell him coyly while he takes you into the bedroom. He then drops you onto the bed with a thump, and is about to rip off your dress when you stop him. "Wait!"

Concern floods features as he moves back. "Is everything alright, peanut?"

"Yes, but just wait here," You order him, pulling him down onto the bed and standing up yourself. "I'll be two minutes!"

With that, you rush into the en suite, leaving a frustrated Bucky with a boner and a huff. "What are you doing, baby?" He calls out. "You better not be shaving."

"I'm not!" You promise, your voice muffled through the door. "Just give me a second; I've been waiting for this all day!"

Bucky lets out a sigh, lying back on the bed. His lips curl up with anticipation as to what awaits him; a night of pure pleasure. A few moments into his naughty daydreams later, the bathroom door swings open and he immediately sits up.

"Baby," He whispers as he takes in your appearance, wide-eyed and mystified. "You look absolutely incredible."

There you stand wearing nothing but a black, lacey lingerie bodysuit and your heels. Your curves are laid bare to him as you coyly walk over to the bed, smirking.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," You greet him, crawling onto the bed. "I need your help."

He raises a brow and lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah? And what do you need my help with, baby?"

Biting your lip, you sit on your knees in front of him and tilt your head. "I need you to fuck me, right now," You tell him dramatically. "The fate of the world depends on it."

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he looks you up and down. "Yeah? You need me to breed you?"

"Yes, I do," You confirm. "You need to get me pregnant, as soon as possible- or else, the aliens will take over."

He snorts before regaining his composure and nodding. "I can do that, sweetheart. I can give you a baby."

Slowly, you spread your legs, revealing the crotchless panties. Bucky swallows thickly at the sight of your glistening pussy, his lips parting. "This is urgent, Mr. Barnes," You say with desperation. "You need to fuck a baby into me, now!"

After removing his shirt and pants, Bucky gets onto his knees in front of you and grabs you by the waist. "Don't you worry, baby, daddy's gonna get you pregnant," He promises with a growl. "Gonna fill you up with my seed."

You smile widely as he picks you up and puts you into his lap, rubbing your wet cunt against his hard dick. "Inside, daddy," You whine. "Put it deep inside me."

"Are you sure, baby?" He asks you gently. "Are you sure you can take my big cock?"

"I have no choice," You tell him, clinging onto his shoulders. "I need to do this, for the future of humanity!"

"Yes, you do," He agrees, rubbing his cock against your clit. "You're gonna be a good little cumdump for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," You promise, rocking your hips desperately. "I'll be your cumdump, daddy."

"That's a good girl," He praises you before slowly sinking into your tight cunt. "Oh, fuck."

Your head falls back as he fills you up, every inch of your skin on fire. "So big, daddy. I can't take it."

"Shh, baby, it's okay," He coos, stroking your face as his eyes darken. "You're gonna take it." With that, he plunges his entire length into you, taking your breath away. The pain is an enhancer for the pleasure, and you let out a loud, wanton cry that'd make a porn star blush.

He begins thrusting in and out of you with vigor, grunting as your pussy swallows him deeply.

"Right there," You moan, digging your nails into his shoulder. "Right there, daddy."

"My girl's gonna be so beautiful, all filled up with my baby," He utters, ripping apart your lingerie to reveal your chest. "Tits are gonna be so full of milk for our child."

Your eyes roll back at his words as he slams into your harder, making it hard for you to think straight.

"Such sweet fuckin' milk," Bucky growls before latching his mouth onto your nipple and sucking on it, sending waves of electric delight through your body. He pulls off with a pop, smirking at you. "Mommy's gonna feed me her milk, isn't she?"

"Yes, Jamie," You promise, pulling his hair. "Oh, my God."

"Mmm, that's right," He grumbles, playing with your tits. "Such a pretty mommy." With that, he starts sucking on the other nipple, slowly pushing you down onto the bed and getting on top of you.

He fucks you into the mattress, his hips snapping against yours as his fingers pull and twist your neglected nipple. Your back arches up as you whimper and whine, feeling your pleasure building up to its climax.

"Daddy," You begin, clawing his back. "Please, can I cum?"

Pulling his mouth off your nipple, he moves up to rest his head in the crux of your neck. "Not yet," He growls, fucking you harder. "You don't get to cum until I tell you to."

His words only make you hotter, letting him take control over you. Bucky places one of his hands on your stomach and pushes down on it gently. "You feel me right here, peanut?" He asks breathlessly. "Feel how deep inside you I am?"

"Oh, God," You gasp, your vision blurring.

"Gonna fill you up, make your belly nice and round with my baby," He tells you lowly, his lips brushing against yours. "You'll be a perfect mommy for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Sir," You reply feebly, feeling your head lighten.

"You're the prettiest little cumdump, you know that?" He whispers. "So fucking gorgeous."

"Daddy," You whine. "Need to cum."

"Yeah?" Bucky asks with an arrogant smirk, before suddenly bringing his fingers to your clit and rubbing quick circles onto it.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" You scream, feeling yourself fall off the edge as the pressure on your core increases.

He leans down, bringing his lips to your ear, and whispers, "Cum."

Your legs shake around him as you finally let go, entranced by blinding pleasure. Waves of pleasure shoot through your body as you gush onto his cock, tightening around his girth. Bucky isn't far behind you, taking a few seconds before he releases his seed deep inside you.

"Take it all, baby," He grunts, thrusting into you sloppily. "Take every fucking drop, like the good cumdump you are."

You fade in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes, feeling weak and exhausted. Gentle hands clean and clothe you, a soft voice whispering into your ear about how good you were tonight.

When your eyes are finally able to fully open again, you see the dimly lit ceiling above you. You turn your head to the side to see Bucky standing over the bed, moisturizing his face. He smiles when he sees you staring, before shooting you a wink.

"Welcome back, peanut," He says teasingly, kneeling onto the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Need to sleep," You mumble groggily. "Did you- did you do my face?"

"I did, baby," He assures you, getting under the duvet next to you before pulling you into his arms and kissing your cheek.

"Did we save humanity from the aliens?" You question him. "With our mind-blowing sex?"

"We did, peanut," He tells you with a grin. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"How much?" You ask, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips.

He holds you tighter to his chest, resting his head in your neck. "More than there are drops of water in the ocean. More than there are stars in the sky. More than there are atoms in the galaxy."

"That's a lot," You reply softly, before adding, "I love you even more than that."

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to your neck. "If you say so."

"Good night, bubba," You mumble sweetly. "I love you."

"Good night, peanut," Bucky replies with you in his arms. "I love you."

Today was a great day.

aw how cute was that.

bucky masterlist

side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates

buy me a kofi <3

We Couldn’t Stop

Title: We Couldn’t Stop Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers 

Summary:  During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.

Word Count:  7k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo Square: A3- Threesome Card Number: KB003

The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

TAGS: @buckybarnesfic, @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

best friend!eddie post s4, some angst.

It starts a little while after Wayne and Eddie are settled into their new home, bringing them a Pyrex container full of meals you made at the beginning of the week.

As the weeks passed you started throwing in little desserts you picked up at the bakery or something you whipped up, taking notice of the things both men loved.

Your cinnamon rolls seemed to be a hit.

"Better than anything I've tasted, hun." Wayne would tell you as you made another trade off, empty containers for freshly filled ones.

"Almost lost a few fingers for the last one." He joked

You never saw Eddie, only hearing about him through Wayne, something that broke you more and more with each visit.

"I'll make note of that for next time, Wayne." You flashed your best fake smile, as much as you loved talking to Wayne, you yearned for the other Munson man.

"Same time next week?"

"Enjoy. Tell Eddie I said hi?" Hopefulness written all over your face, something that will be crushed again.

He gives you a closed mouth grin before turning back inside, sending you on your way.

The following week starts off the same, hands full of containers including an extra container of cinnamon rolls.

You stand at the foot of the stairs waiting for Wayne, an earbud in your ear filling the quiet as your eyes look down, watching the the toe of your shoe kick around a small rock.

You don't notice the difference in sound as the door swings open. Or Wayne's truck missing.

"Hi Way—" The gasp leaves you before you can stop it as you take in the sight of someone different.

This time you get your wish. Or do you?

Eddie stands on the top step, sweatpants on with a band tee, hair down around his shoulders, a cane in hand.

He hates it.

A deep frown is written on his face. Something so unfamiliar to the person you knew before.

"Oh, hi Eddie." You can't help the smiling lighting up your face at the sight of him, even as the nerves settle in at the frown on his face.

"I was just drop—"

“You don’t have to keep doing this."

“I know.” You shrink a bit from the weak glare he gives you, something you were never on the receiving end of before.

"We don't need it."

He turns to go back inside, turning his back on you.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?"

His back stiffens at your question, hand tightening its grip on his cane, taking in the hurt laced within your words. You were his best friend, had been for as long as you both could remember, never apart from each other for too long.

Until now.

"I'm not."

Lies.

"You're killing me, Eddie."

You're only met with silence, unable to see the tears falling from his eyes, the same as yours. Not seeing how much he was hurting too.

"We take care of each other, it's what we do."

What we've always done.

"I miss you." You plead, not caring how pathetic you may sound. The separation was slowly eating away at you, you would do or say anything to get him back.

"I don't know how to be who I was before."

I don't want to let you down.

"It's okay." You smile through the tears as he turns, taking in his beautiful face as he inspects yours for any doubt saying otherwise.

Finding none, a heavy sigh leaves his body as he nods his head in invitation, letting you back into his life.

You meet him on the top step, the soft smile never leaving your face, wanting nothing more than to hug him like you always would. The way he always would.

"I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to, Eddie."

Another nod of his head as you head inside, not before lightly scolding him.

"Heard you almost bit your poor uncle's fingers off for one of my cinnamon rolls?"

The sudden bark of laughter leaving him was like music to your ears, a song you thought you'd never hear again.

𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening. 

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground.  The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.  

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer.  “Honey!  Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen.  She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade.  The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself.  She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic.  They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house.  To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.  

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside.  “Wo-hoah!  You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something.  Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?  

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily.  In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath.  He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church.  So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard.  It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it 

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit.  He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks!  What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now.  He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked.  He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen.  He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair.  She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to.  “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied.  “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them. 

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand.  You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work.  “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?” 

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed.  “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit.  “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing.  “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret.  Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up.  “Food’s coming out!  Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side.  “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted.  She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party.  She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you.  She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least.  He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence.  “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.  

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy.  What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit.  That illusion didn’t last long.  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was.  Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered.  “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great.  You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase.  He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet.  But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything.  Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him.  Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in.  He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah?  I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered.  “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true.  “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said.  “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed.  “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed.  “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly.  I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow.  “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble.  He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little.  “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone.  But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered.  He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly.  “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

~

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind.  “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you.  Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night.  No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything.  He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside.  “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers.  “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?” 

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly.  “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end.  His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked.  “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready.  “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.  

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times.  You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.  “N-not really, no,” he admitted.  “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer.  He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face.  He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat.  You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier.  You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled.  “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement.  Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high.  You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence.  “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him.  “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked.  “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you.  “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right.  Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that.  I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature.  At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you.  I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head.  “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.  

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again.  “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.  

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car.  “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp.  “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.  

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already.  You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time.  Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop.  He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back.  You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow.  It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it.  Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little.  What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips.  One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence.  He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser.  You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin.  “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg.  You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass.  You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t.  It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did.  He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra.  “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response.  “Fuck, are my hands cold?  I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath.  You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them.  “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth.  You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you.  “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats.  He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully.  You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would.  You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t.  Not very much, at least.  Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt.  “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach.  “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression.  “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him.  “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch.  “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him.  He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.  

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured.  “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light.  “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly.  “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.  

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge.  The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan.  “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him.  “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly.  “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you.  Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you.  “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red.  “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly.  “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously.  “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him.  “It’s cute, honestly.  I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted.  “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car.  “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed.  “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed.  And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please?  Please just keep going?  I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced.  “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright?  We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly.  “Really?  So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort.  “Of course I wanna see you again.  I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead.  “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on.  “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be.  W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask.  You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected.  Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming.  His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind.  “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”