1-800-HOT-TO-GO | E.M

freaks, creeps, and weirdos - chapter one

eddie munson x fem!reader

fic summary: y/n escaped hawkins lab years ago, and teame dup with the crew to help them take down every monstrosity they've faced so far. with the threat of vecna looming over hawkins, yours and el's powers will be needed more than ever. for now, you have to blend in with the rest of town. but everything you think you know about living a normal life gets turned upside-down when you meet eddie munson.

chapter summary: it's your first day of school. ever. like, ever ever. all you want to do is focus on getting through the day. but among all those giving you a hard time, you make a new friend who is anything but normal.

warnings: sfw. soft! naive! reader. bullying, teasing, reader doesn't understand social cues. she/her pronouns for reader. hopper is basically reader's adoptive dad, though technically she's 18. steve is her bestie.

a/n: this chapter makes me ache. i was bullied a lot in school. undiagnosed autism and being a geek will do that to you, yk? i wish i had someone like eddie to help me out! this is the first part of an ongoing series that takes place during '85-'86, with a happier ending for eddie (pinky swear!). this is a slow-burn, sweet and sexy romance. and enjoy!

chapter one: take a seat

"If you change your mind and want me to pick you up, just call me, okay?" Steve told you for the billionth time that morning. "The phone is in the front office. You know where that is?"

"No, but neither do Mike, Lucas, Max, or Dustin." You look at him with a knowing glare. "And their parents are not talking to them like this."

"Okay, enough with the snark," he said, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. That meant he was kidding, but he was getting tired of the parent joke.

You'd learned how to read Steve like that, the same way you'd learned how to understand that Nancy's tight smile meant something was wrong that she didn't want to talk about. You'd learned it all through time and their graciousness. Robin and Jonathan had been kind enough to let you know when you'd misread a situation, or what a figure of speech meant, or when Max was being sarcastic. Ugh. Sarcasm. You still hadn't mastered that yet.

And now you had a school full of people to learn how to read. You hoped they would be patient with you.

Despite your nerves -- despite Steve giving you a much safer option -- you opened up the passenger side door and stepped out. You were parked right out front, cars and busses rolling by. You felt like a rock in a stream, students coursing around you like water.

Voices crashed over you like waves. Loud, invasive, like pins pricking at your brain. Your grasped your backpack straps, trying to ground yourself. You glanced back at Steve. His head was bent, peeking out the window at you over his sunglasses, hands on the wheel. He lifted his fingers in a small wave. You waved back, forcing a smile, then returned your grip to your backpack straps.

You took a deep breath and made your way up the steps. As you went, you put up a mental barrier, like Papa had taught you. The voices that stung you like barbs fell away. Reading minds was, as Steve had put it, "useful, but a little creepy." Who knew being around so many people thinking so many thoughts at once would hurt? You'd only found that out when Steve had dragged you to Starcourt Mall on opening day and you had a panic attack. You'd spent the next two days at Hopper's cabin in a dark room, nursing a migraine.

But since that day, you'd become better at blocking out everyone's thoughts. You read minds only when it suited you. Moved objects with your gaze alone. That was simple. It was the rest of being a normal teenager that scared you.

It took you ten minutes to find your classroom, and another five to figure out how to open your locker. For a second, you panicked, worried you'd be late, and nearly used your abilities to bust the thing open. But then you spotted Nancy in a nearby cluster of students. She gave you a smile, but her eyes were dark with concern. You didn't want to disappoint her, or make her worry over nothing. Finally, you relaxed and got it open.

She and Robin had promised to look after you, but there wasn't much they could do about adjusting your timetable. That meant you only had one class with each of them, and the others you would spend alone -- including your homeroom class. You gnawed at your lower lip as you stepped into the classroom and took a seat. Everyone was chattering. Tossing wadded up balls of paper, discussing their summers, comparing timetables. They were all so different. Some girls had skirts and lipstick and bows, others wore all black with torn jeans and painted nails. There were tall, muscled guys in green-and-gold jackets, while others wore smart dress shirts and glasses or had plain tees with long, messy hair.

"That's my seat."

You looked up and saw the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen. She looked like she could be on a magazine cover, with her teased blond hair and bright, poppy clothes. She carried a pink handbag instead of a backpack, and her lips were the same vibrant colour.

"Uhm, hell-o? Did you hear me?"

You blinked. "Oh, uh. This is your seat?" You didn't know they assigned seats. You looked around, searching for your name on the other seats. "Sorry. Where is mine?"

The girl scoffed, her brows pulling together. "What did you just say to me?"

"Where is my seat?" you repeated, gathering your bag and standing. You walked up and down the row, searching for some sign. The girl slid into her official seat, and two others sat down beside and behind her. They were all so glamourous, dressed brightly and made up like models. They whispered frantically, giggling.

A bell rang. Everyone in the classroom watched you, probably wondering why you were wandering around so much. Your cheeks were hot. Why hadn't Robin and Nancy warned you about this?

"Ahem."

You looked over your shoulder. An adult, the teacher you assumed, stood at the head of the class. Her eyes were on you, her foot tapping. Impatience.

"What's your name?"

"Y/N." You'd picked it out of a magazine a few years ago, after learning 'Three' wasn't an ideal name for a normal teenager to have.

"Well, Y/N, would you kindly take your seat so we can begin class?"

You looked around again. There were still a couple seats empty. "W-Which one?"

A collective snicker rippled through the classroom. Everyone was smirking, except for the teacher; her smile was tight, like Nancy's. She swept her hand across the sea of seats.

"Whichever you'd prefer."

To save yourself further embarrassment, you picked the closest one and plunked down. The teacher introduced herself as Ms. Clarke, and class began just as everyone had told you it would. You kept stealing glances at the girls -- especially the one in your old seat. They looked back at you, too, then they'd laugh and whisper something to each other.

It made no sense. All you could understand was that you'd done something wrong. You resolved to ask Robin in your next class, and tried to pay attention. Nancy had taught you how to take notes, so you did that. But every so often, your mind would wander back to that transaction. The girls obviously knew what happened. So did everyone else in the class. All you had to do was reach out with your mind and do a little prodding...

No. That was wrong. Everyone had told you to not do that. (Well, Max said it might be fun.) But Hopper and Joyce had told you to respect everyone's privacy and keep out of their heads. So you stopped yourself, though curiosity nearly killed you before finally the bell rang, dismissing you.

\

"I still do not understand," you said to Robin as you walked to the cafeteria together. "What was so funny?"

You had filled her in on the transaction with the girls in class -- the one who had spoken to you was called Jennifer, you'd learned, and Robin had just called the others the Clones.

She lifted her shoulders. "I mean, maybe the fact that you didn't know? Which is terrible, I know, but they're idiots; they laugh at awful things."

"Should I... apologize?"

"No! Ew, no, don't apologize to any of them. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what do I do?" You couldn't imagine spending the rest of the semester, each and every day, sitting in class with them laughing at you. At how... stupid you were.

"Ignore them. They'll forget all about it by tomorrow, and then you can just leave them alone."

You fought back a frown as you joined the food line. You knew it was wrong for them to laugh at you, but you wanted to be accepted at school. In the movies at Steve and Robin's job, girls like Jennifer were in charge of the social scene. You wanted to get on her good side.

"I guess," you sighed.

You stepped into the cafeteria and quickly spied Nancy sitting with a group of well-dressed students. They looked kind of nerdy, if you were to quote the movies. Robin was called over by members of the band. Every other table was filled with all sorts of people, and just like in the classroom, you had no idea where to sit.

"You can come with me," Robin whispered. "My friends would love you! Or you can sit with Nancy, if you want."

You weren't sure. Before you could make a decision, someone stood up. He was wearing a green-and-gold jacket with a tiger's face on it, and had shiny, blond hair. He shot you a white smile as he approached.

"Y/N, right? You're Chief Hopper's niece."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded.

"I'm Jason. Jason Carver." He offered you his hand to shake. "I'm captain of the basketball team, and you may have met Chrissy, my girlfriend." He stepped aside a little, and you looked past him to see his table. Among his friends, all of them clad in green-and-gold as well, you saw a petite girl with bangs in a cheerleader uniform. She gave you a soft smile and a wave.

"N-Not yet," you stammered out, shaking his hand. His grasp was warm and firm.

"Why not meet her now? Come and sit with us." He gave you another winning smile. "We want you to feel welcome here."

You glanced at Robin, as if for permission. She nodded.

"Go on. I'll see you after school."

You let Jason lead you over to the table, which was already crowded. Chrissy shifted a little, allowing you space beside her. When you sat, you were bombarded with more names and smiles. They all flew over you head. All that mattered was that you were sitting with the cool people, the pretty people, and -- most importantly -- the nice people. They took your timetable and passed it around, searching for classes you had together.

"So, Y/N, where are you from?" Chrissy asked.

"Canada," you replied. You'd rehearsed everything. Your name, your age, you place of birth, why you had transferred, your plans after high school. They could ask you any question, and you knew the answer.

"Where did you get that shirt?"

Except that one.

The one who had asked you sat across from you. She was in a cheerleader outfit, too, with hair black as oil. Her hand reached out, perfectly manicured fingers brushing the long, plaid sleeve of your shirt.

"Uh... A shop."

"A charity shop?"

"Yeah," you nodded, clinging to the suggestion. A few people smirked. Chrissy rolled her eyes.

"Mary, please."

"I was just asking! I think it looks nice on you, Y/N. You look like a lumberjack. Fitting, since you're from Canada."

You pursed your lips. You didn't know much, but you could understand some insults. Everyone had a chuckle at that. Even Jason snorted, but Chrissy smacked his arm.

"Oh, would you look at that!"

A familiar voice came from behind you, shrill and coddling. You turned to see Jennifer flouncing up with her Clones. She shot you a smirk with a wrinkled nose, as if she were cooing at a baby.

"Aw, she found her seat! Good job." She accentuated the last two words with a couple claps.

You felt eyes on you, more eyes than you were comfortable with. You needed to fix this. You had a chance at befriending the popular kids, sealing the deal and ensuring that your first and last year in high school would be fun. You tipped your chin up, proud.

"Jennifer, right? I like your purse."

Her cool gaze shifted to her bag, then back to you. "O...kay?"

"I think maybe we should hang out some time."

Jennifer's Clones scoffed, while Jennifer took a cautionary step back.

"Why would I ever want to hang out with you? What are you, slow?"

"She is in the slow class next period," Mary said, waving your timetable. Chrissy snatched it away and slid it into your backpack.

Jennifer's mouth shifted to a big O shape. "That explains so much. Awh, she's a dumbass!"

"Excuse you!" you snapped. "That was so rude! Say you are sorry, right now."

"Or what? Gonna cry?" Jennifer pouted.

You felt Chrissy's hands on your shoulders. "Jen, that's enough."

Tears pricked at your eyes. This was all wrong. Your first day was supposed to be fun. You were supposed to make friends. But instead, Jennifer had her hands on her knees, bending to laugh in your face.

"Oh my God. She's crying."

Most of the cafeteria had turned to look at the commotion. A tear escaped and ran down your cheek, but you swiped it away with your sleeve. The sleeve of your stupid, ugly shirt. You'd just wanted to look like Joyce or Max, but instead you looked like an idiot.

You could feel your mental barrier cracking. Breaking away, piece by piece. You grasped at it, but it slipped from your control, and suddenly the voices came over you in a great wave.

She's so weird. She's such a freak. Ugh, math next period. Who is she? Jennifer, not again. She's in the fucking slow class, this is too much. I wonder what's for lunch tomorrow. Is that girl crying? Oh my God, is she staring, do I look okay? What a freak.

You sucked in a breath and, your lunch tray abandoned, stood up and made for the door. On your way, you bumped into one of the Clones. It wasn't very hard of a bump, but she went down, crying out dramatically.

"She pushed me! You saw her, she shoved me!"

"N-No I didn't." Panic rose in your chest.

Chrissy said something to you, but you couldn't hear her. Jason was on his feet. Mary was laughing, but Jennifer and her other Clone surrounded their friend, fawning over her. You could hear Robin's voice, and saw Nancy making her way to you.

Ew, gross. Does she have a nosebleed?

You swiped your hand under your nose, and it came back bright red. Your mental barrier was completely down. You scrambled to the doors. You just needed some fresh air.

"Whoa!"

You bumped right into someone's chest, nearly going down again. They hands grasped your upper arms, keeping you upright.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

You looked up to meet their eyes. They were big, soft, brown eyes, poring into yours with genuine concern and a little twinkle of amusement. He had long, brown hair, unruly curls. He still grasped you, his fingers decorated with silver rings that dug into your arms. He was all torn denim and leather, and he smelled of cigarettes. You knew his kind from the movies, too: trouble.

His gaze dipped over you, brow furrowing. "Hey, you okay? You're bleeding."

His grip on you loosened, and you stepped around him with a mumbled apology. You could barely untangle your own thoughts from the crowd, and were amazed that you found your way outside. The sun was hot, but the breeze had a sharp edge to it that helped clear your mind. Little by little, the roar of voices faded and left behind a pounding headache. You sank onto the pavement, your back against the building's hot bricks.

Nancy and Robin found you a few minutes later. Another miracle. Nancy assured you that she had told the monitoring teacher that it had all been an accident, and everyone at her table backed you up. Robin regaled you with how Chrissy snapped at Mary and Jason after you were gone. After Nancy gave you a pill to help ease the growing pressure in your head, you started to feel a little better.

That's what you told yourself, anyway. The day was almost over. You had Robin in your final period, and she'd look after you. All you had to do was get through one class. The slow class. You groaned inwardly. When Joyce had helped enroll you in school, they'd found out that while you were fine in math and science, you were way behind in English. They promised they would catch you up, and you hadn't thought anything of it. But now that Mary and Jennifer had made fun of you, you weren't so sure.

Into the classroom you walked, your head still aching, eyes downcast so you wouldn't meet anyone's gaze. Your other classes had at least twenty students. This one had only twelve, including you. You quickly found you seat (it could be any seat, Robin had assured you) far in the back of the room. Away from everyone else. The pill made everyone's inner voices hazy enough that you didn't feel guilty for spying in on them. You let your barrier fall, tuned the sound out so the roar of everyone's minds was a gentle hum, and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, the teacher at the front introduced himself as Mr. Wong. He was an older man, with soft edges and a gentle smile. He spoke slowly, looking you each in the eyes as he explained how class would go. You nodded along whenever he looked at you, and --

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Wong."

You looked up to find the boy you'd ran into in the cafeteria standing in the doorway. He was red-cheeked, breathless, with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Mr. Wong's face creased with his frown.

"I thought you'd graduated, Mr. Munson."

"So did I," he laughed. "But then I realized I'd miss you too much."

Mr. Wong's frown only deepened. Sarcasm. You could catch that one. The boy slunk into the classroom and sat down right beside you. He brought along with him the stench of... skunk? You wrinkled your nose and tried to keep your focus on the lesson.

"Hey."

You pursed your lips and kept writing. The eraser end of a pencil poked you in the arm.

"Hey."

You looked over to find the boy had scooted closer to you.

"Yes?"

"I'm Eddie."

"I'm Y/N."

"Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Munson." Mr. Wong gestured at both of you with a piece of chalk. "If you're going to be like this from day one, maybe I should separate you."

"S-Sorry," you stumbled, turning your focus back onto the lesson.

A few more minutes passed. Then, two ringed fingers slid a piece of paper onto your desk. You peeked over at Eddie. He had his gaze on the chalkboard, rapping his fingers against his knee.

You opened the paper. His writing was awful, but you could make out the message. Saw what happened at lunch. You okay?

You frowned. Great. Did everyone at school know what had happened? I am fine, you scribbled down. Then, Thanks.

You passed the note back. Surely, he wouldn't write anything el--

He slid another paper over. His eyes flickered to you, then back to the chalkboard. You looked around, finding a few people staring at you. Was he trying to get you in trouble? You opened the note.

Don't pay attention to those girls. If you need someone to sit with, you can sit with me and my friends.

You couldn't help but smile a little. You scrawled a quick thanks back to him, and that was it.

To his credit, Mr. Wong had a captivating way of teaching. He made sure to look everyone in the eyes, and only continued when he felt everyone understood the subject. And, to your credit, you did try to pay attention. You knew that Joyce would be disappointed if you failed, and you wanted to prove to everyone that you could succeed.

But every time your eyes drifted to your right, and you saw Eddie scribbling away beside you, you felt a flutter in your stomach. Maybe it was because you didn't have time to eat lunch. And taking a pill on an empty stomach was never a good idea. But at one point, Eddie caught your glance and smiled. It wasn't a glamourous, award-winning smile like Jason had given you. Eddie had this crooked grin, which he hid behind a lock of hair that he grabbed and pulled over his mouth. He looked like a little kid.

Your stomach tightened at his expression. He was just so... nice. And people like him, who dressed like him, were never nice in the movies. Then again, people like Steve were usually mean, and Steve was probably one of your best friends in the world. A guy like Hopper would be jaded and cold, but he had actually been soft and sweet in his own way. And you expected Nancy to be prissy and prude, but there was nothing prissy about the way she handled a shotgun. Almost everyone you'd met so far had been contradictory to what they seemed on the outside. Maybe this Eddie guy was different.

But you'd thought that about Jennifer, and Mary, and Jason. They even tried to take you in, to be nice to you. But that had all been a ploy to get you close only for them to snap the trap shut when you least expected it. What if this was a trick, too?

Eddie left straight after the bell rang, so you didn't have a chance to gauge his true intentions. You might have followed him out to the parking lot, if your head wasn't still pounding. Instead, you stepped out to find Steve sitting right where you'd left him. Did he even drive off after you went inside?

"Well? How was it?"

You hesitated. If you told him what had happened, he would never let you go back there again. But you hated lying to Steve.

So you shrugged. "It was good. The classes were sometimes boring. But it was not as scary as I thought, and I only got lost twice."

Steve grinned and started the car. "That's great! Everyone was nice, right?"

Robin was nice. Nancy was nice. Chrissy was nice. Eddie was nice. Who cared about anyone else? You nodded.

"And you made friends?"

You nodded again. At least, you thought you'd made friends. Steve's hands tapped away at the wheel, excited.

"That means you're okay to take the bus tomorrow, right? 'Cause I got an early shift at Family Video and I won't be able to drop you off."

"I guess so." You didn't see what the big deal was. But your hesitant answer had Steve's eyes on you as he backtracked.

"I mean, I can call Keith and ask him to switch my shift."

"No, I will," you said. It was part of the experience, right? You wanted to be a normal kid, and normal kids took the bus.

And they didn't wear oversized plaid shirts, apparently. You'd go through your closet when you got home to see if you had anything more appropriate. Maybe you'd lay out some magazines and compare outfits.

Not that you had any time. Joyce called you all the way from California, everyone there wondering how your first day went. She said that El's first day was great, and that Will looked out for her. "I'm so proud of you, sweetie," she kept saying. "You're gonna do great." Jonathan said the same thing, when he took the phone from his mom. "It'll be a piece of cake. Just stay away from the weirdos and you'll be fine."

They were all so excited for you, how were you supposed to tell them that there was nothing to be proud of? That you were the weirdo? Well, that didn't matter. You had messed up a little -- the clothes, the seating. But you would do better tomorrow.

Besides, you had someone to sit with. If he'd meant it, that is.

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

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Bucky and queen song

Waving Your Banner

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: We Will Rock You - Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (flirtatious, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~1300

CW: swearing, some flirting, suggestive jokes, a bit of tickling

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a flirtatious/suggestive interaction between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! My initial note-to-self from when you first sent this was, verbatim, "okay but dodgeball would be fucken hilarious with we will rock you" - so we've gone with an Avengers training game vibe with this one

The woods hummed with tension, broken by the occasional crack of a branch or the muffled thud of boots. The Avengers had turned what should’ve been a simple training game into an all-out war, and your team was desperate to gain the upper hand. Somewhere ahead, in the shadow of the tree-line, stood the final obstacle: Bucky Barnes, silent, brooding, and lethal, guarding his team’s flag, the White Wolf circling his den.

You crouched beside Sam behind a cluster of bushes, your pulse steady but sharp as you surveyed the terrain. Bucky was right where you expected him, leaning casually against a tree just outside the flag's perimeter. He looked calm, detached even, but you knew better. The slightest flicker of movement would set him in motion, and if he was after you, there’d be no escaping. Flag perimeters were a no-fly-zone, so you and Sam would have to take it on foot.

“Alright,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan. And by we, I mean you, because I’m not getting anywhere near the Winter Soldier.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “You’re faster than me.”

“He’s a wall. A brick wall with trust issues and superhuman reflexes.”

You sighed, pressing your back against the thick trunk of a tree. “Then we need a distraction. Something that’ll actually make him move.”

Sam raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s your genius plan?”

“You,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You could bait him. Taunt him. Goad him into leaving his post.”

“And get steamrolled by the murder machine? Hard pass.” He scoffed. "Besides, you’re obviously better bait.”

The heat rushed to your face immediately. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, his grin widening. “You’ve got that whole… thing going on.”

“What thing?”

He waved a hand vaguely at you. “You know. The whole ‘badass with a secret soft side’ thing. He’ll eat it up. Hell, I think the whole team’s noticed the way he looks at you.”

You glared at him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“He does,” Sam interrupted, revelling in your reaction. “Come on, you could probably get him to do whatever you wanted. Just say something like, ‘Oh, Bucky, is that a vibranium arm or are you just happy to see m-”

You shoved him into the bush.

Sam tried to silence his little grunts as he pulled himself out, yanking the twigs from his armour plates. “Fine. You wanna argue about this all day, or should we win?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just send in Redwing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The plan was simple enough: Redwing would create a distraction in a bush behind Bucky, luring him away from the flag, giving you and Sam time to move in and grab it. You moved carefully, keeping low as you crept through the underbrush. The tension in the air was electric, every rustle of leaves amplified by your own awareness of how close Bucky was.

But, true to form, Sam couldn’t resist screwing with you.

As you crept closer to the clearing, Redwing darted toward you and made a ruckus in the bush partially shielding you from view. It was more than enough to give you away, and before you could even curse Sam’s name, you heard it - the unmistakable sound of boots crunching leaves, closing in fast.

Your head whipped around just in time to see Bucky moving toward you with the kind of speed that made your heart stutter. His expression was sharp, predatory, and - gods help you - just a little amused.

“Shit,” you muttered, bolting from your hiding spot.

“Running won’t help you,” Bucky called after you, his voice dark and smooth, laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother responding, too focused on dodging tree trunks and low-hanging branches. But it didn’t matter how fast you ran; he was faster. In seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you clean off your feet.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear.

“Not yet, you don’t,” you growled, twisting sharply in his grip.

You elbowed him in the side, breaking free for a split second, but he was faster. He blocked your next move, his vibranium hand catching your wrist and spinning you around. You didn’t go down without a fight, aiming a kick at his shin and struggling against his hold, refusing to make it easy for him.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost admiringly, his grip tightening as you wrestled.

You managed to get one arm free, landing a half-decent shove against his chest. He staggered back slightly but recovered in less than an instant, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

“Alright,” he said, his voice edged with amusement, “you wanna play rough? Let’s play rough.”

Before you could react, he was on you, trapping you between his body and the wide trunk of a tree. His fingers darted to your ribs, pressing against your sides with infuriating precision.

You jolted, a startled laugh bursting out before you could stop it. “What the fu- hey! No, that’s cheating!”

“Cheating?” he echoed, his grin widening as he tickled you again, this time catching your waist. “You’re the one trying to fight dirty.”

You squirmed, trying to slap his hands away, but the tickling was relentless, and your traitorous laughter left you weak, your arms useless.

“No! I- dammit, Barnes!”

Seizing the moment, he stepped back, grabbed both your wrists and yanked you against him, hauling you effortlessly over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was unyielding, his hand steady against the backs of your thighs.

“Put me down!” you demanded, pounding your fists against his unfairly muscled back.

“Not until you’re in jail,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you grumbled, your cheeks burning as you felt his arm tighten around your thighs.

He chuckled, the sound warm and agonising. “Unusual, maybe. But I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

“Barnes!” you snapped, squirming harder.

His laughter deepened, and he carried you with an ease that was both infuriating and maddeningly attractive. When he finally stopped, he set you down just outside the jail, his hands lingering at your waist.

“Let me go,” you said, though the bite in your tone had softened.

He stepped closer, his body a looming presence as his eyes bore into yours. “Say please.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his smirk widening as he stepped forward, forcing you to step back - straight into the jail’s boundary.

You glared at him, your chest heaving as he stood just inches away, his gaze dark and intent. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “but close.”

Before you could fire back, Sam’s triumphant whoop echoed through the trees. You turned just in time to see him flying above your team's base with Bucky's team's flag, waving it over his head like a trophy.

Bucky groaned, his head falling back briefly before he levelled a sharp glare at you. “Distraction,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, the word practically dripping with accusation.

Your lips curved into a coy smile despite yourself.

“You’re too damn good at it,” he said, his tone darker now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and stalked off.

Flushed, you called after him. "This isn't over, Barnes!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, turning to face you as he walked backwards towards his next mission. "Not by a long shot."

bucky who sleeps on the floor because even after all these years he still hasn't gotten used to sleeping on a soft mattress.

he lays next to you until you're asleep then slips off to sleep on his make shift bed on the hard wood floor in the living room.

one day you shift in bed and feel the emptiness besides you, waking you up so you get up and look for him, all sleepy, eyes barely even open, you don't even see him until you almost trip over his feet, "bucky.. what.." he wakes up immediately and you're both distraught at the sight of each other, "what are you doing here.. why aren't you in bed.."

he sits up, feeling bad that you're awake, out of bed and worried about him, "i.. some times i can't sleep in bed" he admits quietly as you sit next to him on the thin sheet he's put on the floor,

"how long have you been sneaking off and sleeping here?" you ask him, knowing bucky so you know this very likely definitely isn't the first time. he'd try to avoid your gaze but he knows you so he knows there's no escaping when you want to know something.

"longer than i'd like to admit" he'd try to joke but drops it when he sees your face, "always" he sighs, "i'm sorry doll, i know i shouldn't, it's just.. hard to shake off old habits when they're this deep in my bones"

with your hands on his tired face, you pull him down until you're both laying back onto the sheet-bed. "what are you.."

"shhh i'm sleepy" you mumble, burying your head into his bare chest, close to the chain of his dog-tags, his right arm underneath you and his metal arm draped over your body, it's heavy but it's comfortable. it's exactly what you need. "don't ever apologise or sneak out of bed without me ever again" you whisper before closing your eyes.

bucky can't help but smile, how did he get so lucky? he doesn't know, doesn't even think he deserves it but he'd be a fool if he lets it go. not to say he's not a fool currently and perpetually.

he kisses the top of your head, holding you close, keeping most of your body on his, technically, you're not even sleeping on the floor. "i'll owe you a massage tomorrow, won't i?"

"oh you absolutely will"

Dog Tags

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky is looking for his Dog Tags, and you just so happen to have them.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff and fun, kinda enemies/rivals to lovers vibes, open ended kinda, reader is mentioned to own a knife. Not Proof Read.

Bucky had been looking for them for weeks. 

His dog tags. His identity. His attachment to a life long forgotten. 

They’d been with him on his last mission; he was sure of it. He remembered clasping them in his hand before laying them under his uniform. And he never took them off unless…did he? 

“Buck. You’ve already looked in here. Twice.”

Sam’s eyes tracked Bucky around the room as if he was the madman’s doctor. Bucky wasn’t paying attention and nearly ran into Sam’s legs that were resting on the coffee table. 

“Dude.”

“They’ve got to be here,” Bucky kept muttering to himself. “They have to be.”

“Buck, I will get you a new set.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t want another set.”

Sam stood with a sigh, placing his bookmark in his book. “For all we know, they’ve been trampled into the mud on our last mission.”

“I would have noticed them. I never saw them.”

Sam watched as Bucky looked in every cupboard in the kitchen. He sighed, again. “Have you asked Y/n?”

Bucky scowled. “She doesn’t have them.”

“And you know this because…”

“I’ve already checked.”

Sam watched Bucky. “Did you ask? You know, before you ransacked her room.”

“I didn’t ransack her room.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two recently. It’s like you’ve gone from agreed silence to sworn enemies, but maybe you should just ask her. She might know.”

“I’ll ask Wanda.”

“Y/n’s better.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder to Sam as he opened another cupboard. “But Wanda is my friend.”

Sam sighed before walking into the kitchen and shutting every door Bucky had left open. 

“Buck-“

“I’m gonna look outside.”

“Bucky!”

He wasn’t listening. But you were. 

“You know, all he’s gotta do is ask.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at you as you leaned by the main entrance. Bucky had left through the back. 

“Do you know where they are?”

You tried to hide your smile and shrugged. “I might do.”

Sam turned around. “Y/n.”

You gave in and walked inside. “Oh, come on, Sam. He kept my knife from me for, like, three months.”

That had been true. It was your favourite one. You’d lost it after being pulled away by Yelena for some ‘Kate Bishop’ emergency. Bucky had found it in the training room and kept it from you for three months. 

It wasn’t until you were both on a mission that you saw him flip it through his fingers before using it. He’d just chuckled when you called him an Ass. 

“Gotta be more careful next time, doll.”

You could have punched him in the face. 

So, when you found his dog tags on the ground, you made a decision. 

Originally, you were going to give them to him. But when you pulled your knife from your holster back on the jet, you were reminded of what he’d done. 

It was simply payback. 

“You know, he’s not gonna be happy when he finds out.”

You shrugged. “S’only fair.”

“Where are you even keeping them? He probably turned your entire room upside down.”

You nodded, “Oh, he did. But he’s never gonna find them.”

From under your clothes, you pulled out the military issued dog tags. Embossed on the metal was Bucky’s name, birthdate and blood type. On the second was his regiment. 

Sam gave you a slightly judgmental look but you could see the pride he was trying to hide. 

“You’ve gotta tell him eventually.”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

Sam shrugged as he passed you and picked up his book. “I knew he had your knife. I didn’t help you, I’m not helping him.”

You gave a small gasp, “I knew it!”

Sam just laughed his way down the hallway. 

Meanwhile, you looked back at the dog tags with a light smile, your thumb brushing over his name. 

You’d give them back soon. But a little just desserts would do no harm to the super annoying, massive pain in the ass, super soldier. 

Bucky looked for two more weeks. His dog tags were lost forever. He had a feeling Sam know something since he’d suddenly changed his tune on issuing him some fresh dog tags. 

“Just hold out. Maybe they’ll show.”

“Who told you that?”

Sam shrugged, “I went to a psychic.”

Bucky rolled his eyes before trudging over and sitting beside his friend. He’d hold out for one more week, then he was gonna issue them himself. 

You could feel Bucky’s eyes still on you. He was practically searing a hole into the side of your face. 

He’d been like that for three days. Watching you. Staring. 

“You know something,” he said when he finally cornered you. 

You acted as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. “I know nothing.”

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“Stop acting dumb,” Bucky told you. 

“Ever considered I’m not acting, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled a little. “Every day.”

You walked into that one. 

“But I know there’s a small part of you that’s a lot smarter than you’re letting on. So, I’ll ask again. Where are they?”

“Please.”

Bucky leaned back a little. “What?”

You clasped your hands behind your back and leaned forward a little, practically bouncing on your feet. “Where are they, please?”

Bucky stared at you before groaning. “Where are they…please?”

You stood tall and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Quit lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

Bucky sighed. “Do you really enjoy this?”

“Enjoy what, Bucky?”

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side from day one.”

Your gaze hardened on him as you stepped closer. “And you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. Look, don’t you think if I’d taken them, I’d have kept them safe? Safer than being hidden in my room? I know what they mean to you, Bucky.” 

You stepped back before you could let your mind wander to places further than just standing inches from Bucky in an empty hallway. 

“Kinda like my knife.”

Before you disappeared down the corridor, that last sentence only added fuel to Bucky’s fire. You had them. They were safe. But if they weren’t in your room, where the hell were they? 

It took him ten days to realise. And when he finally did, he hadn’t been thinking about them.

It had been just before he closed his eyes. It hit him. The safest place from him, was you. They’d been on your person the whole time. They had to be. 

And, despite the clock beside his bed telling him it was almost 23:00, he knew where you’d be. 

You hadn’t been sleeping much for the last few months. He knew because of how tired you seemed to move. A little slower, a little more distant. 

Zipping up his grey jacket, he padded his way down towards the training room. 

You hadn’t spotted Bucky standing against the wall, grey sweatshirt, white tee and darker pajama pants. If you had, you would have made some kind of comment about wearing plaid in Spring. 

“I figured it out,” Bucky called out calmly as he watched you. 

You ducked your head as if you’d just avoided a bullet. “What the- James.” You gave a huff. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Bucky just smiled casually and pushed himself from the wall. “I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” You asked, a little breathless. You’d been in the training room, alone, for the last two hours. 

“Where you’ve been keeping my dog tags.”

“Really? Who says I have them?”

“You and I both know you’ve had them since the beginning.”

You just watched him, studied him. A slight smirk broke out on your face. “I don’t know who took them, Buck. But I’d say it’s Just Desserts, wouldn’t you?”

“For stealing your knife?”

You nodded. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“Wanna know how I figured it out?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

Bucky shrugged. “You knew I’d find out it was you. But you also know I avoid you as much as I can. And I know you’ve done the same with me. That’s how I kept hold of your knife for so long.”

That much was true. It was just safer to avoid each other than it was to deal with the potential ramifications of being left alone together longer than ten minutes. 

You let Bucky continue as he walked closer to you. You remained fixed in place, just watching him. He looked so…domestic. Slightly bed ridden hair, freshly showered, relaxed. Cosy.

“So, the best place to keep my dog tags safe would be with you, at all times. All day. All night.”

“Really?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”

“And what makes you so sure I have them on me now?”

Bucky took a final step forward and looked you over. His body was in chest from you. 

“May I?”

You nodded, realising where his eyeline had fallen. Silently, his fingers reached out. Ignoring the way his touch felt against your skin, you watched as he pulled his tags from under your shirt. 

He examined them. 

“Found ‘em.”

You looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Seems we have a winner. I must say though, I can see why you get so attached. There’s something…familiar about having them with you all the time.”

Bucky nodded. But he seemed to be thinking. Then he smiled before tucking them back into your shirt. 

You were confused. “Don’t you want them back?”

He nodded. “One day. But, for now, you should keep them safe. They look good on you.”

You looked down, mostly to avoid his blue gaze.

There had been a few moments like this over the last few years. Moments where the ten minutes ran out and it was just you and Bucky, alone, barely inches from each other. All the while, comments passed between you both which made you think that, deep down, you didn’t hate him. 

And that he didn’t hate you. 

Julie

Based on the song Julie by Emily Kinney, give it a listen!

BestFriend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie wants you to meet his new girlfriend, Julie. You don’t think she’s right for him, but who is? 

A/N: I'm back from my little break. The blurbs you saw the past couple of days were scheduled. Sorry if your name is Julie, let’s pretend it’s not for the purposes of this fic. I was listening to old Emily Kinney songs and my favorite came up, then I had this idea. Two things: let’s pretend Hawkins is big enough to have taxis, and ‘skeeters’ as in the old Midwest way of saying mosquitos—you’ll get that when you read. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, flufffff, presumed unrequited love, big tension-filled love confession–it’s yummy nummy guys fr, emotional cheating? (eh, kinda but not really, and not on reader, Eddie’s not a cheater tho), they wanna make out so bad, they’re so stupidly in love I hate them, friends to lovers, mentions of weed smoking, Eddie’s made-up religion. 

I’m staring at the ground as she walks right by

You’re staring at me mad ‘cause I refuse to say hi

I’m just staring into space ‘cause all I got on my mind

Elevator kisses, summer, summertime

Elevator kisses, you and I

–Julie by Emily Kinney

Masterlist

You’re sitting at the bar—your usual spot with Eddie at the Hideout—waiting to meet his new girlfriend. He’s about ten minutes late, but that’s not out of the ordinary for your best friend. In your thirteen years of knowing him, he’s only been early for an event twice—never exactly on time. Suffice it to say, he’s not changing much for this new girl. 

Halfway through your Amaretto Sour, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you spot an out of breath Eddie—frizzy hair, band tee, and ripped jeans as per usual. 

“Hey!” Sliding off the cracked leather cushion on the metal stool, you throw your arms around the man for a big hug. “How are you? Where’s–,” Your voice trails off as you look past him for the girl he has yet to introduce you to—the girl he swears is cool and that you’ll like, the girl whose presence is notably lacking in the busy bar.

“Julie,” he finishes for you, “She’s outside, actually.” 

A confused smile inches up your lips as your brows furrow at his cringing face. “What, are you casing the place for her? I don’t bite,” chuckling, you try to lighten the obvious discomfort he’s displaying. 

“Uh–well, I just came in to tell you we’re gonna have to rain check.” Eddie’s ringed hand rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit you know he’s had since at least grade school when you met him. 

Huffing out a quiet laugh, you cock your head, bewildered, “What?” 

He’s here, he just said she’s here, so why can’t she come in and you can all get this over with? Then you can go home and cry about it later. You had plans—ice cream already in the freezer and a VHS of Dirty Dancing ready to go. 

“Um–I guess I–forgot to mention that the Hideout is a bar—or at least, I–I didn’t think I needed to specify—and she doesn’t like bars.” 

One look at his face tells you he wishes he didn’t have to do this. He’s clearly embarrassed and sorry for putting you out like this. Inviting you to a place just to show up late and then tell you to go home—that there won’t be any hanging out to be had tonight. 

“Oh, does she not drink?” You could understand that, not everybody who can drink alcohol likes to drink alcohol. You know they make a mean Shirley Temple here—perks of confidently bellying up to the bar as a very apparent freshman in high school.

Eddie’s voice jumps a few octaves at the question, “Mm–no, she does.” 

Eyebrows raising, eyes alight with mirth, you can’t help but laugh at the circumstances. First of all, what a confounding situation. She drinks; she just doesn’t want to step inside a bar, apparently. Surely she knows she’s here to meet you—her new boyfriend’s longest friend. Typically that invokes the desire to be on one’s best behavior—the approval of the best friend is a huge step in a budding relationship. 

And second of all, she appears to be making Eddie do this. She won’t come into the establishment even for a thirty second interaction. A quick, ‘Hi, good to meet you! I’m Julie! Sorry, but bars aren’t my scene—for whatever reason—and I was wondering if you’d like to move this party to a secondary location?’ It doesn’t sound that hard as you run through the scenario in your head, but you don’t know the girl. Maybe she’s allergic to cigarette smoke and decades-old out-of-date jukebox music.

“So…,” you drawl, pursing your lips, hoping Eddie will take the hint and explain. 

“I guess she just hates bars,” he shrugs, looking even more sorry than before—if that’s even possible. 

Snorting, you can’t believe the Eddie Munson is dating a girl who’s too good to step inside a bar. The boy who practically grew up playing music on the Hideout’s rickety stage and made his first few bucks being a barback is dating a girl who hates bars—so much so, that she refuses to enter them. Okay. That’s a choice…

“Did you tell her that sitting at the bar and shootin’ the shit is the seventh commandment of the religion you founded—the one you made me baptize into? Made a whole deal about it and everything. Does she know you and I plan to be just like Bobby and Jim—old bar flies interrupting kids’ conversations to say, ‘When I was your age–,’” you put on your best old person voice, wiggling a ceremonious finger. 

That finally gets a genuine smile out of him—even a laugh. The sight makes you smile too, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from sharing in his joy. 

“You know, I guess I forgot to give her that rundown,” he quips before the lighthearted humor leaves his eyes again, a rueful smile taking its place. “Listen, I’m really sorry about this. I wish I could stay, I’ve missed just grabbing a pint and throwing peanut shells at the people who black out.”

 Taking in his face, he looks so sad, so sorry—it makes you want to fix it. 

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try and beat my high score. Last time Ricky woke up when you got ‘im, would’ve pushed me out of the lead if you hadn’t thrown so hard,” you giggle, remembering the way the old man shot up, grumbling, ‘Damn, skeeters,’ causing you and Eddie to whip around, facing the other direction to avoid suspicion. “If you wanna stay, you can just call Julie a car. Wave down a taxi and come have a drink,” you suggest, suddenly feeling extremely timid while talking to the boy you’ve known since grade school. 

He looks like he wants to stay, but the regret never leaves his eyes. As he opens his mouth to respond, the bartender cuts him off, placing a full pint down on the bar next to you—Eddie’s usual. “Hey, Ed, good to see ya, boy! You know, you shouldn’t leave such a pretty lady unattended,” he playfully chides, jabbing at Eddie’s perpetual tardiness. 

Tom’s been the bartender at the Hideout for as long as you can remember. He’s watched you and Eddie grow up, serving you two since high school. The old man was basically the only adult in town who’d spare you hooligans any attention. An eccentric himself, he enjoyed listening to your and Eddie’s rantings and ravings.

His comment warms your face, you duck your head to avoid seeing your best friend’s reaction. Something about the comment makes it sound like you’re Eddie’s girl—like he shouldn’t leave his girl waiting, lest you be scooped up by another man. 

“Yeah, Tommy? She got a couple suitors,” he asks, chuckling at the old man’s warning.

Well, now you just feel embarrassed. 

Eddie finds it funny. He clearly didn’t read into Tom’s comment the way you did. Or if he did, he’s ignoring the insinuation. Because it’s untrue. You’re not Eddie’s girl. Maybe you used to be. At least, that’s what everybody would always say—never believing the ‘best friend excuse.’ 

Tom, ever your biggest fan, nods enthusiastically. “Oh, a few of ‘em! Told ‘em they gotta get through you first. Y’bet your bottom dollar that scared ‘em off.” 

Feeling done with this joke, you turn to Tom, raising your now empty glass. “Can I get another, Tommy?” 

“Comin’ right up, sweets.” 

With the older man now away and occupied, you look at Eddie again. “You’ve even got a drink waiting for you now. If you want to…stay…”

Shooting you an apologetic smile, Eddie pulls out his wallet, plucking out a few dollar bills to leave on the bar top. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I think I should just take her home. Don’t wanna fuck up too early into the relationship,” he jokes, but it falls flat—along with the hopeful smile on your face. 

“Yeah…wouldn’t want that.”

You think you actually would like that. You’d like that very much. As long as the fuck up leads to a break up—that works just fine for you. 

“How about tomorrow? We were gonna go on a double date with Steve and Jess, but you can come too. We’ll invite Robin, it’ll just be a group dinner then and you can meet her—she’s cool, I promise!”

The idea of going on a failed double date with Eddie and his new girlfriend sounds like your worst nightmare—right up there with presenting a project naked in high school. But he looks so hopeful. Those damn big, wet eyes of his are looking extra puppy dog-ish this evening. He clearly feels awful about tonight and probably won’t give up until he feels he’s made it up to you. 

Unable to stifle your sigh, you force a smile on your face, “Sure.”

Pumping his fist, he puts his hands on your cheeks, gently shaking your face. “Thank you! You are the best! Enzos, tomorrow at seven.” He pulls your head in for a wet smooch on the forehead—his classic move when you begrudgingly agree to do his bidding. 

You’ll kick yourself for it later, but you close your eyes to relish the feel of his lips on your skin. It’s not where you’d like them, but you’ll take what you can get. Opening your eyes as he pulls away, you spot a random man standing behind him, tapping his shoulder. 

“Hey, are you Eddie?” 

Eddie turns slightly, sees the stranger, and positions himself in front of you. You wonder if he did that on purpose or if it’s a habit—either way, it makes your heart flutter. 

“Yeah…”

The stranger looks annoyed when he conveys the message. You think you would be too if you were enlisted by a random woman to go corral her boyfriend.

“There’s a blonde lady outside lookin’ for you. Said to tell you, ‘Get your ass back out here or I’m leaving.’ And, hey, word of warning, dude,” the man leans into Eddie, “She doesn’t seem all that pleased with you right now.” 

The man walks off leaving a mildly shocked Eddie and a more shocked you. She really does not want to step foot in this damn bar, does she? 

Eddie seems to shake off the interaction, turning to you quickly and speaking like the past twenty seconds didn’t happen. “Enzos at seven, say you’ll be there,” he points at you, expectant gaze unmoving from your face. 

“Okay,” you shrug, unsure why he seems to think you’d ditch. You totally would, but you don’t know why he thinks you would. 

Backing up toward the exit, his reprimanding finger never falls. “Say it,” he demands, eyebrows raising, waiting for you to agree. 

“Okay, I’ll be there,” you grumble, less than enthused that he’s pushing it so hard. 

“Perfect! See you then!” 

Letting out another sigh, you turn back to the bar. “Tom, where’s that drink?”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You seem to be the first to arrive at Enzos—no sign of Steve, Robin, or Eddie. Unsure of what to do, you wait outside for them. You don’t have to wait long though, Steve pulls up with Jess and Robin only five minutes after you. 

“Hey, where’s Eddie,” Steve asks, arm wrapped securely around his long time girlfriend. 

Offering your friend a tight-lipped smile, you shrug, “Not here yet.” 

“I didn’t know he’d even be late to his own plans. Thought it was just everybody else’s he didn’t respect,” Robin quips, looking around the busy parking lot. 

“Kind of makes you feel better though, doesn’t it? Like it’s not just you?” Steve laughs at Jess’s comment. Her point makes you smile for the first time all day, she’s right and you appreciate her candor. She’s been a great addition to the group since the end of high school—fits right in with all the ribbing that goes on. You wish you could hope the same for Julie, but the other night already put a bad taste in your mouth. 

“You met his girlfriend the other night, right?” You swear Robin could be a mind reader, she’s always asking exactly what you hope she doesn’t. 

“Uh, was supposed to, yeah.” 

Your response makes the group frown. “Supposed to? So it didn’t happen,” Steve asks, shaking his head with the question.

Sucking your teeth, you consider how much you should share. You don’t want to sway anybody’s opinions of the girl before they’ve met her. Hell, you haven’t even met her—but it feels like you know all you need to know. 

“Uh–no. It did not happen,” you respond stiltedly. “Apparently she doesn’t like bars.” 

Robin’s head jerks back like she’s been slapped, a scowl on her face. “Has she heard of Munsianity?” 

Jess speaks up, setting her reaction aside to gather context. “Sorry, Munsianity?”

Steve answers for you and Robin, “Yeah, it’s this stupid made-up religion Eddie created in high school. Made us all unconsenting apostles.” 

“Well, I actually really enjoyed the sacraments,” Robin counters, nodding approvingly at the fond memories. 

“Sacraments?” 

Poor Jess. Steve’s apparently slacking on his lore lessons. 

This time it’s you who answers her, “Weed shotgunning, the Great Hotbox of ‘86, forced horror movie marathons, etcetera. It did have good benefits, though. Half-off rides, all that free weed…” 

Robin scoffs, “Yeah, half-off rides for us. You got them for free, never had to haggle over gas money.” 

The reminder of your special treatment as his best friend makes you smile. But then you remember last night and the smile fades as fast as it came. 

Steve snorts, “You know, we should be happy that Eddie became a mechanic. He had the makings of a very concerning cult leader. Would’ve been so niche and under the radar even the Feds wouldn’t be able to catch ‘im.” 

“You better believe it, big boy! Feds ain’t got nothin’ on the Munsons—well except for–my father who they do have detained right now. So they’ve got one thing on the Munsons, but nothing anybody’s missing,” Eddie shrugs, a wild grin spread across his face. 

Surprise and introductions rush through the group, Eddie’s hand never leaves the short blonde girl’s waist as she politely greets everyone. When it’s your turn, you can barely manage a tight-lipped smile and a nod—eyes never moving past her shoulders after your initial look when they walked up. 

Thankfully, Julie doesn’t seem all that talkative—not going out of her way to make your acquaintance. Your eyes are firmly planted to the ground as Steve tries to small-talk the girl, but any attempt to know her more is interrupted when Robin complains about her rumbling stomach. Steve confirms Eddie’s reservation name and leads the group inside. 

Jess seems to have gotten through to the blonde as they follow after Steve and Robin, chit chatting about their choice of shoes for the evening. You and Eddie are the last ones left in front of the restaurant. You can feel his burning gaze on the side of your face as you dig the toe of your Reeboks deeper into the gravel—remembering how, as kids, you used to run barefoot over rocky terrain like this, spending so much time outside without shoes that you both developed hobbit feet, the toughened skin impervious to the sharp rocks.

“What the hell was that,” he hisses, cocking his head incredulously.

Eyes still not lifting from the riveting dusty, white gravel, you shrug, “What was what?”

“You didn’t say, ‘Hi,’ you barely even made eye contact! You’re supposed to be my rock here. You’re supposed to help me make sure the evening goes well.” 

Eyebrows raising at his admission, you finally meet his gaze—his eyes are notably less angry now. You didn’t know you had a job to do tonight—convincing everyone to like his girlfriend no less. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, unsure of what else to say. 

“S’fine, let’s just go inside.”

The night goes as smoothly as an awkward introductory dinner can. Jokes are thrown around—everyone seems to laugh except Julie. Stories are shared at Eddie’s expense, earning cringed looks from the blonde. It’s like everyone is trying their best to pull her out of what you hope is just a shell—maybe she’s great once you get to know her—but you seem to be the only one willing to acknowledge how awful this dinner is going.

Steve uncomfortably coughs after Julie berates Eddie for his decision to order a second beer, Robin subtly kicks your foot under the table when you scowl at the blonde’s snippy tone, Jess quickly changes the subject to the gold jewelry the girl wears—successfully distracting her. 

Clearly, everyone is witnessing the consistent clashing of personalities, but no one is reacting accordingly. It makes you feel insane—like you’ve gone through the looking glass and Eddie’s decided he’d like a girlfriend who hates him. 

Zoning out for the rest of the dinner, you bide your time until you can escape—pushing the food around on your plate and rubbing the condensation off your glass. You only perk back up when you hear Steve and Eddie bickering over who will cover the bill. A smile almost makes its way onto your face, but then Julie speaks up, patting Eddie’s chest. “Eddie will pay for it, won’t you, baby? He just got a raise at the shop and he’s making so much more now.”

The scowl returns at her not-so-subtle brag to Steve and Jess. Apparently, she hasn’t been listening—otherwise, she would’ve caught on to Steve’s complaints about his job at the firm where he’s a partner, making far more than Eddie does. Also, it’s not her money to spend, nor is it hers to brag about. Eddie’s very clearly uncomfortable with her comment and you’re opening your mouth to speak before you know what you’re going to say. 

Robin beats you to it though, she sees right through you, “Thank god, you’ve been working there long enough! Congrats, dude.” 

Eddie mutters a quiet, ‘Thanks,” as he hands the card to the waiter. 

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The goodbye’s are even more awkward than the hello’s. You avoid Julie like you did before, but this time you don’t feel Eddie’s angry eyes on you. Sparing a look at your best friend, you notice he seems tired, his mood deflated compared to how he appeared before the dinner. 

Surprisingly, Julie leaves first out of the two of them, offering Eddie a clipped goodbye. Steve must look just as confused as you feel because Eddie mentions how she wanted to drive separately in the case that he ‘drank too much.’ You have to physically stop yourself from blanching at his words. If she thinks two beers is too much, she would’ve hated Eddie in high school.

Robin, Steve, and Jess all say their goodbyes, promising to hang out again soon. With just you and Eddie left, the ground becomes incredibly interesting again. You can feel his eyes on you as you wait for him to speak up first.

“What, do you not like her?” 

His immediate attitude grates on your nerves, causing you to meet his scrutinizing eyes. “Do you?”

She’s not a very pleasant girl and he seemed to be embarrassed every time she spoke tonight. How can he ask you if you like her with the way he seemed to regret the whole event? Your intonation seems to piss him off even more, overcompensating in his response—you hope. 

“Of course I do!” 

You shrug, pursing your lips, “She seems fine.”

Eddie must be looking for a fight because he doesn’t drop the subject. “You barely even spoke to her, you didn’t look at her at all! How would you know if she seems ‘fine’?”

Throwing your hands up in annoyance, you shake your head at him incredulously, “What do you want from me, Eddie?”

Matching your frustration, he shrugs his shoulders, bobbing his head expectantly, “I don’t know, I guess I want my best friend to like who I’m dating because I care about your opinion!” The statement may have come across sweeter if he hadn’t yelled it angrily. 

Chewing on your lip, you meet his exasperated eyes, muttering lowly, “You want my opinion?”

“Yes! Of course, I always want your opinion.”

Resigning yourself to the situation, nowhere to divert the conversation to—you can’t help but tell the truth, you’re tired of pretending. Letting out a sigh, you force a neutral mask to fall over your face, “You shouldn’t be with her.”

“What?” 

That was clearly not what he was expecting you to say. He figured you didn’t jive with her given how little you chose to interact, but he didn’t know you’d go this far. 

“If you stay with her, you’re a fool.”

That pisses him off again. Eddie never liked being told he’s done something wrong, especially when he didn’t know or intend it. And now it feels like his best friend is telling him she’s disappointed in his choices. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? You just met her! You didn’t bother getting to know her! What are you seeing that I’m not?” 

The last sentence is closer to the boy you grew up with. He trusts you implicitly and he wants to know what he’s missing here, what is he overlooking? 

“I mean, I bet she’s smart and you keep saying she’s so cool but…”

“But what?” 

The sadness in your eyes is breaking through your mask as you look at your oldest friend—the man you love. Suddenly it’s like a dam breaks, all the thoughts you’ve saved come spewing out. 

“You deserve someone who brings you happiness and accepts you—all your flaws included, and if you think that that’s Julie, then you’re wrong. You deserve to laugh until your stomach aches, and you deserve to spend your money how you want, and you deserve to feel desired. You deserve to be loved. And if you think she can give you that, I suggest you think again before you get any further.” 

Eddie’s brown, button eyes are as wide as saucers by the time you’re done. His mouth opens and closes, unsure how to respond to all of that. “I…don’t know what to say…”

Feeling bare and see-through—like cellophane, tears flood your waterline. You didn’t mean to say all of that and you feel mortified at his poor excuse for a response. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you throw your hand out to him, gesturing to his frozen figure. “Well, you wanted my opinion and there it is. Do with it what you will.” 

You’re done. You’ve exposed yourself enough for one night so you walk past him, ready to find your car and escape this insufferable bubble of truth. 

His voice carries as you brush past him, the words make you stop. “If not Julie, then who?”

Brows furrowing, turning your head to just barely see him in your peripheral vision, you take in the rigid expanse of his back. “What?”

Eddie turns around with a calculating gaze, roving over your sad face. You can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, he’s catching on and it makes you want to run away, but your feet won’t move.

“If you don’t think I should be with Julie, who do you think I should be with,” he asks slowly, head cocking as he studies your soul through your wet eyes.

Those wet eyes widen for a fraction of a second before you shrug dismissively, “I don’t know.”

Gravel crunches under his shoes as he steps closer to your body, closing the distance you tried to create. “No, come on, sweetheart. You have such a strong opinion,” he goads, “Surely you’ve thought the whole thing through. Who should I be with?”

Your silence is deafening. Melting under his rapt gaze, you look anywhere but those damn eyes. His next question throws you completely off. 

“How’s Connor?”

The way he asks it is simple and pleasant, but you know better. It’s a weighted question given the subject of the conversation. 

“We broke up,” you mutter, still avoiding your best friend’s eyes, thankful you can’t see his reaction to the break up of your long time boyfriend—the one Eddie never seemed to get along with. 

“When?” His voice is low and calculated. He doesn’t sound angry, he just sounds like a lawyer performing a line of funnel questioning—hoping he can back you into a corner of truth. 

Kicking your toe into the gravel again, you mutter the answer shamefully, “Two weeks ago.” 

If the circumstances were normal, Eddie would’ve been told immediately, but they weren’t, so he wasn’t. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Sucking in a deep breath, you let it out at the same time as your quiet answer, “Didn’t think you’d wanna know.” 

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. You know it, he knows it, the universe knows it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he repeats, voice somehow even lower, like he’s closing in on the truth if you’d just cooperate. 

Scoffing, you shake your head, glancing up at his dark eyes, “I just told you, I didn’t think you’d–”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeats the question for a third time, firm voice slowing down on every word. 

Grasping at straws, scrambling for any deflection you can, you avoid his eyes again. “Tell you what?”

“How you feel.” 

Oh. That.

You could do this all night, though. You’ve had years of practice on how best to annoy Eddie. “About Julie? I just told you how I feel.” 

That’s not what he meant and you know it. His nostrils flare as his lips form a tight line across his face. You know you’re about ten seconds away from a verbal lashing, but you’d take that over this awful conversation any day. 

But the angry words don’t come. He just keeps staring at you in silence for a full minute, scrutinizing every tiny reaction—every twitch of your brows, every narrowing of your eyes, every nervous chew of your lips. It feels like torture. You can’t move. Your stupid feet won’t save you, and he won’t talk. Damn him for knowing how to break you down.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” you rush out, huffing an annoyed breath at the revelation. 

Suddenly quick to respond now, Eddie’s face screws up in outrage, his unsteady voice hisses out, “Of course it matters. If I had to sit around and watch you with him for another minute, I would be doing the same thing you are now!” 

Jerking your head back at his admission, you take offense to the insinuation that you’re trying to break him and Julie up. You are. But you resent the insinuation. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter because you have a girlfriend,” you accuse, as if he’s not painfully aware of that fact—as if it’s not the only thing holding him back from kissing the life out of you. 

Scoffing at your rebuttal, he throws his arms up in exasperation. “I had to go out and meet somebody! I had to…get you out of my head. If I had to spend another second around you when you’re not mine to have—I would’ve gone insane!” 

He’s shouting it as if you’re the one purposefully making him daydream about his best friend, as if you’ve maliciously planted the seeds of his own destruction. 

At this point you’re just bickering like you used to, but now it’s about untimely romantic feelings for each other and not who gets to pick the movie. Crossing your arms, you throw him an annoyed look, “Well, you’re acting pretty insane already, so.”

He blanches at that being what you gathered from his confession of feelings. Groaning loudly through gritted teeth, he shakes his hands at you, “God, you’re a lunatic, you know that? I’m tryin’ to tell you I’m in love with you and you’re playing ‘Who’s Being More Stupid’?” 

“Well, you’re acting like I made you fall in love with me when really, I’ve been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and tell me that since we were in eighth grade!” 

You two must look insane to the patrons leaving the restaurant—two strangers arguing in the parking lot about who loves each other more and for how much longer.

“If that’s true, then why’d you go and date that dill weed?” 

Guffawing at his response, you look at him like he’s off his rocker. “What was your argument again? I had to go meet somebody,” you deepen your voice, mocking his earlier confession. 

Stepping toe-to-toe with you, he leans into your face, “You piss me off!” 

Chest huffing with angered breaths, you copy his movements, leaning into him, nearly nose-to-nose, “You piss me off!”

Labored breaths leave matching open mouths, his eyes dart down to your gloss covered lips. “I really wanna kiss you,” he breathes out with barely restrained desire. 

Roving eyes dart from his obsidian gaze to his pink lips, stuttered breaths form desperate words, “Go break up with your girlfriend.” 

Eddie’s head bobs forward on its own accord, hungry lips crawling for home on yours, but he won’t let your relationship start with cheating. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Having to consciously tell his feet to step back, he removes himself from your intoxicating orbit, nodding his head with heavy breaths. “Okay.”

Missing the loss of his body heat, you copy his nod—self-restraint is virtuous and necessary, but god, do you want to rip his clothes off in the middle of this parking lot. “Okay,” you repeat—the only word your trance allows you to form.

“I’ll be right back. Wait for me at your place, okay?” He’s backing up, demanding finger hovering in the air, pinning you to your word. 

A nervous grin spreads across your face, “Okay.” 

You watch as he keeps his eyes on you for as long as he can until he has to turn around to find his van. Letting out a sigh, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart, you laugh to yourself, “Okay.”

A/N: I'm easing back into writing after losing the motivation so quickly on a random day. I got v sad and v depressed all at once, but this was the first idea that got me to write again. Like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed it. Lmk if you like my work because it helps to keep me writing.

Tag List: @defututus @ratsematary @american-idiot-jpg @glassbxttless @justalotoffanfiction @savybabyyy @thepinkpanther83 @sorayasworld @slaytheusurper @dangerousnbeautiful @hellmastereddie @ali-r3n @lilithera0 @tlclick73 @joonbread @jesterghuleh @bellalillyrose @bigboymoozz @am0iur @pastelpoppies @lionkingshiddenmessage 

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

No Such Thing Masterlist

Series summary: You’ve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the team’s spectacular running back. You don’t care very much for your university’s football team; you just can’t understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable.

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｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the tower isn’t what it used to be. no more clean metal shine. no more stark’s weird robot jazz echoing off the walls. now there’s throw blankets that don’t match, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and half a pizza box abandoned on the coffee table under a forgotten tablet glowing faint blue. the new avengers are spread across the sectional like dropped laundry. yelena belova was upside down with her legs hanging off the top, scrolling on her phone like the fate of the universe depends on it. john walker's asleep with one arm tossed over his eyes, pretending not to be listening. and you, you’re tucked in next to bucky barnes cause it’s always been that way.

his arm’s around your waist, the metal one, heavy and cool through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. your legs are half across his lap. there’s a blanket barely clinging to both of you. you lean in slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth first, he hums something. so you do it again, softer. your lips trail across the edge of his jaw, warm and lazy. and he finally looks at you, real slow, real tired.

“you tryin’ to distract me?” he says, voice rough with sleep or maybe something else.

“from what?” you whisper. “yelena's tiktok rabbit hole? pretty sure the world’ll keep turning.”

he chuckles, breath fogging warm against your temple. “you’re gonna get us kicked off the couch.”

“then we’ll take the beanbag. better view of the stars anyway.”

there’s a long pause, no one talking, just the low thrum of the tower’s power system and distant sirens down in the city, muffled by double pane glass and altitude. bucky doesn’t say much when he’s tired. doesn’t need to. his hand settles over yours, thumb dragging lazy circles over your skin.

your powers flicker under your skin when you’re this close. heat like static behind your ribs. reality bends easier around you when he touches you. he doesn’t flinch anymore when it happens. the way light bends a little around your fingertips. how your shadow twitches half a second slower than your body.

“you’re glowing again,” he mumbles.

“can’t help it.” you grin against his throat. “you make me all… photonic.”

“that a scientific term?”

“yup. real cutting edge. avengers approved.”

he turns toward you fully then, presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. it’s nothing hurried. like sunday mornings. like breath.

near you, yelena mutters, “jesus. get a room.”

you don’t look away. neither does bucky. just smirks against your mouth.

a/n: i actually hate this so much! but forgive me for i was puking my brains out yesterday when i wrote this.

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.