Store Manager Verse - Series Masterlist

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       shit’s been rough. shit was rough even before the blip. dr. hart shares an office with dr. raynor, and you share with waiting room with bucky barnes. set before tfatws; a friends-to-lovers, slowburn, eventual smut.

—   CHAPTERS   /   completed!

1.      I LANDED ON YOU LIKE A SUCKER PUNCH

2.      BUT I’VE HAD WORSE NIGHTMARES

3.     SO I’LL BE PLUGGED IN & TUNED OUT

4.     WHILE YOU & I RIDE INTO THE SUN 

5.     PLATONICALLY SO, OF COURSE

6.    GO AHEAD & PLUCK MY HEARTSTRINGS 

7.     TOGETHER WE’RE LOVERS ON THE LAM

8.     SPIRALING TOWARDS THE STORM

9.     KISSING IN THE AFTERMATH

10.   TO THE TEMPO OF YOUR HEARTBEAT.

—   DRABBLES & ONE-SHOTS

1.    ALL BLACK

—   OTHER

1.   dolly’s jukebox, an audio imagine

2.   the vacant mirrors tag

3.   readers make their rabbit!

4.   fan art & memes

5.   the glass cannon’s club set list

                                                    — birbs                            

---

A Day in the Life

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

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

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

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

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

It's the start of a great day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smirking, he pushes you against the counter before lifting up your short dress. "My naughty girl deserves to feel good, too," He mumbles, stroking your inner thigh.

"You're gonna be late, Jamie," You warn him, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"I don't care," He growls as he finds your heat, chuckling. "No panties. Just like I've taught you, hmm?"

Your breath shakes as he scoops up his cum from your leg, before using his free hand to spread apart your folds. With his eyes locked on yours, he rubs his cum over your clit, making your stomach flutter.

"James," You whimper, clinging onto the counter behind you.

"Shh, it's okay, peanut," He whispers softly as he continues circling your bud. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"So good," You reply weakly, lifting up your leg to give him better access to your pussy.

He moves his fingers down to your entrance, biting his lip when he feels your warm juices coating and soaking it. With ease, two of his fingers slip into you, making you wince at the width as he spreads you open.

"My pretty little pussy feels so fuckin' tight around my fingers," He groans into your ear. "Always so tight for me. Fuckin' hell."

He starts fucking his fingers in and out of you rhythmically, curling them upwards every so often and making you squirm. The knuckle of his thumb rubs against your clit, making your core burn with delight. You cry out loudly as he hits your spot deep inside you, making your legs shake.

"That's it, baby, sing for me," He grunts, fingering you faster. "Your moans are so fucking sexy. Fuck." He licks his lips as he watches your face contort in pleasure, a proud smirk blooming on his lips. "That's it. Breathe deeply for me, baby, deep breaths. That's it."

Your entire body feels like it's floating as he coaxes you to the edge, expertly playing with your pussy the way only he knows how. With a loud cry of his name, you throw your head back as the floodgates burst open.

"Cumming, daddy," You all but squeal as your cunt clenches around his fingers, juices flowing out of you.

"That's my girl," He praises you before kissing you deeply as you fly through your high. "Just like that, doing so well for me."

You breathe heavily as you slowly come down, your eyelids drooping with fatigue. Bucky wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. The two of you stay in the blissful peace for a few moments, your hearts beating as one. He strokes your hair and you cling to his torso, never wanting to let go.

"Could stay like this forever," Bucky whispers, swaying you gently.

Looking over his shoulder at the clock, you sigh. "You're gonna be so late," You warn him.

"Just a few more minutes," He begs, holding you even tighter. You have no choice but to give in, obsessed with his smell and touch and embrace.

A few more minutes pass and you pull away, pushing his shoulders back. "Alright, bubba, you need to go," You say sternly. "You have to prepare for the Barton meeting."

He groans with an eye roll, but he knows you're right. Giving you another kiss, he pats your ass. "Alright. Alright, you're right," He utters with defeat.

You pick up his lunch bag and follow him through to the door to the large garage. When he opens it, cool air washes over you, making you shiver.

"What do you think?" He asks as he glances over the hooks of keys. "Who should I take out today?"

Thinking it over, you tilt your head. "Take Krissi- no, take Mason. He hasn't been out in a while; he's probably feeling neglected."

"You're right," Bucky mumbles, grabbing the keys to the black Maserati Ghibli.

"Here you go," You say sweetly, holding out his lunch bag.

"Thank you, peanut," He says appreciatively, leaning forward to kiss you. "I love you."

"I love you more, Jay," You reply sweetly, booping his nose.

"I won't be able to call you until 2 today, because of the meeting," He informs you, stroking your hip.

Pouting, you nod. "Okay, bubba," You reply, kissing him once more before he starts to walk away. "Good luck with Barton!"

"Send me pictures if you do end up going shopping with Wanda," He calls out to you as he walks past the row of cars to get to Mason the Maserati. "And if Coulson comes over to check on the security system, tell him to make a note of everything he does."

"I will," You promise, leaning against the doorway as he opens the car door. "Drive safe!"

"I love you, peanut," He says once more, blowing you a kiss before getting into the car.

You watch as the garage door opens and Bucky carefully backs out. He beeps the horn twice before driving away, and you wait until the garage door is fully shut before leaving, with a love-drunk smile on your face.

Bucky returns home at around 5:45, after rushing to get back to you. He parks the car in its spot in the garage before making his way into the house, the smell of your cooking immediately wafting over him and making his stomach grumble.

He wanders over to the kitchen where he knows you'll be, the sound of soft music and the blade against a cutting board inviting him in. "I'm home, peanut," He calls out, not wanting to scare the life out of you like he has done many times before when he walked in unannounced.

When he enters, he sees you at the counter chopping up tomatoes, but you're not alone. Steve is standing with his arm around your shoulder, watching closely as you finely cut up the salad ingredients.

You look up at him, your eyes lighting up. "Jamie!"

"Hey, baby," He greets you, walking over to where you and Steve are standing. He places his lunch bag on the counter before leaning forward to give you a kiss, pushing Steve off of you. Embracing you, he lifts you off the ground for a few seconds, holding you tight.

"Hi," You mumble with a wide grin once he puts you back down. "Missed you."

"Missed you more," Bucky replies sweetly before giving Steve narrow eyes. "I thought you were sick."

He shrugs sheepishly, leaning back against the sink. "Didn't wanna go work," He says casually.

Bucky raises a brow. "Probably not the best thing to say to your boss, punk."

"Where's my kiss?" Steve asks, returning to wrap his arm around your shoulder.

"Right here," Bucky replies, grabbing his chin and kissing his cheek before slapping him lightly. "Kiss my wife and you and I will have a problem, Rogers."

Laughing softly, you shake your head before gasping. "How did the meeting go?" You ask, returning to your salad cutting.

"It went great," He tells you proudly, shooting Steve a bitter glance. "Would've gone a lot smoother if my CFO was there, but we survived."

"Anyone can read out numbers," Steve claims flippantly. "You didn't need me."

"Idiot," Bucky mutters, before taking a few steps back. "I'm gonna go wash up. Back in ten."

Although he wants to be annoyed that he isn't getting the quality alone time with you that he's been looking forward to all day, Bucky can't be mad at Steve. Ever since the divorce proceedings begun, he's been sensitive and withdrawn, so you and Bucky have done your best to be there for him.

Once he's showered and changed into some comfortable clothes, Bucky returns downstairs where he can hear Steve's yelps. The kitchen is empty so he walks into the living room, where you're sitting on the couch with Steve's head on your lap while you tweeze his brows.

"Ow!" The blond cries, to which you roll your eyes.

"Hold still, Stevie," You mutter, concentrating on plucking the stray hairs. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Easy for you to say," He grumbles bitterly, wincing when you pull out another hair.

Bucky comes to sit behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Hi, peanut," He whispers into your ear. "How was your day?"

"It was good," You reply, pulling out another few hairs while Steve whimpers. "Didn't go shopping, but I did get lunch with Happy and May."

"You third-wheeled? How embarassing," Steve teases you, making you and Bucky roll your eyes.

"Did Coulson come over?" Bucky asks you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"Not today," You tell him. "He called and said he's coming on Friday, instead."

"Really? This Friday?" Bucky asks you with a frown.

"Yeah," You confirm. "Why? Is that a problem?"

Bucky bites his lip. He was planning on whisking you away to Italy for the weekend on Friday morning to celebrate the anniversary of the day he proposed to you, but he can't tell you that.

"Uh, Fridays are statistically when most break-ins happen, so I don't want him messing around with the security in case he fucks the system up," He excuses quickly. "I'll call him later and ask him to come next week, instead."

Raising a brow, you let out a laugh. "Uh, okay then," You say, before patting Steve's shoulder. "All done, Rogers."

"Finally," He breathes out with relief.

"So, are you going shopping with Wanda tomorrow, instead?" Bucky asks, rubbing your shoulders soothingly.

"Uh, I don't know, why?" You question him while playing with Steve's hair. "Do you need me to get you something?"

He needs you to get your fucking nails done for the trip, but he can't tell you that.

"Yes, actually," He claims. "Uh, cufflinks. I need a new pair."

You turn to look at him, a look of dejection in your eyes. "Oh. Did- do you not like the ones I got for your birthday? Do you want me to exchange them?"

He inwardly curses himself at his blunder. Of course I fucking like the cufflinks with your damn initials on them, peanut. "Did I say cufflinks?" He asks, feigning confusion. "I'm such an idiot; I meant... tie. I want a new tie."

"You want a new tie?" You ask, while Steve, who knows of Bucky's plan, struggles to keep in his laughs.

"Yes, I want a new tie, and I want my pretty baby to pick it out," Bucky says firmly. "For the party next weekend."

"Oh, okay," You agree with a growing smile. "Then I'll buy you the best damn tie you'll ever wear."

"I know you will," He replies lowly, kissing your cheek.

"Shit," You hiss suddenly, pushing Steve off your lap. "I need to check on the food!"

With that, you rush into the kitchen, with Bucky following you in. "What's for dinner?" He asks, watching as you take a dish out of the air fryer.

"Fried chicken," You answer him with a grin. "And potato wedges."

While you mix the salad, Bucky comes up behind you, stroking your hips. His hand slips up your blouse, where he pulls down your bra cup and grabs your boob. With his mouth at your ear, he strokes his thumb over your nipple, making you shudder. "I wanna be inside you so bad, baby," He whispers, making you shiver.

"Jay," You whine, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Before he can do anything else, Steve walks in, making Bucky pull your bra back up and take his hands off of you. You catch your breath while looking down at the salad, trying to regain your composure.

"Smells incredible," Steve says with a grin.

"Could you grab the wedges out of the oven?" You request while continuing to mix the salad, to which he complies.

Bucky steps closer to you and gently grabs your hands, turning you to face him. "You go ahead and sit down at the table, peanut; Steve and I will dish up."

"No, bubba, you go sit down," You insist. "You've been working all day-"

"So have you, now go sit down," He repeats firmly. "Don't make me say it again."

Defeated, you give in, leaning up to kiss him quickly before making your way into the adjacent dining area. You take a seat at the head of the table and pour yourself some water before realizing there's no wine.

"Steve, could you go grab a bottle from the wine cellar?" You call out to the kitchen. "I hate going down there alone."

"Sure thing, ma'am," Steve replies, making his way out to you.

"Just grab whatever you want," You tell him nonchalantly as he treks over to the cellar door.

Sticking his head out the kitchen door with a dish cloth over his shoulder, Bucky raises a brow. "No, Steve - grab the '95 Sassicaia," He corrects pointedly, to which you roll your eyes.

"Pretentious dick," You mutter, making him walk further out into the dining area.

"Excuse me?" Bucky scoffs while Steve disappears down the stairs. "You love my pretentious dick."

Sighing, you nod and sit back. "I really do."

He smirks as he comes closer, standing over you. Slowly, he reaches his hand out and wraps it around your throat, tilting your head up. "You want it deep inside you, don't you?"

Letting out a shaky breath, you squeeze your legs together. You nod, bucking your hips up. "I do, daddy."

Leaning down, he tightens his grip on your neck, making your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about railing you all day. Can't wait to fuck your brains out tonight," He growls.

"Please," You sputter with wide eyes.

"Say it, baby," He orders you. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I- I want daddy to fuck me," You let out weakly, clinging onto his wrist.

"Oh, daddy will, baby," Bucky coos softly, leaning forward to kiss you forehead. "Daddy's gonna fuck you so good tonight."

The sound of ascending steps from the cellar make him release your throat and step back, while you cross your leg over the other and feel your heart racing in your chest.

"Found the sassy shit you wanted," Steve announces as he enters the room, placing the bottle of Sassicaia on the table with a proud look.

"Thank you, Steve," You say graciously, giving him a polite smile while trying to get Bucky's dirty words out of your head.

Bucky and Steve get on with plating up and serving the food, and a few minutes later, you're all sitting at the table and digging in.

"So, how were your days?" Bucky asks you both. "Did you do anything besides annoy my wife, Rog?"

"Actually, I bought a car this morning," Steve says pointedly, making you frown.

"Steven, what have I told you? This is not the time for you to be spending money so carelessly," You scold him.

"I'm gonna sell the Ferrari, so it's fine," He defends himself. "Besides; Peg and I signed a pre-nup. I'm smart, and I'm safe."

"Still," You press sternly. "You're gonna be buying a new house, soon, and you know how much you love to renovate."

"Darling, relax," Steve says calmly. "I'm rich!"

"Peanut has a point, Rogers," Bucky adds curtly. "It's not a good look, going on a spending spree when you're supposed to be going through a divorce."

"I don't care how it looks," Steve retorts bitterly. "I just wanna leave that bitch and be done with it."

"Steve," You whisper with wide eyes, shaking your head. "Don't say that."

"Whatever. Everyone gets divorced nowadays; it's fine," He claims with a shrug, before giving Bucky a frown. "Did you guys sign a pre-nup?"

"Of course not," Bucky replies instantly.

"Really?" Steve asks, bewildered for a second before he relaxes. "Eh, makes sense. You two have always been horrifically in love."

"Peanut already knows that every cent of my money is hers," Bucky goes on to say, squeezing your hand. "We didn't need to sign anything to confirm that. And we definitely didn't need to prepare for a... I can't even say it."

"Yeah, man, how do you think I feel?" Steve asks with a dry laugh. "Fuckin' sucks."

"Anyway," You interject, sitting up. "More chicken, anyone?"

After changing the subject to a much lighter topic, the dinner continues. You share jokes, Bucky rants about his new, 'utterly incompetent' assistant, curses Peter for taking paternity leave and leaving him with the new incompetent assistant, and Steve makes false promises to cook for you next time.

"That was incredible," Steve groans as he puts down his knife and fork. "I haven't had a decent home-cooked meal in so long."

"You were eating my lasagne three days ago, you dramatic oaf," You point out with a laugh.

"Three days is a long time," He claims stubbornly.

Bucky reaches out to take your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. "It really was amazing, baby," He tells you earnestly. "Thank you for always feeding us so well."

"Of course, bubba," You reply bashfully through a grin. "I love making you food; you know that."

"And I love you," He replies lowly, kissing your hand again and keeping it close to his lips. God, he can't wait to see the look on your face when he flies you out to Italy. Lately, his bigger romantic gestures have been few and far between, and you deserve to be swept off your feet and spoiled rotten.

Watching the basic interaction between you both brings up feelings to the surface that Steve didn't even know were there. Suddenly, he's hit with a horrid wave of hurt, but he does he best to keep up a brave face.

You glance over at him and immediately, you can tell something isn't right. "You okay, Steve?" You ask him softly with a concerned look in your eyes.

He nods, avoiding your gaze because he knows it will only make him feel worse. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I just... Fuck," He mutters as his eyes tear up.

Getting up to your feet, you rush over to pull him in for a hug, holding his head to your torso as you feel your heart break. "It's okay to be upset, Steve. You're allowed to be upset."

"I'm not even, I... fuck," He utters with a scoff, shocked even at himself. "Shitting fuck. Why am I crying?"

"You're okay, my darling, you can cry if you need to," You mumble while Bucky begins to collect the empty dishes and take them back to the kitchen. Looking down at him, you bring up your thumbs to wipe away the stray tears from Steve's cheeks. "I can't even imagine your pain, but I promise you'll get through it. Jamie and I are here to help you through it. Never think that you're alone."

"I know. I'm fine, I swear," He claims with a sniffle, resting against you. "Too much wine, maybe."

Steve nods before pulling back and letting out a sigh. "Right. Enough of the dramatics," He states firmly.

You stay with him for a while, swaying him gently while Bucky clears the table. Once he's done, he walks over to join you, patting Steve's head. "You're gonna be more than okay, pal," He promises. "You're gonna be better. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but there is a way through this. We've got you."

"Anyone up for dessert?" You ask expectantly. "Mary-Ann made these cheesecake brownie things for some event at her daughter's school and had a bunch left over, so she gave us some."

"Mary-Ann, as in the one who's in love with your husband?" Steve asks with a raised brow as you make your way to the kitchen.

"The very same!" You call back with a laugh.

"She is not in love with me," Bucky argues firmly, sitting back down in his seat. "I honestly have no clue where this joke came from."

"Uh, it came from her obvious obsession with you," Steve says with a chuckle. "And it's not a joke, Buck-a-roo."

Once you've retrieved the brownies, you waltz back into the dining area. "Wanna know what she said when she gave me these?" You ask rhetorically, leaning down to utter with a sultry voice in Bucky's ear, "Make sure to let me know if James likes them; I know he's hard to please."

"James?" Steve repeats incredulously. "She called your husband James?"

"Calls him James," You correct him, putting the brownies down on the table. "Can you believe the nerve?"

"It's not that serious; not everyone wants to use a nickname," Bucky defends. "Some people I work with call me James."

"I have never even introduced you to her as James," You tell him. "Hi, Mary-Ann, this is my husband, Bucky. And what does she do? Calls you by my name."

"I think you oughta beat her ass," Steve suggests with a smirk. "Do it in front of her daughter for optimal humiliation."

"I might just," You mutter bitterly.

Bucky pulls you down onto his lap, gently biting your arm. "You have nothing to worry about, my baby."

You scoff at his words. "When did I say I was worried?" You ask him with a raised brow, before looking over at Steve. "Did I say I was worried at any point, Steven?"

"No, Mrs. Barnes, you did not," Steve answers you. "But, Mr. Barnes' comment does lead me to think that you might actually have something to worry about."

"Shut up, punk," Bucky grumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Pair of dumbasses, the two of you."

You lean forward to grab a brownie, before bringing to Bucky's lips. "Let's see if your secret lover's baking is better than mine," You say teasingly as he takes a bite.

Bucky slowly nods as he chews it, keeping his eyes on yours. Once he swallows, he lets out a hum. "You know what?" He asks. "I might just have to fuck Mary-Ann again, it was that good."

"Bastard!" You cry, hitting his shoulder while him and Steve laugh heartily.

"I love you," Bucky says as he prevents you from standing up by tightening his grip around you. "I love you, and this brownie sucks."

Steve grabs a brownie and takes a bite, his eyes widening as he chews. "Can you give me Mary-Ann's number?"

"Pricks," You mutter with an eye roll, before bringing the rest of the brownie in your hand up to your own mouth. You take a bite and, admittedly, it's pretty fucking good.

"What's the verdict?" Bucky asks curiously, bouncing his leg beneath you. "Good enough to let her off for being in love with me?"

"First of all, you just admitted she's in love with you, so Steve, I'd like you to make a mental note of that," You say, pointing at him. "And secondly, no. It's good, but mine would taste better - if I ever stooped so low as to make cheesecake brownies, that is."

Bucky grins at your words. "Now who's the pretentious dick?"

"Speaking of pretentious," Steve begins. "You coming to the party next weekend, peanut?"

"Don't call her that," Bucky cuts in with a tone of disgust.

"Oh, so you don't like it when someone else calls me the name that you use for me?" You ask him with a raised brow.

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky sighs. "Okay, so I see how that could be annoying."

"Thank you very much!" You exclaim with relief. "And thank you, Steven, for demonstrating it so well."

"Yeah, whatever, anyway, are you coming?" He presses expectantly. "It's gonna be at that hotel you like; the Gold Leaf."

"I guess I have to come, as Bucky Barnes' beautiful wife, and all," You say dryly with a shrug. "Might be fun - unless Graham's gonna be there."

"Ugh, he is," Bucky confirms with disdain.

"Fabulous," You sigh. "Always fun talking to him."

"If he says a single thing I don't like this time, I'm gonna be having words with him," Bucky says threateningly.

"Ooh, words," You repeat teasingly. "He must be so scared."

"Yeah, way to intimidate a guy for flirting with your wife," Steve adds with a snort.

"What do you want me to do?" Bucky asks incredulously. "Kill him?"

"Yes," You say curtly. "You should kill every man who even glances in my direction with less than pure intentions."

He narrows his eyes. "Believe me, peanut, I want to."

"On that note," Steve states, standing up. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Are you sure?" You ask, standing up too. "You don't want a coffee, or another drink?"

"Nah; I need to drive back," He tells you, stealing another brownie. The three of you walk to the front door which Steve opens before turning back to you. "Thank you for everything, sweetheart; dinner was great."

"Thank you for coming," You reply as he pulls you in for a hug. "You're always welcome here."

"Oh, I know," He says as he pulls away before grabbing Bucky for a quick hug. "I appreciate you both, very much."

"We love you," You tell him sweetly.

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his side. "You better be at work tomorrow, Rogers," He warns him.

"I will be," Steve promises with a wink, walking backwards. "And you two better have some mind-blowing sex tonight, for me!"

"Idiot," You say between laughs while Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve stuffs the brownie into his mouth before giving you a wave and walking over to his car. Once he's driven off, you shut the door and lock it. Before you can even say a single word, Bucky throws you over his shoulder and begins to make his way to the staircase.

"Jamie!" You squeal with excitement.

"Been wanting you all day," He grumbles, spanking your ass as he jogs up the stairs. "Do you know how insane the thought of you makes me?"

"I have an idea," You tell him coyly while he takes you into the bedroom. He then drops you onto the bed with a thump, and is about to rip off your dress when you stop him. "Wait!"

Concern floods features as he moves back. "Is everything alright, peanut?"

"Yes, but just wait here," You order him, pulling him down onto the bed and standing up yourself. "I'll be two minutes!"

With that, you rush into the en suite, leaving a frustrated Bucky with a boner and a huff. "What are you doing, baby?" He calls out. "You better not be shaving."

"I'm not!" You promise, your voice muffled through the door. "Just give me a second; I've been waiting for this all day!"

Bucky lets out a sigh, lying back on the bed. His lips curl up with anticipation as to what awaits him; a night of pure pleasure. A few moments into his naughty daydreams later, the bathroom door swings open and he immediately sits up.

"Baby," He whispers as he takes in your appearance, wide-eyed and mystified. "You look absolutely incredible."

There you stand wearing nothing but a black, lacey lingerie bodysuit and your heels. Your curves are laid bare to him as you coyly walk over to the bed, smirking.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," You greet him, crawling onto the bed. "I need your help."

He raises a brow and lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah? And what do you need my help with, baby?"

Biting your lip, you sit on your knees in front of him and tilt your head. "I need you to fuck me, right now," You tell him dramatically. "The fate of the world depends on it."

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he looks you up and down. "Yeah? You need me to breed you?"

"Yes, I do," You confirm. "You need to get me pregnant, as soon as possible- or else, the aliens will take over."

He snorts before regaining his composure and nodding. "I can do that, sweetheart. I can give you a baby."

Slowly, you spread your legs, revealing the crotchless panties. Bucky swallows thickly at the sight of your glistening pussy, his lips parting. "This is urgent, Mr. Barnes," You say with desperation. "You need to fuck a baby into me, now!"

After removing his shirt and pants, Bucky gets onto his knees in front of you and grabs you by the waist. "Don't you worry, baby, daddy's gonna get you pregnant," He promises with a growl. "Gonna fill you up with my seed."

You smile widely as he picks you up and puts you into his lap, rubbing your wet cunt against his hard dick. "Inside, daddy," You whine. "Put it deep inside me."

"Are you sure, baby?" He asks you gently. "Are you sure you can take my big cock?"

"I have no choice," You tell him, clinging onto his shoulders. "I need to do this, for the future of humanity!"

"Yes, you do," He agrees, rubbing his cock against your clit. "You're gonna be a good little cumdump for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," You promise, rocking your hips desperately. "I'll be your cumdump, daddy."

"That's a good girl," He praises you before slowly sinking into your tight cunt. "Oh, fuck."

Your head falls back as he fills you up, every inch of your skin on fire. "So big, daddy. I can't take it."

"Shh, baby, it's okay," He coos, stroking your face as his eyes darken. "You're gonna take it." With that, he plunges his entire length into you, taking your breath away. The pain is an enhancer for the pleasure, and you let out a loud, wanton cry that'd make a porn star blush.

He begins thrusting in and out of you with vigor, grunting as your pussy swallows him deeply.

"Right there," You moan, digging your nails into his shoulder. "Right there, daddy."

"My girl's gonna be so beautiful, all filled up with my baby," He utters, ripping apart your lingerie to reveal your chest. "Tits are gonna be so full of milk for our child."

Your eyes roll back at his words as he slams into your harder, making it hard for you to think straight.

"Such sweet fuckin' milk," Bucky growls before latching his mouth onto your nipple and sucking on it, sending waves of electric delight through your body. He pulls off with a pop, smirking at you. "Mommy's gonna feed me her milk, isn't she?"

"Yes, Jamie," You promise, pulling his hair. "Oh, my God."

"Mmm, that's right," He grumbles, playing with your tits. "Such a pretty mommy." With that, he starts sucking on the other nipple, slowly pushing you down onto the bed and getting on top of you.

He fucks you into the mattress, his hips snapping against yours as his fingers pull and twist your neglected nipple. Your back arches up as you whimper and whine, feeling your pleasure building up to its climax.

"Daddy," You begin, clawing his back. "Please, can I cum?"

Pulling his mouth off your nipple, he moves up to rest his head in the crux of your neck. "Not yet," He growls, fucking you harder. "You don't get to cum until I tell you to."

His words only make you hotter, letting him take control over you. Bucky places one of his hands on your stomach and pushes down on it gently. "You feel me right here, peanut?" He asks breathlessly. "Feel how deep inside you I am?"

"Oh, God," You gasp, your vision blurring.

"Gonna fill you up, make your belly nice and round with my baby," He tells you lowly, his lips brushing against yours. "You'll be a perfect mommy for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Sir," You reply feebly, feeling your head lighten.

"You're the prettiest little cumdump, you know that?" He whispers. "So fucking gorgeous."

"Daddy," You whine. "Need to cum."

"Yeah?" Bucky asks with an arrogant smirk, before suddenly bringing his fingers to your clit and rubbing quick circles onto it.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" You scream, feeling yourself fall off the edge as the pressure on your core increases.

He leans down, bringing his lips to your ear, and whispers, "Cum."

Your legs shake around him as you finally let go, entranced by blinding pleasure. Waves of pleasure shoot through your body as you gush onto his cock, tightening around his girth. Bucky isn't far behind you, taking a few seconds before he releases his seed deep inside you.

"Take it all, baby," He grunts, thrusting into you sloppily. "Take every fucking drop, like the good cumdump you are."

You fade in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes, feeling weak and exhausted. Gentle hands clean and clothe you, a soft voice whispering into your ear about how good you were tonight.

When your eyes are finally able to fully open again, you see the dimly lit ceiling above you. You turn your head to the side to see Bucky standing over the bed, moisturizing his face. He smiles when he sees you staring, before shooting you a wink.

"Welcome back, peanut," He says teasingly, kneeling onto the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Need to sleep," You mumble groggily. "Did you- did you do my face?"

"I did, baby," He assures you, getting under the duvet next to you before pulling you into his arms and kissing your cheek.

"Did we save humanity from the aliens?" You question him. "With our mind-blowing sex?"

"We did, peanut," He tells you with a grin. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"How much?" You ask, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips.

He holds you tighter to his chest, resting his head in your neck. "More than there are drops of water in the ocean. More than there are stars in the sky. More than there are atoms in the galaxy."

"That's a lot," You reply softly, before adding, "I love you even more than that."

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to your neck. "If you say so."

"Good night, bubba," You mumble sweetly. "I love you."

"Good night, peanut," Bucky replies with you in his arms. "I love you."

Today was a great day.

aw how cute was that.

bucky masterlist

side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates

buy me a kofi <3

---

I Noticed

Bucky x reader

Summary: You and Bucky are good friends, but you didn't realize he knew practically everything about you...

Word Count: 4,779

The conference room was unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon meeting. Everyone was already seated – Steve flipping through a tablet, Natasha sipping coffee, Sam looking like he was seconds away from falling asleep with his head propped on one hand.

You were seated toward the middle, elbow on the table, cheek in your palm, staring at the clock.

"Ugh," you groaned softly. "I'm already thirsty. I should've brought water."

Sam cracked one eye open. "Rookie mistake."

You gave him a half-hearted glare. "Thanks, Sam. So helpful."

Then your stomach growled and you sighed again. "I should've brought snacks, too. I have a bag of those garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in my room – they’re my favorite. I was gonna bring 'em but I forgot. They would've been perfect right now."

"Garlic pretzels in a closed room? Bold choice," Natasha quipped, smirking over her mug.

"They’re elite. You wouldn’t understand."

Just as you finished your sentence, the door opened and in walked Bucky, casual as ever, looking like he hadn’t rushed at all despite being a solid five minutes late.

"Hey," he said to the room before walking over to your seat.

Without saying anything else, he placed a bottle of water and a Ziploc bag full of garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in front of you, then sat down beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the items.

So did everyone else.

Steve’s mouth parted. Natasha looked genuinely surprised. Sam sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. Even Tony, who’d just entered behind Bucky, paused mid-step.

You looked at the bag. Then the water. Then at Bucky.

"...You literally just brought me exactly what I said I wanted like ten seconds ago."

Bucky blinked at you. "Yeah? I figured you’d be thirsty – you never bring water to meetings. And you usually get hungry around this time, so I brought snacks."

There was a beat of silence.

And then it hit.

"Oh my God," Sam laughed, pointing dramatically. "They’re not even dating and he knows her snack schedule."

Steve covered a smile with his hand. "That’s...actually kind of impressive."

Natasha leaned forward. "You even brought her favorite flavor?"

Bucky frowned slightly, confused. "Well, yeah. She likes the garlic parmesan ones."

"HE KNOWS THE FLAVOR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Tony declared like a ring announcer. "WE’VE GOT A SOFTIE IN THE WILD."

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. "Oh my God, you guys–"

Bucky just shrugged, annoyingly unbothered. "What? She gets grumpy when she’s hungry."

And somehow that only made it worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

You hadn’t even opened the bag of pretzels yet. They just sat there in front of you, taunting you while your face turned redder by the second.

And Bucky? Completely calm. Like being a walking encyclopedia on your habits was not wildly incriminating.

That is, until Sam leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, Barnes. Pop quiz."

Bucky gave him a suspicious side-eye. "Why?"

"Because," Tony chimed in, "you just demonstrated an alarming level of girlfriend knowledge for someone who's allegedly not dating her."

"We're not–!" you started, but Natasha held up a finger to silence you.

"This is more fun."

She turned to Bucky. "Favorite coffee order. Go."

"Caramel iced latte, extra ice."

Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s–"

"Correct," Sam cut in, smirking. "Alright, alright – shampoo and conditioner brand?"

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. "Pantene – the coconut scent."

You whipped around to stare at him. "How the hell do you know that?!"

He looked at you like it was obvious. "Because your bathroom always smells like coconut. And that one time you stayed at my place after a mission, you complained that I only had 2-in-1."

Natasha bit back a laugh. "We’re logging that for future teasing."

"Okay, okay," Tony leaned on the table like he was hosting a game show. "Let’s make this harder. Favorite snack that's not garlic parmesan pretzels?"

"Peanut M&M’s. But she picks out the brown ones and eats them last because she says they taste the most ‘chocolatey.’"

You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Are you keeping notes somewhere?!"

Bucky just shrugged like it was no big deal. “You talk a lot when we hang out.”

"My heart can’t take this," Steve said, dramatically clutching his chest.

"Mine either," Sam added. "This is some Hallmark level slow burn stuff and I didn’t even know I wanted it."

"Do you know her favorite hoodie too?" Natasha asked.

He glanced at you, then pointed without looking. "That light grey one she stole from me? Wears it three times a week, minimum."

You gaped at him. "...You let me steal that."

"You think I didn’t notice?" he said, and you caught the tiniest curve of a smirk on his lips.

The room collectively lost it.

"Okay, this is criminal," Tony declared. "I’ve seen actual married couples who know less about each other."

"You’re clearly in love with her," Sam added helpfully.

Bucky’s smirk dropped slightly, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his expression as he glanced at you – soft, unsure, and maybe a little too earnest.

You froze.

So did he.

And then Natasha cleared her throat. "Well, this meeting is officially a disaster, but I’m emotionally invested now."

Steve gave you both a look. "Anything either of you wanna share with the class?"

You made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, covering your face with your hands again.

Beside you, Bucky just leaned back in his chair and said, “Can we please talk about the mission now? Before they start planning our wedding?”

But even as he said it, you felt his knee brush against yours under the table.

--

The meeting finally wrapped up after an hour of mission briefings, supply checklists, and Tony trying to convince Steve to let him name the next Quinjet The Iron Bus. Everyone stood, gathering their things, but the tension in the room wasn’t about the mission at all – it was about you and Bucky.

You had barely pushed your chair back before Sam clapped his hands once and turned to Bucky with renewed mischief in his eyes.

"Alright, now that the boring stuff’s out of the way – round two."

Bucky blinked. "Seriously?"

"You thought we forgot? That whole time I was pretending to care about drone placements, I was building a list."

"I was also building a list," Natasha added, already pulling out her phone.

Steve sighed but didn’t stop them. “I mean…I am kind of curious now.”

Tony grinned. “This is the best part of my day.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, guys–”

“Nope,” Sam said. “Too late. Barnes, what’s her favorite candle scent?”

“Vanilla,” Bucky said without pause.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Okay, but how do you know that?”

“You lit one in my kitchen once. Said it was ‘elite cozy vibes.’”

Tony choked on a laugh. “He even quoted her. This is so real.”

Natasha stepped in next. “Alright – what color does she always pick for her nails?”

“Soft pink. Unless she’s in a mood, then it’s that dark reddish-purple color…what’s it called? ‘Black Cherry?’”

You squinted. “Okay, that’s either creepy or impressive–”

“Impressive,” Sam decided. “Definitely impressive.”

Steve raised a brow. “What about her go-to song when she’s in a bad mood?”

Bucky smiled a little. “idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish.”

You blinked. “Wait, how do you even know that?”

“You played it on repeat for like four days after that one mission with the HYDRA facility. I asked you if you were okay and you said, ‘I’m fine, I just need to cry and hydrate.’”

Natasha was actually laughing now. “He’s got quotes, too.”

Tony raised a finger like he was conducting an interview. “Okay, Bucky – final round. What’s her go-to breakfast when she’s had a rough night?”

Bucky leaned back casually. “Scrambled eggs with pepperjack cheese, hot sauce, two slices of toast, and coffee with oat milk and a tiny bit of cinnamon.”

Everyone turned to you like you’d just been caught in 4K.

You stared at him. “You remembered all of that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve made it for you before.”

Sam fake-fainted onto the conference table.

“I can’t take this,” Steve said, rubbing his temples. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s domestic,” Natasha corrected. “And I love it.”

You groaned again and dropped your head onto your crossed arms. “Can the floor swallow me now?”

Bucky leaned over and murmured, “I think they’re just jealous.”

You peeked up at him. “Of what?”

He gave you that tiny smirk again. “That I pay attention.”

You sat up and shoved the bag of pretzels toward Bucky with a flustered laugh. “Here. Take these back. You’ve earned them.”

Bucky just grinned and tossed one in his mouth. “They taste better when I’m right.”

--

Eventually, the room emptied out. Steve wrangled Tony into actually submitting a mission report, Nat headed to the gym, and Sam left muttering about needing a nap.

You lingered, still sitting in your chair, picking at the label on your water bottle while Bucky packed up his notes. The teasing had died down, but your heart hadn’t quite stopped doing somersaults.

He was halfway to the door when you said, softly, “Hey, Buck?”

He paused, looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

You motioned for him to come back. “Can I ask you something?”

His brows rose, but he came back over, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table beside you. “You wanna quiz me now?”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head, watching him. “I just wanna see how far this weird…psychic Barnes ability goes.”

He gave a lazy grin. “Alright. Hit me.”

You took a breath. “Okay. Pads or tampons?”

He blinked once. “Both.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Details?”

He scratched his jaw, not missing a beat. “You use the regular tampons most days, but you always keep a pack of those thin pads with the wings in your bathroom drawer – orange wrapper, right? You said the combo makes you feel less paranoid about leaks when you’re out on missions.”

Your jaw dropped a little.

Bucky’s smirk faded, growing a little more serious when he saw your expression. “I wasn’t, like, digging through your stuff or anything. You asked me to grab painkillers once while you were curled up on the couch, and I saw the pack when I opened the drawer. And you mentioned the tampon thing that one time when we got stuck waiting in that safe house for hours and you were grumpy.”

You swallowed. “Okay…uh. Chocolate preference?”

“Milk chocolate when you’re just craving sugar, milk chocolate with caramel when you’re on your period.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t stop. “When I cry, what do I want someone to do?”

“Sit with you. Don’t talk unless you ask. You like quiet comfort.”

You were fully staring at him now, unable to find any words, so he filled the silence gently.

“I know you get really overwhelmed when you feel like someone’s watching too closely while you’re upset. You hate feeling...exposed. So I don’t stare. I just stay close.”

You blinked fast, chest tightening with something way bigger than embarrassment now.

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you pay attention like that?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, not meeting your eyes at first. “Because you matter to me. And…when someone matters, you notice things. The important stuff. The things that make them feel seen.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, overwhelmed. “No one’s ever paid attention like that. No one’s ever noticed.”

Finally, he looked at you again. And this time, there was no smirk, no teasing grin – just something quiet and sure in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

After a moment, you smiled faintly. “What’s my favorite place to be when I’m sad?”

“Anywhere I am,” he said without missing a beat.

And this time, you didn’t even try to hide the way your heart skipped.

--

Later that evening, the compound was quieter – mission prep done, sparring sessions wrapped up, and the post-meeting teasing finally done.

You’d snuck off for a hot shower, hoping to wash away the lingering flush in your cheeks from earlier. The Avengers had been relentless, and even though Bucky hadn’t said anything else since the conference room, his words still echoed in your head.

I noticed.

You exhaled under the spray and tried not to think about it too hard.

Meanwhile, in the common room, the chaos was still quietly unfolding.

Tony strolled in with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, children, it’s that magical time – takeout vote. We've got Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and that weird little vegan place Bruce likes.”

“I swear to God, if you put seaweed bowls on the menu again–” Sam started.

“Focus,” Tony cut him off, tapping the screen. “We’ll tally up votes. Bucky, where’s your girl?”

Bucky, sprawled comfortably on the couch with one leg slung over the side, didn’t even flinch at the phrasing. “Showering.”

“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Didn’t even blink at that.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And you’re voting for her too, I assume?”

Bucky nodded, nonchalant. “Two for Indian.”

Steve looked up from his book. “Did she say that?”

“Nope.”

Sam smirked immediately. “So we’re guessing now?”

“I’m not guessing,” Bucky replied evenly. “She’s not in a pizza mood today.”

Tony looked at him like he was a contestant on a game show. “So you're locking in Indian for the both of you. No communication. No signals. No magic powers?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yep.”

“I’m starting a betting pool,” Sam announced, pulling out his phone.

“I want in,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“She loves pizza,” Steve reminded. “Are we sure about this?”

“She does love pizza,” Bucky agreed, arms folded behind his head. “But not tonight.”

Sam grinned wide. “Alright, let’s take some bets. Five says she picks pizza. Anyone else?”

Money and pride were quickly thrown around – half the team convinced Bucky’s luck had to run out eventually, the other half wary because…well. It was Bucky. And somehow he just knew things about you.

Five minutes later, you wandered into the common room in fresh clothes, hair damp and rubbing moisturizer into your face with zero awareness of the quiet, expectant tension in the air.

“Hey,” you said casually, “what’s going on?”

Tony cleared his throat, playing it cool. “Just figuring out dinner. Got a few options – Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and Bruce’s vegan sadness bowls. What sounds good?”

You made a face, thinking. “Hmm, not really in the mood for pizza today. Indian.”

The room exploded.

“NO WAY,” Nat yelled.

“Unbelievable,” Steve said.

Sam stood and threw his arms in the air. “THIS IS RIGGED.”

Tony shouted over the chaos, “I CALL WITCHCRAFT.”

You froze, blinking at everyone, confused.

“Did I miss something?” you asked slowly.

Bucky just sat there calmly, like he hadn’t just won the mind-reader Olympics. “Told them you’d want Indian.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you spy on me in the shower or something?”

“Nope,” he said, looking smug. “Just know you.”

The team descended into chaos again – some demanding their money back, others insisting on a rematch next week.

You just grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s chest.

He caught it, laughed, and tossed it back. “I’m undefeated.”

--

The food arrived about twenty minutes later, the smell of warm spices and garlic naan instantly filling the common area. Tony called out a triumphant “Dinner’s here!” like he’d made it himself, and everyone swarmed the table to claim their orders.

You padded over a little slower, then Bucky turned from the table and held up a hand.

“I got your plate,” he said casually, already balancing two in his hands.

You paused. “Wait, I didn’t even tell you–”

“I know.” He handed it over without fanfare.

You looked down.

Your favorite combo – chicken tikka masala, a scoop of basmati rice (but not too much), a piece of garlic naan torn in half, some cucumber raita on the side, and a few spoonfuls of that tangy chickpea salad you always liked when you weren’t in the mood for something too heavy.

You stared at the plate like it had been conjured by sorcery.

He turned and headed for the couch like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just read your mind again. And behind you, the rest of the team was once more staring – some with mouths open, others quietly shaking their heads.

Sam muttered, “Alright, I’m starting to believe he’s just a very hot, brooding psychic.”

Natasha leaned toward Tony. “We should run a brain scan.”

Tony looked vaguely offended. “Trust me, I already tried. He’s just…annoying.”

You followed Bucky to the couch and sat beside him, setting your plate on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions.

“You keep doing that,” you said after a second, still looking at your dinner.

“Doing what?” he replied, tearing off a piece of naan without looking at you.

“Knowing what I want. Before I even know what I want.”

That made him glance over. His voice was quiet now, just between the two of you. “Is it weird?”

You thought about it. “It’s…not. I mean, it should be. But it’s not. It’s actually kinda–”

Your voice caught, the word sitting there, unsaid.

Comforting.

Bucky nodded like he already knew.

Then, like he wanted to shift the moment before it got too close to something you couldn’t take back, he leaned in a little with a smirk. “Don’t act too impressed. I just paid attention. And you’re kinda predictable.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He bumped his knee gently against yours. “Still right, though.”

The rest of dinner passed in a cozy haze – soft laughter, shared food, everyone gradually settling into their usual spots. But the way Bucky’s knee stayed resting against yours, neither of you moving – it felt like something new.

--

A while later, plates were cleaned, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, and stomachs full enough that no one was in the mood to move much – perfect conditions for the sacred Avengers tradition: movie night.

“Alright,” Tony called out from where he was already draped dramatically over the recliner. “What are our options tonight?”

Okay, we got The Godfather, Jaws, Tangled, Mission Impossible, 21 Jump Street, and John Wick,” Sam read off the screen.

You stood, stretching. “I’ll be right back. Don’t vote without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said, even though everyone absolutely would.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Tony sat up like a meerkat. “Alright. Let’s go. What’s your pick, Barnes?”

“John Wick,” Bucky said, without even looking up from where he was idly spinning the empty naan container on the table.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Nat whipped her head around. “You’re not choosing Tangled?”

“Nope.”

“She just said the other day that she wanted to watch it,” Nat reminded him, pointing dramatically. “Like, word for word, ‘I wanna rewatch Tangled soon.’ You’re telling me you’re going against that?”

Bucky just shrugged, totally unbothered. “I know what she wants tonight.”

Tony looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “This is the beginning of the fall of House Barnes. The man’s gotten cocky.”

“I give him one more round,” Sam muttered, already pulling out his wallet. “Five bucks says she picks Tangled.”

“Ten says 21 Jump Street,” Clint called from the kitchen. “I say she’s in a comedy mood.”

“I’m going full chaos,” Nat added, grinning. “Twenty on Jaws.”

Steve, ever neutral, just raised his eyebrows. “You really think she wants an action movie right now?”

Bucky finally looked up. “She’s tired. Mentally wiped. Tangled is comfort, yeah, but she wants to zone out, not cry over animated lanterns.”

Tony blinked. “You’re playing 4D chess.”

“She’s playing checkers,” Bucky replied calmly. “I just know the board.”

The room was a barely contained mess of betting and bickering by the time you reappeared.

You sat back down, cozying up with the blanket you’d left on the couch. “We vote yet?”

“We were just about to,” Steve said, way too quickly.

They went around the room, collecting votes with forced casualness.

Then, all eyes turned to you.

You paused, lips pursed in thought. “Hmm…”

The silence was deafening.

You tapped your chin. “Not really in the mood for Disney right now, actually…”

Someone gasped.

“…Let’s do John Wick.”

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!”

“No way – NO WAY–”

“Check her room for bugs!”

“ARE YOU TWO SECRETLY DATING?!”

Tony was pacing, Sam collapsed dramatically onto the rug, and Nat looked like she was genuinely questioning reality.

Meanwhile, Bucky just leaned back, arms crossed, as calm as ever.

You blinked at the chaos. “Did I…do something?”

“Oh, you did something,” Sam groaned, flopping backward.

“You broke them,” Bucky muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice full of quiet amusement.

You looked over at him, fighting back a smile. “You knew I’d pick it.”

He met your gaze, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Course I did.”

And somehow, in the middle of popcorn-throwing accusations and Tony trying to demand a federal investigation, your heart started beating just a little faster.

--

The next morning started like any other: coffee, early training, then hitting the showers.

You stretched your arms behind your head, grimacing. “I’m starving. I want eggs. Like, five eggs.”

“Go shower, Egg Queen,” Sam called. “We’ll save you a spot.”

You flipped him off over your shoulder, already headed toward your room.

Once you disappeared around the corner, the rest of the group started trickling toward the kitchen. Bucky walked in with Steve, Nat, and Sam, still towel-drying his hair, when the teasing immediately resumed.

“So,” Nat said, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you gonna make her eggs now, Barnes? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Whole omelet situation?”

Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Would. But she’s not gonna want eggs anymore.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “She literally said the word ‘eggs’ like two minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Sam added. “Plural. With intention.”

“She’s gonna change her mind,” Bucky said calmly, reaching for the pancake mix.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You’re kidding,” Clint said, appearing behind them and already suspicious.

“Nope.”

Nat crossed her arms. “Alright. What is she gonna want?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Bucky said, pulling ingredients from the cabinet. “Light layer of peanut butter on top. Not spread thick. Just enough.”

“And syrup?” Steve asked, deadpan.

“Just a little. Thin drizzle over the top, not drowning.”

“Drink?” Sam challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Chocolate milk.”

At that, no one said anything for a second. They just stared. Nat was already pulling out her phone.

“I’m documenting this. If you’re wrong, I’m sending the video to every group chat we have.”

“Do it,” Bucky said, already whisking batter like a man with zero fear of failure.

Ten minutes passed. Pancakes were golden, peanut butter spread lightly, and the chocolate milk was already poured in your favorite mug.

And then, you walked in, hair damp and pulled back, hoodie sleeves half covering your hands. You opened the fridge, still blinking from the heat of the shower.

“Hey,” Bucky said without turning around. “Want me to make your eggs?”

You stared into the fridge for a beat. “Mm…no, actually. I think I want pancakes.”

The room went dead silent.

You didn’t notice. “Do we have chocolate chips?”

Still silence.

“Oh, and chocolate milk,” you added, pulling the fridge door closed. “You know, that sounds really good actually.”

You turned.

The plate was already sitting on the counter.

Your chocolate milk was already in your mug.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you–”

“Yeah.” Bucky slid the plate toward you with a casual smile. “Figured you’d want pancakes.”

You looked down at it, then back up. “Okay, that’s…insane.”

“I’m used to you changing your mind,” he said with a little shrug. “I listen.”

And then, the room exploded.

“NOPE – NOPE, I’M OUT!” Sam stormed out of the kitchen.

Nat was filming again. “I hate how calm he is. Like he didn’t just perform witchcraft again.”

“I’m convinced,” Clint muttered. “They’re telepathically bonded.”

Steve just looked vaguely disturbed. “I don’t even know my own favorite pancake setup that well.”

You blinked at Bucky again, who was completely unfazed, like this wasn’t the millionth time in twenty-four hours he’d rearranged reality by knowing you a little too well.

You took a bite of the pancake, still warm and soft and perfect.

“…Okay,” you mumbled with your mouth full. “This is actually kinda amazing.”

He leaned against the counter, smug as ever. “Told you.”

--

The others slowly trickled out of the kitchen after breakfast, muttering in stunned tones, still trying to recover. Nat was rewatching her own footage like it was evidence in a conspiracy theory. Tony was threatening to install surveillance.

But eventually, it was just you and Bucky, the clink of your fork on the plate and the hum of the fridge the only sounds left behind.

You took another bite, slower this time. It was still warm.

You glanced at him, leaning back on the counter across from you, arms crossed, looking completely at ease – like this wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world, like he hadn’t just predicted your entire breakfast down to the drizzle of syrup.

“…How do you do that?” you asked, finally, voice soft in the quiet.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You gave him a look, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Bucky.”

He smirked a little, then pushed off the counter and walked over to you, grabbing a clean mug and pouring himself some coffee. He didn’t answer right away.

“I just pay attention,” he said eventually, voice quieter now. “That’s all.”

You swallowed the last bite and leaned forward on your elbows. “Yeah, but…it’s more than that. You don’t just notice, like, big stuff. You know all these little things about me. Things most people don’t even think to remember.”

He looked over at you, gaze steady but warm. “Well, most people don’t really look at you the way I do.”

You blinked.

“Not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a hint of a smile breaking through. “Just…I notice things.”

He sat across from you, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug. “You start craving chocolate when you're stressed. You say you want eggs, but if you’ve just showered, you usually go for something sweet instead. You hum when you’re thinking. And when you’re overwhelmed, you get really quiet – not annoyed, just kind of…floaty. Like your brain’s stuck buffering.”

Your breath caught a little, something fluttering deep in your chest.

“And you always drink chocolate milk when you feel safe,” he added, softer this time. “Not just when you’re hungry.”

You looked down at your mug. You hadn’t even realized that.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it felt heavier – comfortable, but with something unspoken stretched between you.

“…Why?” you asked, finally.

He looked up.

You met his eyes. “Why do you notice all that?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Because you make it easy to care.”

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

He took a breath, eyes flicking down to the table, then back up.

“I’ve had to watch my back for a long time. I notice things – it’s how I survive. But you…” He gave a quiet laugh, like it surprised even him. “You’re the first person who made me want to notice the good stuff. The small stuff. Just so I could take care of it.”

That flutter in your chest turned into a full-blown ache.

You stared at him, unsure what to say, heart pounding.

But before either of you could say another word, Sam’s voice yelled from the other room:

“Hey, Barnes! If you’re done being a walking love song, can you bring the remote?!”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Every time.”

You were still looking at him, a soft smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “You’re kind of a sap.”

He grinned at that, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark. “Only for you.”

And then he got up, grabbed the remote, and tossed a wink over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Leaving you alone in the kitchen.

With your perfect pancakes.

And a heart that wouldn’t stop racing.

--

Masterlist

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd

---

bucky. on. his. knees.

i need y'all to sit and think about that with me for a quick second okay. This man, in FULL tactical mission gear (weapons still strapped to his thighs and slung across his back), kneeling before you with his head buried between your thighs in the middle of the quinjet, his patience had been growing thin for days as the training mission wore on and on and on, his need for you however had only built and built until his blood simmered with unchecked heat, his skin slick with sweat as desire boiled over in a mess of huffed breaths and muffled moans as he came to the thought of you over and over again. Its not as if you hadn't noticed his lingering touches, the longing glances, his not so subtle hints at just how much he was going to ruin you as soon as you went home but days four and five and six begin to roll around, the tether holding Bucky's sanity snapped.

"Up. Now." Bucky's gruff voice commands as you feel his fingers tap the outside of your clothed thigh.

You lift your head, gaze still locked on the red dots of your team mates in the screen before you, and question him with a soft hum. Steve’s dot blinked as he crossed paths with Nat, her accurate aim lighting up his tactical vest with a hit.

“Come on. Get Up” he instructs again, a little firmer this time, fingers digging into your thigh.

“What- Buck, what is it?” You finally glance at your partner who is looking suspiciously flustered. “You okay?”

“Just get up and take your pants off.”

“James-“ you begin to chastise him but are cut off as your chair spins around, Bucky kneeling before you as his hands begin to work open the buttons at your waist.

“Please sweetheart, i’m going crazy. Just lemme eat-.”

“Bucky, there are cameras.” despite your protests you are lifting your hips to allow Bucky to slip your trousers down your thighs.

“I’ll wipe the data.” his reply is gruff as he pulls you to the edge of the seat, your thighs slung over his shoulders as his hot breath fans over you. “i’ll be quick, please.” he doesn’t finish his sentence before diving in, his tongue flat against your aching pussy.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about Bucky and the thousand and one ways you wanted to fuck him once getting home but there hasn’t been a moment alone to take care of yourself and so your tension built and built until a single look had you gushing and aching.

“You’re sitting on my face when we get home.” Bucky mumbles, words muffled as he licks and sucks. “Need you to suffocate me.”

---

Boom Clap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1,063

Summary: Before tonight you wouldn't have been able to label your relationship with Bucky but after he gets home earlier than expected from a mission and shows up at the bar everything changes.

Author's Note: Just because, I love him and this look ends me every time and it's lightly based on this song Boom Clap by Charli XCX. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you 🥰

Warnings: it's just Bucky being irresistible and soft too

“Well, something clearly more interesting than this conversation is going on in your mind. Would you like to share it with the rest of us?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stare at you, twin knowing smiles gracing your friend’s lips and you frantically try to recall what the three of you had been discussing.

“There’s only one thing that can be giving her that look,” Nat laughs. “A man.”

“And not just any,” Wanda adds.

“Bucky,” both women say simultaneously and with devious grins.

You sip your drink to hide your smile.

“You must miss him since he’s been away on the mission all week,” Wanda muses.

You don’t say it but you do miss him. A lot.

“So what exactly is going on with you two?” Nat asks

With a nonchalant shrug you sip your drink again and try to figure out how to label your relationship with Bucky. Your friends wait, expressions expectant but playful.

If you had a definitive answer you would share it but ever since the two of you started hanging out neither of you had given it a label. You were just enjoying each other. In every way. You were happy being with him, that much of which you were sure.

“Umm…” you start.

That’s the only word you get out before you see Wanda and Nat’s drinks pause halfway to their mouths. Their eyes are trained on something just beyond your shoulder, toward the entrance of the bar.

Several other women at the bar pause their own conversation and you sense the shift in energy.

He’s here.

You place your drink down on the bar and turn. Bucky stands just inside the doorway, his black jacket draped over his broad shoulders and his covetous blue eyes focused on you.

Awareness races across your skin coupled with a heat only he can set ablaze. Your pulse quickens and you fight the urge to run into his arms.

He wears all black, from his tight fitted shirt down to his leather boots and his strong jaw is shadowed with dark hair. When he walks toward you at the bar, he moves with such sensual purpose that you notice another woman swooning.

He looks hungry and determined.

And he’s here for you.

You reach out and grab your drink, downing it in one long sip.

Without removing his gaze from yours, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, turning it over and kissing the inside of your wrist, then your palm, then finally, your fingertips.

This time, you hear the breath woosh from Nat and Wanda but Bucky shows no reaction, appearing oblivious to anything else but you.

“Guess he’s back,” Nat whispers to Wanda. You barely catch the words as Bucky consumes your every thought.

“I missed you doll,” he whispers against your wrist.

“I missed you too,” you reply breathlessly.

He lowers your hand from his mouth and keeps hold of it between your bodies. With a soft tug he brings you closer, leaning into your neck and whispering along the shell of your ear.

“Come home with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you murmur.

“Yes, I do doll. I would never take you for granted.”

Your free hand slides up his chest to his jaw, tracing the outline before you softly press your lips to his. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathes you in.

“I’m just going to use the restroom and say goodbye to Nat and Wanda. Meet you back here in five.”

“Hurry,” he murmurs, letting his eyes sparkle with words of unspoken want.

You rush off toward the bathroom, Nat and Wanda right behind you and after relieving yourself and filling your friends in you search for Bucky’s tall figure.

You find him standing at the bar, taking to someone. As you get closer, you see that the woman is standing close enough to brush against him. Unable to see Bucky’s face, you watch as she runs a hand along his arm with a gentle squeeze of his bicep, smiling at him flirtatiously.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel your eyes well with unshed tears but you can’t stop your forward movement. Bucky’s face comes into view. His eyes aren’t on the woman but furiously scanning the room. He looks uncomfortable, backing away from her and saying something you can’t hear.

You consider turning and running out but that wouldn’t be fair. You and Bucky have no official label, have never agreed to be exclusive. You can’t even blame the other woman for approaching him. He’s impossible to resist. You should know.

But then his eyes meet yours and you see all the emotions rushing through them, but mostly you see relief.

Taking a deep breath, you continue to walk forward. Bucky holds his arm out, his eyes begging you to walk into his embrace.

You slide into his side in time to hear him say, “here she is. This is my…”

“Girlfriend,” you finish, smiling and extending your hand with your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Wow, lucky girl,” the woman says as she shakes your hand. “You deserve an award for landing a man like this.”

“I don’t need an award. I’ve got him,” you say as you reach down and take his left hand in yours.

Your eyes meet Bucky’s. “Ready to take me home Buck?”

“Always doll.”

Your hand stays tightly tucked in Bucky’s as you walk down the street toward his apartment. You turn toward him, the warm breeze caressing your skin and the city lights dancing in your eyes. His breath catches in his throat as your lips spread into a wide and reassuring smile.

He stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk and pulls you flush against his chest, his eyes wandering over your face.

“Are you really mine?” he asks as he dips his head. “You’re really my girl?”

“Yours Bucky. I have been from the beginning.”

His fingers spread across your lower back and he slowly drags his hand along the curve of your spine, every inch he covers pressing you closer against him until he reaches your neck and traces the delicate column before cradling your cheek.

He sweeps his thumb along your skin and holds your lips just centimeters from his, whispering, “mine,” as his eyes close and his mouth captures yours.

@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50

---

Foundations Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky). Smut.

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Status: Ended.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

---

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

---

i was cleaning out my keep notes and came across an idea from months ago, then just word vomited this out 😌 so here you go!

Hawkins High School is a churning cesspool of popularity contests, forced conformity, and purity culture, but being with Eddie Munson makes you forget all that. Or maybe being with him just makes you not care, like his cavalier, snarling-mutt defiance is contagious. Who gives a fuck what the reason is, really, when he makes you feel like this - stomach swooping like you're on a thrill ride, swept away by the frisson buzzing in your hot blood as he presses you up against your locker. Hot bodies against cold metal, pinned together by the hips. Tangled up in your own shared world - your fists in his battle vest, his hands smooshing up your hair as he angles you up, devouring your lips like you two aren't an active obstacle keeping the rest of the student body from flowing through this hallway. Plaque in the main artery of the school building, the pair of you are, almost certain to cause a heart attack since you've chosen now - the busiest time of the school day - to make out like you're trying to burrow down and live inside the other. 

And you love this about him. Even before you were together, you loved how Eddie would never censor himself in public - never lower his voice when he talked about shit that pissed people off, never stifle a cackle or turn down his music when they called him satanic, never rub off his nail polish even when they hissed slurs at his back. Made himself the target to take the heat off his freak friends even when it cost him; took whatever was doled out with a cut brow and a manic, flashing grin every time. It always made your heart swell. And now that he's yours, you love it even more, because it means you get the same treatment as everything else in Eddie's life that he loves. 

He doesn't hold anything back.

It means he doesn't care if anyone sees how much he cares for you, how much he wants you, how you bring out the softness that lives inside him, give it air to breathe out in the surface sunshine. It also means that he's gotta have his hands on you all the goddamn time, and if he wants to feel your soft body pressed all up on him, wants to suck on your tongue between French and Biology right where everyone can see him devouring you, well. He's gonna do it. 

And no one's ever made you feel as wanted as Eddie does. Like no amount of you could ever be too much, even when you're being weird or ugly or rotten sometimes. Eddie doesn't mind weird, or ugly, or rotten. He's a freak, after all. It doesn't phase him, 'cause he also feels weird and ugly and rotten sometimes, and that hasn't pushed you away, now, has it?

So even though you know you just bombed that stupid quiz on verb conjugations last period, you couldn't care less at the moment because Eddie's warm and heavy against you and his nose is whistling with those quick, heavy breaths as he meticulously sucks on your upper lip, working it until it's deliciously swollen and throbbing. The pull is intense, shooting little sparks down to the pit of your belly every time he tugs a little harder, suctions a little meaner, just so you'll sigh with relief when he lets your lip pop free. A devious plan of his own design, orchestrated just so he can capitalize on the opportunity to drag the broad flat of his tongue into your open mouth. 

"Mm." He hums into you, nearly a purr as your buzzing lips eagerly split wider for him. Your tongue draws his taste from his mouth into yours, feeding on spearmint and nicotine as your fingers twist in the broken curls at the nape of his neck. You echo back his satisfaction, your little moans buzzing from your ribcage into his as you both luxuriate in the rhythm of your kisses, the ebb and flow of feeling, the give and take and all that it awards you. 

Beyond the sound of his breaths, dimmed by the rabbit-fast thrumming of your own heart in your ears, the cesspool swirls, churning out its giggles and whispers, its furtive glances and pointed looks shared by passersby as they skirt around the void that you and Eddie create. You allow it to exist without paying it any attention until it forces itself between you, manifesting in the form of a green letterman jacket and a steep blonde side part lacquered church-smart with pomade. 

"Hey, freaks." The hiss is so close you feel its warm puff against your cheek through the spread of Eddie's fingers. You recoil before you can suppress the instinct, your mouth jerking from Eddie's as you sway away from the intrusion. 

Jason Carver straightens up when he succeeds in making you flinch, smug superiority in his blue eyes when you glare at him. "Save it for the trailer park," he sneers. "None of us came to school today asking to see this disgusting display."

Nevermind that Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler necked in the hall for weeks last year without anyone batting an eye. Your burning insides rear up at the insult, but Eddie wraps his forearm even tighter around your lower back - pulling you in, holding you even closer as he turns his head toward Jason. "Aw, Jasie-poo," he coos, brows puckered in a mockery of sympathy. "Don't be jealous, baby. If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask."

You watch as Eddie melts into a seductive performance, batting his lashes and pursing his lips, pink and pouty and spit-slick from your shared saliva. He leans in toward the shorter boy, smacking his lips with a series of exaggerated kissy noises. 

Jason's face jumps with alarm, disgust and embarrassment warring in his features. He sputters, grasping for a retort until he finally spits out a "Fuck you, Munson."

Instantly, Eddie's face lights up, his brown eyes wide and his grin full and manic. Jason's expression falls further as Eddie lets his tongue fall out, wagging it at him, delighted that it took so little effort to get Jason to lose himself and curse. 

Red-faced, bested, Jason retreats. And when Eddie curls his tongue back behind his teeth - sharp, victorious, subversively powerful - you feel a surge of intense attraction towards him.

What can you say? His antics really turn you on.

Eddie stares down the hallway at the back of the retreating jock he scared off, oblivious to how your pussy has taken you over, turned you rabid for him. As soon as his chin nudges back in your direction, you snatch him up, surging up to your toes to kiss the breath from him. He stumbles, making a little whimpery noise of surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck, a beat late in clutching you back, trying to keep up with the deep, thorough pace of your lips. 

Once you can bear it, you pull away briefly, your eyes flicking up to his, taking in his blown pupils and slightly dazed expression. "That was hot," you murmur against his lips, and he smirks crookedly for only a fraction of a second before you dive back in. 

It was heated between you before you were interrupted, but now, the intensity has transformed, taken on an edge of urgency and need beyond what it should considering you're in public - freaks or not. Your chest heaves as Eddie presses closer, squishing you hard against the locker, one palm dragging heavy and damp down the side of your neck to land against your collarbone. You suck on his lower lip, coaxing out little noises you can feel more than hear as they vibrate in your chests, your libido raging as his thumb flexes over the neckline of your shirt, clearly yearning to edge beneath it. 

It's when you nibble him - bare your teeth and sink them into his lower lip, a light, stinging pressure that promises more - that Eddie breaks away from you, rearing his head back with a heavy exhale. His adam's apple bobs with a thick swallow, and though his tone is light, he sounds slightly hoarse when he exclaims, "Okay, okay. Don't wanna pop a boner in the hallway." 

You giggle, slowly walking two fingers up his chest - over denim and pins, pausing at the hand-sewn patch over his heart. Low, husky, you murmur, "You sure?" 

A chuckle bursts from him, breathless and bordering on hysterical as he looks down at you - dark eyes like liquid, melted for you. "You're a goddamn vixen--"

"Munson!" The heft of the snapping voice promises more than just social trouble, and Eddie jumps with you this time. Synchronized, you both whip around to see Mrs. O'Donnell glowering at you from behind wire-rim glasses. "Get out of my sight this instant before--"

He doesn't give her a chance to finish. Snatching up your hand, Eddie spins on his heel, booking it in the opposite direction, hobbling slightly as his other hand hovers over the front of his dark jeans to protect his modesty.

Don't ever let it be said that Eddie Munson never knows when to pick his battles.

---

wallpaper

summary: bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 1000

warnings: fluff, nonspecific friends to lovers, this was just a dumb idea i had

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

The first time Bucky changed the wallpaper on your phone, it was an accident - kind of. He sat on your couch, lazily scrolling through the photos of Alpine you insisted he looked at, because you simply couldn’t resist having a Halloween photoshoot with her while he was off on yet another mission, leaving her in your trusting hands. He was happy you were in the kitchen, because he would never let you see the smile he wore as he browsed the album, chuckling silently to himself over how elaborate these photos were. His mood swiftly changed when he swiped incorrectly, an array of different options suddenly presenting themselves to him. He swore under his breath as he tried to make them go away, but he only made it worse as the option to change your wallpaper came up. With an annoyed huff, he just kept tapping, figuring that eventually he would get it back to how it was. After a few more grueling seconds, he sighed in relief as he was once more face to face with Alpine sitting inside a jack-o-lantern candy bucket - how was he supposed to know that photo was now both your lockscreen and homescreen?

“Did you change my lockscreen?” you curiously asked when you finally sat back down beside him, taking your phone and checking it for any new messages.

“Did I what?” he asked in confusion, his head snapping up from his own phone to look at you with a scrunched brow. 

You could only laugh lightly, turning your phone to display the new photo brandishing your screen. The second Bucky saw it, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as his face flushed ever so slightly. 

“I, uh- sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, your phone is just - it’s different than mine.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly, your chuckles growing into more laughter as you realized it was also your homescreen. “It’s okay, Buck,” you assured softly, laughing quietly as you changed the photos back to their precursors. “It could have been worse, at least it’s not an embarrassing photo or something.” 

You were too busy fixing his mistake to notice the glint that sparkled in his eyes, a smirk growing on his face as your words gave him the most incredible idea he’s had in a while. 

The second time Bucky changed your wallpaper, it was very much not an accident. You left him your phone so he could look at the photos you took on your latest trip, unpacking your bags as he split his attention between listening to your stories and scrolling through a seemingly endless array of new pictures - which he truthfully enjoyed, but he was on a secret mission for the perfect, nondescript one to choose. 

“Again, Buck?” you giggled, flopping on the bed beside him as you took your phone back. 

“What?” he asked, just innocent and clueless enough to not raise any flags. 

“You and your fat thumbs, I swear,” you mumbled under your breath, changing the photos back once more, completely oblivious to his proud little smirk.

It took three more times for you to suspect that Bucky had started doing it on purpose, but your suspicions weren’t proven correct until he took a photo of you to display.

“Did you- when- really?” you stammered as you looked between him and your phone, half annoyed and half impressed because when did he even take this photo? 

He only grinned in response, laughing about how long he was able to do it under the pretense of it being an accident before running away in a fit of giggles, dodging the pillow you threw after him.

From that moment on, it became a game for him. 

Any opportunity that presented itself, Bucky snatched your phone and changed your displays to the most embarrassing and ridiculous photos of yourself.

A sunset was changed to you mid-sneeze. Alpine was changed to you post-nap. You partying with the gang was changed to an extreme close up of your face in that very photo. Louisiana docks were changed to you mid rant as you yelled at him to give you your phone back. A cherry blossom was changed to you passed out on the couch, wrapped up in a hoodie you stole from him and drooling all over the sleeve of it. 

As time went on, you stopped being surprised whenever it happened, and you grew to enjoy it. It was a silly thing, but it was a silly thing that only you and Bucky shared. It was a special thing, a cherished thing. It was your favourite thing.

Neither of you realized how the dynamic between the two of you started morphing into something else right in front of your very eyes. It was slow. It was gradual and complex and delicate and went unnoticed for almost a whole year. 

It was only noticed now, as Bucky took the opportunity to grab your phone as you slept soundly against his chest. It had been a while since he was able to get a chance to do this, and so he eagerly unlocked your phone, already running through different ideas of what picture to use. 

He was caught off guard when the picture staring back at him was from a few weeks ago. It was the day you finally convinced him to let you drive his bike after months of endless asking. It was a photo neither of you knew Sam took until later that night, when he sent it to both of you. 

It was you, sat in front of him on the bike and wrapped up in his arms, one securely planted on either side of you as his hands rested on yours, guiding you through everything as you both gleefully laughed at the fact that you actually managed to convince him to do this. 

For once, Bucky didn’t have the heart to change it. 

He couldn’t. 

It was his wallpaper, too. 

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𝗘𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗡𝗦𝗢𝗡

june baby [multi-chapter, 80k] if it barks [multi-chapter, 41k] is it getting too much? [2k] a thread of time [16k] our ghost [22k] project kiss me stupid [5k] a new campaign [3k] too much [3k] was that so hard? [3k] a quest for bed [3k] it's a date [4k] love bites [20k] long island iced tea [3k] dark matter [4k] something extra [9k] bruise of the year [3k] sick body, sick smile [5k] sick sounds [5k] something sweeter [2k]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ untitled fics

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