#and steve just BLAMED HIMSELF....

[florallylly]

me holding eddie munson by the neck and squeezing. his eyes pop out like

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

There’s a bloody and battered Steve Harrington on Phil Callahan’s couch. 

There’s also a somewhat shellshocked (but otherwise perfectly fine, thank God) Eddie Munson passed out on the other side of it, having refused to leave after dragging Harrington to Phil’s front door. 

Hopper and Powell both are unable to be raised via radio, dispatch is being cagey and keeps insisting they know nothing (but also cannot send an ambulance his way due to ‘unusually high call volumes’, what the fuck) and being that it’s now 3 am, Flo has long left the station.

Which leaves Phil as the last adult standing, slumped in a chair and quietly wondering if this is how the apocalypse starts. 

(Given the ER has apparently been overtaken by some sort of government task force to deal with a “gas leak and related poisonings” --suspicious quotation marks very much implied-- it kind of feels like it might be. 

“There are men in containment suites here. The big bulky white ones you only see in movies.” 

The nurse he begged through back channels to talk to had hissed on the phone, voice low and frantic. 

“There’s talk they’re going to quarantine the hospital. Do not bring that kid here. If you think he’s worse tomorrow, drive him to St. Peters in the morning, but otherwise just keep an eye on him.” 

St. Peters, the next closest hospital, is a full hour and a half drive away--and that’s if Phil takes his cruiser and keeps the lights and sirens on.) 

Callhan alternates between watching the clock and the rise and fall of Harrington’s chest as he breathes. Contemplates when his small town, boring life started going completely sideways. 

The nurse had assured him Steve probably just had a concussion and a few fractured ribs. The head wound had already closed by the time Phil checked it and it likely won’t need stitches unless it reopens. 

They are living out the best case scenario here. Steve’s (probably) going to be fine. He just needs to take things easy for a while, which Phil himself will be insisting he do, since that kid will not be going home to an empty house.

Not when he knows Steve's parents are gone and as helpful as Munson’s been, Phil can't ask him to watch Harrington.

For all the chains, swagger, and dumb habit of stealing Phil’s cowboy hat, Eddie Munson’s still a kid himself. 

Nevermind that Phil’s pretty sure the two aren’t even friends, let alone friendly. 

Sure Munson’s been spotted at a couple of Harrington’s parties, and yes there’s definitely rumors the brat's started dealing, but unlike most of Steve’s crew, Munson knows to bolt long before the cops show up. 

Definitely isn’t the type to play sports, in the same way Steve isn’t the type to stage large scale lawn-flamingo heists. They just don’t cross paths much. 

Plus it’s just downright irresponsible to even think of asking Munson and okay, maybe as a cop Phil himself has a responsibility to the city of Hawkins, but the city isn’t currently bleeding all over his couch. 

Add on the little fact that Steve had repeatedly said that he didn't want to be left alone…

(That he hadn’t realized how bad off he was until he was already behind the wheel of his car, chasing down a half-remembered promise of help Callahan had once offered. 

Phil would bet his last dollar that was why Munson hadn’t left yet. 

That he’d watched the way Steve had clung, first to Munson and then to Phil,  wrecked and shaking, his voice splintering as he pleaded, “Please stay, I don’t wanna die alone, I--sorry, please--”

Phil had been in a full-blown panic trying to reassure the kid he wasn’t about to keel over and he was a cop, for fuck’s sake!

Munson, who had once famously melted down in middle school over animal control’s attempts to put down an injured possum and tried to start a riot?

Even if he hadn’t needed the extra hands, Phil would’ve let the little brat linger, if only to head off the inevitable nightmares this whole screwed-up mess was bound to leave behind.) 

No ones going anywhere until Phil has answers or orders. 

The clock chimes in the background, a reminder of the late hour and he uses it to shove all thoughts of death and teenagers away. 

Attempts, once again, to walk through what he’ll do if the next call he gets is about an evacuation, or a curfew, or some other government issued order, and he still can’t get a hold of Hopper or Powell. 

If the hospital closes they’ll need to make a statement. Call some sort of town hall about what to do, where to go in case little Suzie or Bobby eats shit on their bike. 

Calm some people down in case the gas leak thing gains traction. Starts going around causing the same panic Benny’s death and Will Byers disappearance had. 

Wouldn’t be hard, given those two incidents happened last year.  

(Would the county send the stupid staties if Phil was the one to call in? Say he can’t get a hold of his own people? 

Would they care about the lowest guy on the force panicking, or would they think him a small town moron and ignore him until it was too late?

What if this really is the fucking apocolypse and Phil’s the only cop left around? 

‘Can I survive the end of the world with two teenagers in tow’ is not a thought exercise he’s ever entertained.

If he had, King Steve and Menace Munson would have been his last possible pick for the role, definitely not with one of them injured, and oh, dammit, he’s catastrophizing again--) 

Running on caffeine fumes and sheer panic, Phil’s thoughts loop relentlessly, the clock chiming again and again until the first light breaks through the windows and Steve finally stirs. 

Finds he must have fallen into some sort of half-asleep trance because he’s jerked to full awareness when Harrington moves to get up and ends up falling back down, loudly hissing and clutching his head. 

“Easy, easy.” Phil mutters, up in a shot, coming to hover over Harrington like the kid’s a nervous horse. “You’re with--uh, Officer Callahan? At my house.”

Then, like Steve might not know, adds;  “You’re pretty hurt, kid.” 

“Oh.” Steve says, squints up at him, holding his head in both hands. “Alright.”

That's a dramatic under-reaction, and Phil’s instantly worried about brain damage as Munson starts to come alive next to them. 

He crouches down next to Steve, hands hovering uncertainly. “You remember what happened?”

Steve stares at the floor, then at Phil. 

“Sort of?” 

“Waz’ goin’ on?” Munson says, blinking rapidly into awareness. 

“Go grab an ice pack for Steve,” Phil says distractedly, as he reaches out, telegraphing his movements. Begins gently combing through Steve’s hair to get a look at the cut. “Top shelf, left side of the freezer.”

He earns a foggy stare and a grunt that might’ve been “Sure”--or possibly, just a default teenager noise, before Munson tumbles upright, staggering off like a baby deer. 

Phil might’ve rolled his eyes and made a comment on teenage zombism, if Steve didn’t flinch every time his fingers so much as brushed against his skull. 

“Scale of one to ten, how bad’s the pain?” He asks, only just remembering to keep his voice down.

“It’s throbbing, man.” Steve replies, which isn’t as concerning as the fact he’s allowing Phil to manhandle his entire head without complaint, despite the pain. 

Thankfully, Phil’s prepared.

“Let’s fix that, then. Pick a hand, any hand.” He jokes lamely, as he fishes in the pocket of his pants, finally pulling out the little pill bottle he’d retrieved earlier. 

“Uh…” Steve stares at him uncomprehendingly until Phil holds out his palm and shakes the pill jar, two pills bouncing down. 

“Oh.” Steve says. “That hand then.” 

“This will make you a little loopy, but it’ll help with the pain.” Phil warns, handing them over. “I’ll get you a glass of water to take it with.” 

Not that he apparently needed to because Steve’s already popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry. 

“Hope that’s because of the pain and not because you’re used to doing that.” Phil chides sarcastically, rising to his feet. Water will do Steve good anyway, he could barely get any down the kid last night. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Steve tosses at his back, the first real sign of his usual attitude. 

Which means the kids’ definitely going to be okay, at least. 

Phil rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to show relief as he passes Munson, the older teen now looking far more awake despite his hair looking like a rat made its home there. 

“Munson?” Steve says, startling loudly when Eddie drops down next to him on the couch. “Shit I thought I hallucinated you.” 

“No such luck, your majesty. Here, ice pack,” The older teen still sounds like he gargled gravel.  “Put it on your head.” 

Phill grabs a water bottle for him too. 

He returns as Eddie manages to wedge the ice pack into Steve’s limp hands, holding two bottles of water himself; one for Harrington and one for Munson,  who sounds like he could probably use it too.

“Do that, drink this, then,” Phil says, trying not to push but needing answers as he hands out the water, “Start talking. What the hell happened?”

Harrington presses the ice to his temple, and meets Phil’s eyes.

“How much do you know?” 

And nope, no, fucking no, that is not how this is going to work today, thanks!

“Uh-uh, you answer first!” Phil snaps, arms crossing over his chest. “All we have established is that you showed up here looking like you went ten rounds with Michael Myers and then tried to drive afterwards.” 

He’s been balancing on the knife’s edge of panic all night, and now that Harrington’s finally stringing full sentences together, it’s starting to show. 

Phil needs something here, he’s beyond desperate.  

Even if it’s just normal dumb teenager bullshit. 

“No, like, how much has Hop told you?” Steve clarifies hesitantly. “About the--the stuff? With the lab?” 

Which just makes things worse, since all roads seem to circle back to them.

(He knew that lab made evil space lasers and shit!) 

“I'm sorry, who's asking questions here? From the top, Harrington.” He raises his hand in the air, just in case Steve needs visual representation as Phil’s anxiety grapples with him. “Pretend Hopper hasn’t told me anything. Right now, you can pretend he doesn’t even exist.” 

Harrington squirts at him disbelievingly under the ice pack. 

Mutters; “I forgot you get bitchy when you’re upset.” 

Which is rich, coming from a Harrington. Their entire family turned being bitchy into an inherited skill set!

“The hospital says there’s a gas leak happening.” Phil prods, tone tight despite himself. “Is it from the lab? The government?” 

Was this a weapon that got away from them? Did they have Hopper? Is that why he wasn’t answering his damn radio!?

Phil knew they were on a time limit here, with the meds, but he hadn’t exactly anticipated Harrington starting off by talking about the lab. Selfishly thinks he’d have held off for a second if he had known this was related to whatever the hell was happening in town. 

“You kept mentioning the junkyard and some kid named Dustin.” Munson interrupts, hanging his elbows on his knees and peering at Steve. “You said you were going to be pissed at him if you died because he was being stupid.” 

Phil resists the urge to shush him. 

Unfortunately Harrington grabs onto that and runs with it, launching into a rambling, half-baked story involving babysitting, Hargrove being one of the kid’s racist stepbrother (unsurprising, Phil’s met his jackass of a dad), fighting with loose dogs and helping Hopper in the tunnels. 

Every mention of tunnels and dogs is delivered with sharp little glances at Phil, like he’s supposed to be in on something here. 

Phil isn’t, which he does not like, given the overall feeling of impending doom. 

Fortunately for Harrington’s head, but tragically for Phil’s sanity, the meds kick in after just twenty minutes.

On an empty stomach, ill-advised as that is, they hit even faster.

Which means any good information Phil might’ve squeezed out gets steamrolled by Harrington’s slow-motion nosedive into delirious nonsense. 

The kid’s answers grow less filtered and more disjointed, stopping part way through one sentence to start another. Phil makes the mistake of asking about the lab again right as Steve drops the word mindflayer, and suddenly Munson is firing off questions like it's a pop quiz on some weird board game.

Wings his hands in the air and drops back down in his chair as he mentally writes off getting anything when it dissolves into an argument over what a ‘demogorgon’ looks like. And sure, maybe he shouldn’t have expected too much, but then, he’s running on zero sleep himself here. 

 He turns on the TV with a frustrated sigh and flips it to the news station, keeping the volume down as low as it’ll go. 

Half-heartedly tunes in just enough to catch Stacy Whitherspoon droning about the weather, while listening for anything that might signal their impending doom. 

“--I’m telling you man, I don’t care what the kids say, it doesn’t have claws--” 

“Were you fucking there? No you weren't, cause you woulda seen the claws coming through the wall--” 

Eddie keeps throwing side-glances towards Callahan, like he’s checking to see if Phil’s clocking all this, and Phil mostly ignores it, because it’s more fun to watch Munson think Steve’s serious about actually seeing a monster. 

(Considers it payback for all the lawn flamingos that the brat’s stuck cowboy hats and sheriff badges on, and then splashed dramatically with red paint.)  

Of course Steve can’t just stick to the monster shit, and apparently, takes a jump into ‘whoops I may have given him too many pills’ land when he abruptly stops talking to just stare at Munson. 

“Dude,”  he says, with a thunderstruck expression, “did you know you have like, really pretty hair?” 

“Thanks, your majesty.” Eddie snarks in return, but it's too soft to be a reprimand. 

“Can I touch it? I wanna touch it.” 

Yeah, the drugs have definitely kicked in.

“If you let Callahan put the ice pack back on your face you can. You keep taking it off.” 

“Nooooo.” Steve whines pitifully, “It’s cold!” 

“Jesus Harrington, you really hit your head.” Eddie chuckles, now looking outright panicked as he coughs and looks pointedly at Phil, doe eyes seemingly sending out both ‘Are you hearing all this?’ and ‘Hello!? SOS!’  

“I gave him some Percodan.” Phil finally admits. “He’s fine, he’s likely just a little loopy from it.” 

He does not mention the pills are his own, left over from a minor surgery and not something all cops just happen to have on hand. 

He also does not comment on the fact that Munson looks instantly relieved, like he knows what a Percodan is. 

“I’m only loopy because Hargove cheated.” Steve grumbles in complaint, one foot in the conversation and the other off in space. “He hit my head. With a plate. Which is cheating.” 

“With a plate?” Munson and Phil both blurt out, nearly in unison. 

“With a plate!” Steve repeats with a bitchy undertone. “He tried to attack Lucas!” 

Another disbelieving scoff, much like the King Steve persona Phil’s grown familiar with.

“Lucas is like,” Steve pauses and looks down, counting on his fingers. Pauses again, then looks back up at them. “Maybe ten?” 

It’s stupid to even ask, but Phil can’t help himself. Steve had never truly clarified anything in all his rambling, and the Hargrove part had mostly focused on Steve’s worry over the kids, and the fact that the guy apparently had some sort of hard-on for bullying Harrington. 

“Is that where all your injuries are from? The fight with Hargrove?”  

He kind of hopes Steve says yes, if only because that’s normal shitty behavior. 

Phil can deal with normal shitty. He knows exactly what to do with normal shitty!

(Government agents in hazmat suits taking over the hospital is crazy shitty and he has zero idea how to even approach that mess.) 

Steve raises a hand, wobbily tilts it side to side in a ‘sort of’ motion. 

“I mean half was Billy, half was the demo, the dem, the dogs.” He struggles, before making a comically upset face. “An’ the tunnel. Fuck those tunnels, man.” 

Then corrects himself by saying, “Language, asshole.” 

“Steve,” Eddie says, and Phil can tell he’s struggling not to laugh. “You’re the one that said it.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s face untwists, taking back on the overall confused air. “I shouldn’t do that. Hey,” 

He tries to sit up, lean forward. “Did you know you have really pretty hair?” 

This would all be way more entertaining if Phil didn’t still need actual answers out of Harrington. 

Lesson learned: next time Harrington needs meds, he’s getting a pill. As in one, as in singular. 

“You should let me--like,” Steve trails off for a moment, apparently fighting the drugs and his messed up head both. “Like..style? That’s not the right word…” 

“You can play with it later. You have melted ice on your face.”

Steve is horrified instantly. “I have mice on my face!?” 

“No.” Eddie's struggling not to grin, and it's so easy to tell it's a real one when Phil has seen every shade of fake on that brat’s face.  “Here, let me get it.” 

He bats Steve’s hands away when the other attempts to ineffectively wipe at his cheeks, pulling out one of the black hanky’s he’s been sporting since about fifth grade to help and Phil freezes, because this one is different. 

This one he recognizes, because it’s from a specific bar in Indiana. 

“Just remember when this is over that you're mad at Callahan, not me.” 

“Why would I be mad at you?” 

“King Jockstrap, accepting help from the Freak? You tell me why that'd go badly.” 

A specific, special bar. One he himself visited a couple times, first on a dare and next out of curiosity, before he met Tracy and got engaged/married/divorced. 

It’s the kind of place with blacked out windows and multiple exits. Where he had made damn sure no one in there knew he was even associated with the police, let alone training to become a cop. 

Steve sounds downright hurt. “I gave all that stuff up. I gave everything up.” 

“What, being King Jockstrap?”

“Bring King of anything.” 

Phil felt that intuition of his kick in again. The one that said things like a Darcelle XV’s handkerchief weren’t exactly something a teenager just casually found. 

Definitely not in a town like Hawkins. 

(Absolutely not a kid like Munson.) 

“I can’t do it and help the kids. Jonathan and Nancy are both--” Steve cuts himself off. Starts again. “They keep telling me it's just me and. I don't want them to feel like they're…”

“Alone?” Eddie finishes for him, voice soft. 

Steve hums. 

“Yeah.” 

Phil only went a handful of times and he doesn’t recall what all the colors for the hankey’s meant, but staring at it, he’s hit with the same feeling he gets when he helps Flo complete a puzzle, or when he has one of those moments where he helps someone, instead of making their day worse. 

It doesn’t take much to change an entire worldview, but processing it? 

All the interactions Phil’s ever had with Munson, the complaints, the rumors?

 It’s like watching an explosion in real time, everything falling into place so fast it almost hurts. 

“Hey. If you're uh, if you're actually not mad at me, after this? I wouldn't mind continuing to make sure you're not alone.” 

“What's that mean?” 

What that means is Eddie Munson is going down in flames in real time, directly in front of the straightest kid Phil's ever met. 

Well. Okay. He's seen the hairspray, maybe not straightest ever, but…

Phil takes one long breath as the situation recontextualizes itself, then follows his gut and barrels over whatever clearly ill-advised, teen-crush filled nonsense Munson looks ready to blurt out.

“I went to Darcelle’s a couple times, when I was in my early twenties.” 

Phil has to talk to the ceiling, because he really doesn’t want to see Munson’s face right now. 

Harrington’s either, but Harrington likely won’t remember shit later. 

“I wouldn’t be let in if I went back now, not unless I pretended I wasn’t an officer, but.” He swallows. Tries to think on how much he wants Munson to know, and what actually would be a reassurance, here. 

Realizes, in that weird, back of the head sort of way, that offering reassurance is what he’s trying to do. 

“It’s a cool place.”  He finishes awkwardly. 

Dead silence meets his words and after a moment Phil pulls his gaze back to Harrington. 

Who is half leaning into Munson’s hands like a cat, completely unaware of the conversation happening around him, while Eddie stares frozen at Phil in a sort of mute horror. 

Silence stretches uncomfortably between them, long enough that Phil’s gearing up to say something really stupid to get himself out of this, when Eddie whispers; 

“Would you go back?” 

And shit, he hadn’t known Munson knew what a whisper was, let alone how to get his own voice to do it. 

Phil thinks honestly on the question though. He started this, he’s the adult here and he knows damn well he’s being asked something else. 

“Yeah.” He says, and can’t even tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. Figures it doesn’t matter, so long as Munson understands what Phil’s actually saying back. “Yeah I think I might. After the uh, divorce finalizes.” 

Eddie carefully extracts his hands and hanky both from Steve, fiddling with it in his hands. 

“I really want to go there again.” It’s spoken like a secret spilled, a careful thing Munson’s still unsure that he wants out there, attached back to him. 

Phil nods. Feels a weird lick of fondness he probably shouldn’t have for him, given the way the brat seems to enjoy being Hawkins PD’s self-assigned pain in the ass, but, well. 

He already opened his door for Steve. 

What’s another wayward kid? 

Except this one he recalls, isn’t as wayward as he seems, or at least, not anymore, and he feels a little guilty as he remembers that Wayne Munson both exists and might be worried about where his nephew is. 

“You’re a good kid, Eddie.” He says, and watches as that seems to hit the teen harder than not-quite admitting Phil’s been to a gay bar. “Phone’s in the kitchen. Go call your Uncle, he should be home by now. Let him know where you are.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says, and then actually goes to do so, like a proper citizen who listens to adults and authority figures instead of a semi feral rugrat.

Which just leaves Phil with Steve, who’s slumped sort of sideways on the couch. 

“Hey Callahan?” The kid says quietly, drawing Phil’s attention to him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

The knee jerk response Phil has is to ask What for, but drops the idea the second he realizes the kid’s eyes are drifting shut. 

Internally curses himself for apparently deciding to half-adopt teenager asshole’s while he himself is barely in his 30s, but fuck it. 

“Anytime, Harrington. Anytime.” 

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

talking of monkeys paws. i think i forgot to specify that i wanted my hyperfixation on Muro & Co to also shift to wotr. bc i think i got back my hyperfixation on marvel comics instead. BRB gonna reread ca 2004<3

[persephonesfill]

omg re your angsty fic idea

DOES TONY COME BACK WRONG? or does tony come back right and steve is the one who's all wrong?? i'm kicking the ceiling

i think tony comes back wrong but in the sense that he was finally able to rest, only to have that ripped away from him as he's transported back to the land of the living. i think steve tries to move on and even makes some progress (*cough* suppression *cough*) but as soon as he sees tony again, alive and literally gift-wrapped by the infinity stones, all of those emotions come rushing back.

[daydreamerdrew]

Tales of Suspense (1959) #89

[morganbritton132]

For the record, Steve does not believe him.

He believes that Eddie’s gay. No problem. He said it so it’s obviously true. Why else would Eddie Munson come to swim meets?

But Steve still thinks that he’s making out with Nancy because, “Why wouldn’t she cheat on me with you? You’re cute and you have cool hair, and you’re smart.”

Now Steve is calling himself ugly and dumb, and he’s having a bad hair day because Nancy hates him, and…Eddie, a super senior in high school, has to mentally stop himself from blue screening.

Steve Harrington said he was cute. He’s going to have to revisit that later because, right now?

“Stevie,” Eddie says, putting both his hands on his shoulders and shaking him. “It’s Jonathan.”

“Jonathan’s gay, too?”

“What?”

“You’re cheating on Jonathan with Nancy?” Steve asks angrily, but he also stopped crying so… win? “How could you do that to him?! You don’t even like girls!”

Honestly, Eddie is truly baffled.

AU where Steve hears that his girlfriend is cheating on him with the town freak but never suspects it’s with his good friend Jonathan.

So now, Eddie had a sad jock at his door threatening to beat him up but like, through tears. A lot of tears. He’s crying pretty hard and it’s getting really awkward.

[succubusvalentine]

I wrote this about Steve Harrington like a year ago but I think it would do great for Simon Riley. CW: size kink, stomach bulge.

Sliding down ever so slowly onto his honestly monstrous cock, your body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, feeling so fucking full and yet not full enough. 

You could barely make out the whiny sounds coming from your throat, nor Simon's gruff praises. All you could hear was the blood rushing through your ears.

All you could feel was the brush of Simon's cock inside your cunt, the pressure on all sides of your inner walls was overwhelming, to say the least. Not to mention the feeling of his cock making a small bulge in your lower tummy. 

Simon's gruff praises ceased when you got about halfway down his cock and the blood in your ears finally started to calm down. All that was left was the delicious sting and ache of his cock stretching you to your limits. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you heard mewls and whimpers far too gruff to be your own. And you were met with Simon looking more desperate than any man you'd ever seen. his hands clawing at your hips, blunt nails leaving red stinging streaks. 

Then you notice the tears running down his cheeks. Broken gasps coming from his chest between whimpers. His dark brown eyes glossy, and struggling to remain open.

You slow your hips, but Simon shakes his head no desperately. "Fu-ck, no love, don't-christ. Don't stop. Keep going f'me" he choked out. Only to be met with your confused and concerned eyes. "Nev-shit, never had-a girl manage to take all o' me" he manages. "guess 'm a-mmmph, bit sensitive lovie" 

Your cunt fluttered at the statement. Which only made Simon gasp and choke out another moan. But you seemed to be taking too long to speed up for Simon's taste. 

Next thing you knew, two thick arms were wrapped around your waist and a mouth was biting down on your neck. Simons hips starting to slam up into you at a pace you went utterly dumb. Your nails clawing at Simon's muscular shoulders. It wasn't Simons fault. You just felt so good, and the lower half of his cock was so sensitive.

Could you blame him for making himself come seven times inside you that night?

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[simplyholl]

Filthy

Summary: After a long mission, Bucky needs you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

See my Masterlist Here

"Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" Your sweet voice replayed over and over in his mind. He hadn't flat out refused your offer, but he hadn't said yes either. Now as he laid under the rubble of the bomb Hydra had detonated, it was all he could think of.

You were friends, one of the only people besides Steve to make him feel welcome on the Avengers. The others were wary of him, and he didn’t blame them. He had done unforgivable things as The Winter Soldier. Now he was fighting for the right cause. He couldn't help the reoccurring nightmares of the horrors he encountered in his past. He didn't want to get too comfortable in his new life, the one Steve helped him obtain because he was scared The Winter Soldier was still lurking around in his brain somewhere.

That's why he never dated. Sam would tease him, telling him he could have anybody he wanted, but he settled for his hand every night. Bucky couldn't afford to get too close to anyone. Especially someone who was weaker than him like the opposite sex. He was scared he would lose control while being intimate and hurt or even kill his partners. So he never let anyone get too close, until you.

You came bouncing into his life unexpectedly. You were brought on the team shortly after him. He would never forget your first day. Steve introduced you to everyone at the morning meeting. You were all smiles, your bubbly personality instantly drawing him in. The others were making comparisons between the two of you immediately. You were so happy, so upbeat all the time and Steve was the only one who could get Bucky to crack his cold exterior and actually smile.

Despite your differences, you got along great. Which was a bonus since Tony liked to pair you together for missions. You worked well together, complimenting each other in ways you had never thought of. Who knew almost dying together every week can cause you to form close bonds? You were spending all your free time together. You introduced him to your favorite films, some of them were awful, but he would never tell you that. You would stay up late together watching old reruns of 90's sitcoms for comfort after long missions. Bucky would go shopping with you, holding every bag you had and never complaining.

The team thought something was going on between you. Why else would the cold super soldier follow you around like a lost puppy? They put Steve up to asking about it, but Bucky denied anything but friendship. There had never been anything happen in the whole year you knew each other. You never sat too close or crossed any boundaries, never thought about it until a month ago.

One of the longest, most dangerous missions you had ever been on finally came to a close. There had been too many casualties and you were upset. Even the comfort of your warm pajamas and favorite movie didn't ease your mind. Bucky thought you needed to be alone, so he told you goodnight and headed for his room. You called after him pleading him to stay with you. You couldn't be alone, not after that.

He hesitated, he never stayed the night with anyone because of his nightmares. Tony even gave him a pass when a mission required room sharing. He was the only one who didn't have to pair up. He was afraid he might hurt you or scare you during his sleep. He tried to tell you, but you couldn't be swayed. He found himself under your fluffy pink comforter on heart shaped pillows, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals but he felt oddly at home.

You tried to cuddle up to him, but he scooted away. He didn't want you too close to him while he was asleep just in case he had a nightmare. But you didn't care. You told him if he attacked you in his sleep, you would blast his dick off. That made him a little less worried. "How do Tony and Clint do it?" You asked as you wrapped your arms around him, trying to snuggle the grumpy super soldier. "Do what?" He relaxed a little under your touch. "The whole normal family thing. They have a wife, kids, the works, and they are the only ones. The rest of us can't keep a relationship for more than a month, and some only do one night stands. It's hard being a hero when you have to give up stuff like that."

Bucky considers your words carefully. "Is that something you want?" You throw your leg over him, trying to get comfortable. "Eventually, I want to settle down. I'm thinking at least ten years from now, not any time soon. It's just hard to tell who is asking you out for the right reasons or because you're famous. I can't tell you how many phones I've destroyed after dates because they were trying to live stream the whole thing. Is that why you don't date?"

Bucky tenses, explaining how his past as The Winter Soldier scared him away from anything like that. "So you haven't been having sex because you're scared you will hurt someone?" He nods and you giggle. Bucky looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm sorry Bucky, that's ridiculous. Your arm must be so tired! Oh my God! Do you use the metal one?" His silence makes you laugh harder. "Bucky there are super powered women you could have been sleeping with this whole time. People who could at least put up a fair fight if something like that happened, but you're okay now right? I thought the code words didn't work anymore." You rub his back soothingly.

You gasp as an idea hits you. "Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" It was like word vomit. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you couldn't take it back now. Bucky is so still that you think he's fallen asleep. Thankful he didn't hear your unhinged suggestion, you lay your head down to go to sleep.

"You mean that?" Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence pass. "If it wouldn't hurt our friendship then, why not? I trust you. And I could hold my own if things went sideways. Plus, I'm a lot hotter than your hand, you have to admit that." The quip earned a chuckle from him. "Can I think about it?" He asks, his seriousness taking over. "Of course." You snuggle back into him, sleep finding you more quickly than you would've liked. That was a little over a month ago, neither of you brought it up afterward. You figured he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so you let it go.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand helping him to his feet. "I thought we lost you back there." He says leading him to the quinjet. On the ride home, Bucky thought about his life, how unhappy he had been lately. He thought of you and how he kept you at arm's length to protect you from himself. You were always so open to him, always letting him know what was on your mind. When you suggested the two of you sleep together, he was shocked. Of course, he wanted to but he couldn't. You were too sweet, he was jaded. He would end up hurting you somehow, he was sure of it. But you weren't scared of him, you trusted him.

Bucky thought of all the times he laid alone at night, masterbating when he could have went home with someone instead. He always turned them down, he couldn't risk it. He lived too dangerously. He could lose his life any moment saving the planet from the next alien attack. Wasn't it time he started living for himself? He had his mind made up when the quinjet landed. Steve told him to go get the cuts on his face and arm examined but he ignored him.

He almost ran to the elevator, not bothering to wait for Steve to get on before pressing the button to shut the doors. When it finally stopped on his floor, he walked by his room, stopping three doors down right outside of yours. He should have cared that it was three in the morning, that he would be waking you up, but he didn't. He tapped on the door loud enough to wake you.

He regretted coming straight here as he waited for you, he should have went to his room to shower first. His leather jacket was dirty and torn. There was a small gash on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding. His face was filthy and according to Steve, he had a cut there too. He probably looked terrifying. He thought about leaving to clean up, but then he heard the pitter patter of your feet as you approached the door.

You pull it open slightly at first, to see who is outside, opening it wider when you see him. He steps inside as you shut it back, locking it behind him. Bucky looks around the dark room noticing the glow from your tv. Your hair is messy, you must have been sleeping fitfully. His gaze drops to your body, you're wearing a black t-shirt that stops at your hips and black lace panties.

"Are you okay?" You ask taking in his disheveled appearance. You turn to get something to clean his wounds, his vibranium hand catches your wrist. "Bucky? What hap-" He picks you up with one arm, holding you close to his body as his lips crash into yours. He walks you to the edge of your bed, tumbling on top of you as your back hits your fluffy pink comforter.

"Do you still want this?" He asks, his voice rougher than he intended. You can't think clearly, not with him on top of you, caging you in like this. His blue eyes search your face as he waits for an answer. Your panties grow wetter with each second that passes. Your nipples are peaked under your shirt, desperate to be touched as you press your chest to his dirty leather jacket. "Yes" You somehow manage to whisper your confirmation.

His mouth is on yours again, rough and demanding, almost desperate. You cup his face with your hands, "Slow down, I'm not going anywhere." You assure him, breaking the kiss. He groans, hating the loss of contact. "Can't" He rasps, his face nuzzling against your neck. He nips and kisses the sensitive skin there, his tongue licking from your shoulder to your jaw.

His flesh hand travels to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple. He keeps kissing his way back down your throat until he reaches the collar of your shirt. His metal arm grabs the top, slipping underneath to get a good grip on it. He rips it down the center with little effort.

You gasp as the cold air hits your now exposed chest. But you're not cold for long, Bucky's lips capture a nipple between his lips tugging and sucking like his life depends on it while his flesh hand toys with the other one. You're not sure what has gotten into him, you never expected it to be like this, like he needs you.

He kisses a trail down your stomach to your panties. They aren't exactly see through, but they don't hide anything either. His vibranium fingers dig into your hip as he lowers his face, his pink tongue licking up the center of your soaked panties. You whimper underneath him, your fingers sliding in his hair, pulling at the short strands.

He grunts as he licks you through the lacy material. You try to close your legs around his head, hoping to bring yourself more relief. Bucky's steel grip on your hip tightens as he brings his flesh hand to your thigh, pulling it off him. He opens you wide, continuing his desperate assault on you. "I need more, please." You whine, needing to actually feel him against you.

He thankfully takes mercy on you, removing his hands to grab both sides of your panties. "Lift your hips for me." You do as your told, and he slides the unwanted garment off of you. He drags you to the edge of the bed, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. He parts your thighs, metal hand returning to its rightful place on your hip. You place your leg over his shoulder, taking a deep breath as the anticipation makes your skin prickle.

His hot breath on your soaked core makes you tremble. You feel him smirk against you. "I havent even touched you yet and you're shakin' like a leaf." A dark chuckle escapes him and he dives in. His tongue flat against you as he gathers your slick, bringing it to your clit and swirling it around. He moans, loving the way you taste. He wraps his lips around your most sensitve part, drawing you in, causing your hips to buck upward.

His grip on your hip tightens, a bruise beginning to form under his thumb. "Be a good girl for me. Stay still." His voice is soft, gentle, a complete contrast to his actions. He alternates between sucking you roughly and licking you slowly. You squirm underneath him, you're so close. He suddenly stops, removing his face from you.

His flesh hand rubbing your stomach, before laying his arm on you forcefully to keep you from moving. "I said stay still." He growls, his tongue swiping your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not writhe against him. You've never seen him like this so needy, almost feral. He's like a wild animal slurping you down like you're the first thing he's eaten in weeks. You don't dare to disturb him. So you lie as still as you can, letting him have you.

He needs this. He needs you. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, sendng you spiralling. He holds you down as he takes all he wants from you. He's not satisfied until you come three times. Your legs are wobbly, you couldn't get up if you had to. Tears stream down your face from how intense it was. He finally stands, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself.

He adjusts himself between your legs, filling you up. You gasp, grabbing onto his grimy leather jacket for support. You wonder why he didn't bother with getting undressed, but you don't mind. You love how dirty he is. How the filth on his jacket rubbing against your bare chest is the sexiest thing in the world right now. How you can see the cut on his arm, dried blood on his sleeve. You don't know if it's his or some Hydra asshole's, and you don't know which is hotter.

His hair is disheveled. His face is scraped, dirt from the mission caked on him, remnants of your arousal still on his mouth. He fills you completely over and over, holding you as close as he can. His pants rub the back of your thighs as he pounds into you. You caress his face, "Can I be on top?" You ask quietly, afraid you'll offend him some way in his feral state. He flips you so his back is on your mattress. Normally you would be upset that your sheets were getting dirty, but you didn't mind at all. You place your legs on either side of him, sliding down his length. Your ass hits the fabric of his jeans as you take all of him.

You look behind you noticing how big he looks on your bed. His leather boots covered in mud, hanging off the edge. A gush of arousal floods his lap, his hands hold your thighs, pulling you closer. You begin to lift yourself up and down on him, your legs still shaky from your earlier orgasms. Bucky notices you won't be able to keep it up for long, so he clutches your hips, taking over. He thrusts underneath you, your hands land on his shoulders needing to steady yourself. You love that it's giving the illusion that you're in control, your body on top of his, but he's calling all the shots, moving your body like he owns it.

You've never felt so full. It's as if Bucky can read your mind, his flesh hand pressing on the bulge he's making in your stomach. He works you harder now, his vibranium thumb coming between you to swirl your clit. Your vision goes blurry, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You come with a loud cry of his name. He follows shortly after, spilling inside you. He holds you close, as you listen to his breathing slow down as he drifts off to sleep while still inside you.

Tags in the comments! ❤️

[sodapopcurtis-dx-asks]

*Slips 20 bucks in the jar along with two rings*

Soda plucks the rings out, at this point he's completely forgotten this tip jar is making him bank and moreso about the free stuff and questions he gets.

“Steeeeve—” Soda came up to him, rings held up in each hand between his fingers.

“Ain't happenin'.” Steve gruffs, shaking his head and glaring at the rings.

“Ugh. Come on, it can't hurt ya!”

“Nope, sure can't, but I got workin' hands Soda. I need to work.” Steve presses a finger against Soda's chest and pushes him back hard with it.

Soda sighs defeatedly, heading back to the counter by himself. It takes a few minutes until Two-Bit and one of his girls walk in, and by then Soda's already bothering Two-Bit about 'these cool rings he got and how they can signify their friendship or something!'.

Two-Bit happily obliges to wearing the matching rings, except he takes both. And Soda is left ringless. And Steve is content with that.

[cubedcoffeecake-33]

did you know there's a tag limit on posts???? i hit it so i guess that was tumblr forcing me to end my rant. yeah fuck MCU Steve leaving Bucky. Marvel did Bucky, Steve, and Steve's legacy dirty.

i can’t comprehend how steve was even able to grapple with just the IDEA of leaving bucky in endgame when in the same movie he used the phrase “bucky is alive” to literally stun his 2012 counterpart and take him down. like my guy everything you do is for bucky how the hell did we go from “whatever it takes” to bring everyone (bucky) back (NOT TO MENTION THAT IN THE POSTERS IM PRETTY SURE BUCKY WAS IN STEVES SHADOW AND WAS SUPPOSED TO SIGNIFY WHO STEVE IS DOING THE TIME HEIST FOR) and “till the end of the line” and “i’m not gonna fight you” to steve just up and leaving bucky not even a month after the final battle/bucky’s return. steve had maybe a combined 5 hours with the guy in total from civil war to endgame and then left

[steddiehyperfixation]

adios, motherfucker

@steddiebingo prompt: anniversary | 3.5k words | T/M | ao3 |

Steve got himself all dolled up just to sit and wait here at this table in this stupid fancy restaurant for an hour by himself. The waiters and waitresses have long started giving him awkward and/or sympathetic glances as they pass by. 

“Are you sure you don't want to order anything yet?” a waitress asks again hesitantly on her next pass. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He checks his watch. “Actually-” He's over this. He stands up and raps his knuckles lightly against a table. “Just give my table to some happy couple, alright? Someone in love.” 

“Oh-” The waitress nods, still a little awkwardly. “Yeah, alright.”

Steve nods back in acknowledgment before taking a deep breath, running his hands through his hair, and striding on out of there as if he hasn't just been stood up by his own boyfriend. 

He walks a whole block down to some shitty dive bar on a street corner and plops himself down on an empty barstool, waving down the nearest bartender. “Get me something strong that doesn't taste like shit,” he says. 

A man about his age with curly dark hair leans against the counter in front of him. “Sure.” He grins, taking four bottles of alcohol—two in each hand, ringed fingers curled expertly around the bottlenecks—and tipping them into a glass filled with ice. “Rough night?” 

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, just a bit bitterly, “definitely not my best, that's for sure.” 

“Hmm,” the bartender hums sympathetically, although his grin doesn’t fade. He pours in a bit of two more bottles, sprays a soda gun on top, and then slides the completed bright blue drink across the counter. “Mind if I guess?” 

Steve scoffs out another laugh and waves his left hand as he grabs the drink with his right. “Knock yourself out,” he says, glad at least someone is having fun with his misery. Amusement looks good on this bartender anyways, cheeks full and brown eyes crinkled. 

“Fancy dinner date didn't go well,” the bartender guesses, then holds up a hand. “Wait, no,” he amends almost immediately, looking Steve up and down, “fancy dinner date stood you up.” 

“Bingo,” Steve mutters around his straw, sipping steadily at his drink—which hardly tastes like alcohol at all despite the fact that he literally saw the guy grab at least four different types of straight spirits while making it. “How did you know?” 

The bartender rests his elbows on the bartop, settling his weight onto his inked-up forearms and gesturing with little flicks of his fingers as he elaborates, “You’re dressed up nice, far too nice for this shitty place to be where you meant to end up tonight, and I happen to know that there’s a fancy restaurant just down the street from here. Could’ve been a business meeting or a family dinner, but the tight shirt, cologne, and hair gel scream date—and yet you’re here alone, so, something went wrong. You’re upset, but not devastated, so no one died or got broken up with, and there’s not quite enough anger in your eyes for there to have been a fight or some huge betrayal, but there is enough that you were clearly wronged in some way. Your expression is more hurt and disappointed than anything, and your shoulders are hunched and a bit tense like you’re very aware of the fact that you’re here alone and you’re not happy about it. So, put all that together and there you have it: fancy dinner date stood you up.” 

“Holy shit,” Steve says. “You’re Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nah,” the bartender laughs, deep and musical. “I’ve just been doing this a long time, gotten real good at reading people. It’s kind of my job.”

Steve can't help but smile a little at the sound of this guy's laugh. He blames the alcohol, however much he's had so far clearly already beginning to work its magic fuzzing out the edges of his mind and making everything seem lovelier. “Well, I'm impressed,” he says. He takes another several long sips of his drink, hoping to alleviate a bit more of the bitterness still festering in his heart. “Although you did miss a few details. It wasn't just some random date who stood me up-”

“It was your girlfriend,” the bartender says, like he's so sure he already knows. 

“Boyfriend,” Steve corrects. 

“Ah.” The bartender barely even blinks and his smug smile doesn't falter. “Close enough.” He goes right back to showing off, leaning forward and tapping his fingers against the counter as those dark, discerning eyes attempt to glean even more clues from Steve’s appearance. “And it was a special occasion, wasn't it? The fancy dinner was meant to be a celebration,” he says. “A birthday?” 

“Anniversary,” Steve tells him. “One year.” 

“Oof.” The bartender leans back, sucking in air through his teeth and grimacing sympathetically. “Yeah, okay, that's worse.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah.” He stabs his straw idly at the ice in his glass. It's nearly empty already (has he really had that much that fast?). “Our relationship hasn't been the most solid lately and I was hoping I could try to fix that tonight—rekindle it or patch things up or whatever,” he mutters in unnecessary explanation, just to say it, really, as if talking about it might make it feel less shitty. He shakes his head and sighs. “But I guess not.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think your boyfriend’s a fucking idiot,” the bartender says bluntly. He gives a grin that's equal parts friendly solidarity and casual flirtation as he presses a hand dramatically to his chest and adds, “If I had gotten lucky enough to bag a decent and devastatingly gorgeous guy like you, I don't think I'd ever leave his side.” 

Steve laughs and his heart feels lighter. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it.” He finishes off the last sip of his drink, only just now beginning to become aware of the buzz of it in his veins. “I’m Steve, by the way.” 

“Eddie.” The bartender—Eddie—clears Steve's empty glass off the counter. “Are you starting a tab, Steve?” 

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Can I have another one of the same thing?”

“‘Course you can.” Eddie's smile has turned amused again, if not just a touch concerned. “But you might want to start slowing down a bit there, big boy. That drink you just downed is gonna hit you like a truck in a minute; they don't call it an ‘Adios, Motherfucker’ for nothing.” 

Steve exhales a short puff of laughter. “It's called a what?” 

Eddie grins. “An Adios, Motherfucker,” he repeats as he starts pouring the drink. “Well, colloquially, at least. I think fancier bars’ll name it, like, Electric Iced Tea or Blue Motorcycle or something, but yeah, pretty much everyone just calls it an Adios.” He looks at Steve now with a slightly more serious edge to his eyes, raising his eyebrows. “So take it easy, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve agrees, still chuckling at the drink name. “I’ll drink this one slower, I promise.” 

“Good.” Eddie nods in satisfaction, all charm and easy smiles again. 

The bar is getting busier—an after dinner rush, probably—and Eddie receives a not-so-subtle hip check from one of his fellow bartenders in an obvious nudge to quit lingering on Steve and start helping some other customers. 

“Sorry, duty calls,” Eddie says, and he really does sound reluctant about it. He pushes the drink across the counter towards Steve. “Adios, motherfucker,” he signs off with a smirk and a little two-finger salute before he slides down the bar to serve someone else. 

Steve smiles, straw caught mindlessly between his teeth as his eyes follow Eddie. He watches him flash that bright grin at more customers, laughing with a group of girls as he pours them shots. Watches him grab someone a beer, pulling a bottle opener from his back pocket, spinning it around his finger into his palm, and cracking the bottle cap off all in one fluid motion. Watches him reach up for liquor on the top shelf, fitted black shirt riding up to give a glimpse of smooth white skin and a tattoo snaking across his hip. 

It's enough to make Steve’s cheeks flush and his blood run hotter—even without the extra heat from the alcohol that is hitting him, as Eddie said, like a truck. If he didn't feel so fuzzy, giddy, drunk, maybe he'd feel a bit guilty for the way he's staring at this other man while he's still in a relationship. But it's not like Steve would ever actually do anything, and a stare alone is not an infidelity. There’s no harm in looking. 

Besides, Eddie's eyes were all over him too, even now stealing glances just as Steve is. And that feels good too. It's nice to be looked at, to feel desirable, wanted. God knows he hasn't been getting that from his own boyfriend lately. He can hardly remember the last time he was looked at as anything other than a nuisance or a chore, touched out of anything more than obligation or a means of placation, loved in a way that burned. It had been there once, desire and warmth, but somewhere down the line it’d been lost. Steve had almost forgotten what it felt like, how much he’s missed it. 

So Steve lets himself indulge in looking and being looked at, and that's all that it will ever be. Whatever fire he feels for this random hot bartender is for himself and himself only, whatever lustful thoughts he has about Eddie’s lips or hands or hips locked away firmly in the realm of imagination and fantasy, never to enter reality. Because even like this, drunk and jilted, the idea of cheating is unfathomable to Steve. 

“You look very pensive,” Eddie comments when he makes his way back around to Steve, and his voice distracts him. 

Steve blinks. “What?” 

“Deep in thought,” Eddie clarifies. He leans against the bar and raises his eyebrows, another little smirk playing on those pretty lips. “You contemplating breaking up with your dumbass boyfriend?” 

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve matches his expression without missing a beat. There’s no harm in flirting either. 

“Yeah, I would.” Eddie’s grin widens and he shrugs innocently. “He sounds like a piece of shit, taking you for granted and ditching you on your anniversary. I got a feeling you probably deserve a whole lot better than that.”

Those words, though said light and casual, land with more impact than Eddie likely intended. It thuds solidly into Steve’s chest, the realization that yeah, actually, maybe he kind of does deserve better. It's funny, up until now the idea of leaving had seemed unfathomable to him too. He ducks his head, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink. “Yeah, I think you're probably right.” 

“‘Course I’m right, sweetheart,” Eddie says confidently. “I told you, I'm good at reading people.”  

Steve unsuccessfully bites back a smile at the pet name, eyes slow and wandering as he looks back up at Eddie. “Do you think-” 

“Fucking hell, Steve, there you are!” a familiar and pissed off voice interrupts what he was about to say. Steve turns around to find his boyfriend marching over to him in a huff. “I went to the restaurant but they told me you already gave our table away.” 

Steve stares at him, more shocked and bewildered than anything. “Our reservation was two hours ago, Tommy.” 

Tommy stops in front of Steve with his arms crossed. “Okay, so I'm a little bit late-” 

“Two hours is not a little-”

“I’m a little bit late and I have to find you here in this shitty bar already practically eye-fucking some grungy-ass bartender!”

“I was not-”

“Are you actually fucking him too? Is that why you just couldn't wait to run off here?” 

“Oh my god.” Steve laughs incredulously, grabbing his drink and gulping down nearly half of what's left—because fuck taking it slow, he needs all the help that alcohol can give him right now. He shakes his head. “Do you even know how insane you sound right now?”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh, right, so you can accuse me of cheating like every other week, but when I turn it back on you suddenly I’m the crazy one?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah. Because I wouldn't—I haven't, but you have. I know you have!” His voice rises with anger and emotion, loud enough to get the whole bar turning to stare at them. “You come home fucking smelling like it!” 

“Jesus, Steve, you really wanna do this now?” Tommy says, sighing wearily as if he's not the one who started the damn argument in the first place. “It's our anniversary.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Another laugh shudders out of him; Steve can't help it; he can't fucking believe this. “It's our fucking anniversary, and you know what? I think it's the last one we're ever gonna have. I can't do this anymore, Tommy. I’m done—we're done.”

Tommy seems taken aback for a second, like the idea of Steve leaving had been unfathomable to him as well, but then he blinks and shakes his head, dismissive as always. “You're drunk, babe. You don't know what you're saying.” 

“Yes, I do-” 

“No, you don't.” Tommy grabs Steve's arm, fingers pressing hard into his bicep as he tries to tug him from his seat. “Come on, let's go home. We can still-” 

Steve recoils, yanks his arm out of Tommy's grasp. “Don't fucking touch me.” 

Tommy reaches for him again. “Steve-” 

“Hey!” Eddie intervenes then, tone sharp and dangerous enough that it makes Tommy stop before he can get another grip on Steve. “Let’s keep our hands to ourselves, alright?” 

Tommy turns his ire onto the bartender, sneering, “Stay out of this, freak.” 

“Get out of my bar, dickwad,” Eddie retorts. 

“That's exactly what I'm trying to do,” Tommy snaps. He rolls his eyes irritably and levels a stern glare back on Steve. “Steve, let's go. You're making a scene.” 

“You're making a scene,” Steve protests. He feels like he's going crazy, unsolid in his body and dizzy from the emotional rollercoaster of this argument. “You're the one who came in here shouting at me first! God-” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair like that might help ground him a little. “I can't believe I was going to try to fix us tonight. I'm not your fucking dog on a leash, Tommy, not anymore. I meant it when I said I’m done. So just leave- just leave me alone.” 

A muscle jumps in Tommy’s jaw and he seethes like he wants to keep fighting, but between Eddie’s warning glare and the giant security guard slowly shifting closer at the bartender’s subtle gesturing, he seems to come to the conclusion that Steve isn’t worth all that trouble. “Fine.” Tommy throws up his hands and takes a step back. “Suit yourself. You can go shack up with that loser bartender now, you fucking slut, see if I care. We’ll just see how long it takes for you to come crawling back once you sober up and realize that you're nothing without me,” he snarls before finally turning on his heel to leave. 

Steve takes a swig of his drink. “Adios, motherfucker,” he retorts to Tommy’s retreating back. He watches until his now-ex-boyfriend is completely gone and then looks around, flinging an arm out as if to dismiss all the nosy onlookers still staring at him. “Show’s over!” He turns back to the bar and slumps against it, dropping his head heavily into his hands, fingers curling in his hair. “Fuck.” 

“You okay, man?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighs and lifts his head. 

“You don't live with that bastard, do you?” 

“Yeah. Shit.” 

“Have you got anywhere else you can go, someone else you can stay with?” 

Steve shakes his head. His best friend, Robin, is out of town with her girlfriend this weekend (because she's actually in a normal healthy relationship with a partner who adores her—and no, Steve's not jealous or bitter, what are you talking about?) and she's the only one he could even think to call right now. His family doesn't really speak to him anymore and most of his other friends are friends of Tommy’s. Fuck. Maybe Tommy was right, Steve really doesn't have much left without him. He swallows down how thoroughly miserable that makes him feel. “No, I’ll, uh- I can just sleep in my car tonight probably, and I'll figure something else out tomorrow.” 

Eddie considers him for a moment with a little scrunched up frown. “Yeah, I can't in good conscience let you do that,” he decides. “Look, um—not to be weird, because I know I’m a total stranger, and please don't take this the wrong way—but my place is just around the corner from here and I've got a pull-out couch you can crash on if you need to,” he offers. He gives a small smile and raises his hands in good faith, making things light though still just as genuine. “I promise I won't try to kill you in your sleep or take advantage of you or anything.” 

Steve licks his teeth, tilting his head. “What if I want you to?” 

“You want me to kill you in your sleep?” Eddie lifts an eyebrow, teasing, deflecting. 

“No, I meant—” Steve shakes his head, bites his lip. “What if I want you to take advantage of me? What if…I don't want to be alone tonight?” 

“You just ended a year-long relationship, sweetheart, give yourself a minute.” 

“Yeah, no, but I'm fine. That’d been falling apart for a while now—tonight just made it official, but I’ve already had time. I’m over it, I’m okay.” 

“Steve.” Eddie leans forward and reaches a hand up to Steve's face, a brief and featherlight touch as he brushes his thumb across Steve's cheek. “You're crying.” 

“What- no, I’m-” Steve pulls back and wipes at his eyes. His fingers come away wet. “Shit.” He must be drunker than he thought if he couldn't even feel his own tears running down his face. He must be a lot sadder than he thought, too. 

“Yeah.” Eddie smiles sympathetically, soft and kind. “So I'm not gonna sleep with you, man, not tonight, but I can give you a safe place to rest if you want it.” 

Steve nods. “Okay, yeah.” He hates the way his voice sounds, rough and cracked and pathetic, still rubbing furiously at his eyes trying to get them to quit welling up. Now that he's aware of his tears he can't seem to make them fucking stop. He's stronger than this, he knows he is. God, no wonder Eddie doesn't want to fuck him. Steve’s a mess. 

Finishing his drink helps, and so does simply taking a few minutes to hide in his hands and suck in several deep, measured breaths. Over the next hour or so, as Steve waits for Eddie’s shift to be over, slowly his eyes become drier and he sits a little straighter. He lets his gaze follow Eddie again, something to focus on—not quite as lustfully as before, just watching him work. That helps too. 

By the time they walk to Eddie's apartment and get the couch set up, Steve has pulled himself together enough to feel like he more or less at least bears a resemblance to his usual self again. As Eddie bids him goodnight and turns to leave for his own room, Steve ventures one last attempt at seduction, taking Eddie by the hand and asking, “Are you sure I can't tempt you?”

Eddie just smiles and shakes his head. “Another time,” he says, and it sounds like a promise, squeezing Steve's hand. “Besides, it's better this way. Wouldn't want our anniversary to be on the same day as your douchebag ex anyways.” 

“Yeah…” Steve agrees, managing a small smile in return and letting go. 

While it’s still hard not to feel rejected, he knows that Eddie’s refusal isn't something cruel, it's sweet. Eddie’s not saying ‘never’, he’s just saying ‘not tonight’, allowing Steve the space and time to fully untangle himself from Tommy first; for now only wanting to make sure that Steve's safe and asking nothing in return. Leaving it open so that maybe one day, when Steve has settled back on his own two feet, if he still wants to come back and seek Eddie out again, maybe then they could start something real, something more than just one night of meaningless sex borne out of a sad and lonely boy’s desperation to be loved. And there’s a type of love in that too, isn't there—the kindness of a stranger? It’s not quite the love Steve had hoped for from today, but maybe it's exactly the love he needed. 

So he doesn't push it, doesn't argue or insist or continue to throw himself at him. Steve just kisses Eddie quickly on the cheek instead and tells him, “Thank you.” 

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XIX

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

“She’s better than she was when we first discovered her condition, but she’s still not where she needs to be…”

The now familiar voice reached your ears as you stared at the sheets, picking at your fingers just as you heard Peter sigh. You felt his soft hand rest atop your head, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the younger man murmured. “I’ve been getting her to eat more, but her appetite still hasn’t fully returned.”

There was a bit of an edge in his voice, and beyond the numb cloud you’d felt trapped in for weeks, a tiny sliver of satisfaction tickled your chest. Even if Peter had not been candid with you about what he was thinking, you knew that some part of him blamed Steve for the predicament you found yourselves in.

As he and Dr. Banner continued to talk about you as if you weren’t there, you recalled the hushed argument from only days ago that had woken you up in the middle of the night. Peter’s voice had been easy to identify—Steve’s even easier—and you’d been unable to fall back asleep right away as their muffled voices reached you through the floor.

You hadn’t been able to make out what they were saying, but you’d known that it was about you. Even though his confirmation wasn’t needed, Dr. Banner had said what everyone guessed to be true. You were pregnant before you even went down into the basement, and now, because of the actions of that day and the events that followed, Peter worried that the baby wasn’t going to make it.

You were sure that parts of him blamed both himself and you as well, but you supposed that Steve was an easier target, and you guessed that you couldn’t argue against the blond carrying a significant amount of blame. Truthfully, you didn’t care about who was to blame. You didn’t care about this pregnancy, at all.

Nevermind the fact that it just didn’t feel real to you—and that probably had to do with the fact that you weren’t even showing—but because it didn’t seem real, you just couldn’t bring yourself to consider it a priority after everything that had happened. How were you expected to care about something you couldn’t even see or feel when you had your own internal turmoil you were struggling to navigate?

Peter was stressed about a baby you didn’t even want while you were absentmindedly leaning into the touch of a murderer.

“Did you hear that?”

Peter’s gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you blinked, the scene before you coming back into focus. Both he and Dr. Banner were looking at you expectantly, and when you looked between them—lips parted and brows furrowed—it became obvious that you hadn’t heard a word.

You ignored the frown on Peter’s face as Dr. Banner repeated himself.

“You need to eat even when you don’t feel like it, okay?” you looked down at that. “You’re still a bit malnourished and nowhere near the weight and health you need to be if you’re to carry this baby to term.”

It went unsaid, but there was a silent agreement that it was a miracle you hadn’t lost the baby already. At the feel of Peter’s gaze on you, you gave the older man a nod, and he seemed satisfied enough to finish up his talk with Peter. Your eyes traced the white sheets as Peter and Dr. Banner walked to the door, their voices fading as the dark-haired young man walked him out.

A small bout of relief filled you at being left alone, but it was overshadowed by the anxious feeling your codependency to Peter often brought on whenever you weren’t around him. Down in the basement, you had started to grow used to the numb feeling of being alone and isolated in darkness and silence. The days and weeks had blended together until it felt like one long endless stretch, but then Peter took your hand again and looked into your eyes and spoke to you in that gentle way he often did and…

You were back.

You were back to wanting to be around him and wanting to always be touching him and depending on him as the only thing to keep you somewhat sane—if you could even call yourself that. You needed him—to act as a shield against Steve, to reassure you that you were okay, to remind you that you were worthy of being loved. 

It was painful to admit, now because some part of you also couldn’t stand the sight of him. Since being out of the basement, you were more at war with yourself than you ever were before, and it was hell. Whenever he looked at you or talked to you, it was a constant battle with yourself to remind yourself of what he did and who he was. A battle you sometimes lost.

Even his touch made you nauseous…

“Dr. Banner’s right,” he said to you sometime later after the man in question was long gone. “You really need to be eating a lot more.”

You said nothing to that, your gaze remaining on the white sheets on your lap. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you, hoping and praying for some kind of response, but you only disappointed him.

“I’ve been trying to find a balance, you know? I don’t want to force you, but it’s important that you eat and get your strength up. I was trying to give it time, but we can’t afford that,” he continued, reaching for your hand.

You snatched it away without thinking, and you could feel him staring at you. The silence stretched and stretched, and you avoided his gaze. This tense and awkward air had surrounded you two for weeks, and you knew that a moment would come where someone would reach their breaking point.

After some time, you heard Peter slowly exhale.

“I understand that you’re mad at me,” he finally whispered. “I understand that. You’re angry and confused…and probably really hurt…”

Your eyes watered.

“...and I’m letting you have that, but…do not do anything you’ll regret.”

His words made you frown, and you stared at the wall, struggling to understand what he meant.

“If you are doing any of this just to spite me…” you whipped your head around to look at him. “If you let anything happen to our baby just to hurt me…”

Peter trailed off the longer you just stared at him, your eyes growing wider and wider at his audacity. How could you even begin to tell Peter that you weren’t even thinking about this baby? That this thing growing inside of you that you couldn’t even feel or see was so far from your mind?

For the first time in ages…you wanted to scream at Peter. You wanted to hit him like you used to and hurt him like he hurt you and make this as difficult as possible for him. The thought to let something happen to this baby just to hurt Peter had never even crossed your mind. Although, you supposed that it wasn’t a bad idea, but you weren’t like that.

You didn’t have it in you.

You wanted to tell the man before you that if you were ever going to entertain the idea of losing this baby in some way, it would be to protect them from what you felt was a worse fate. It would be because ending its life before it even had a chance to take its first breath was a mercy in comparison to what they had to look forward to, and you didn’t know what scared you more.

Raising a son to follow in his father’s footsteps or raising a daughter to follow in yours?

It was too much, and instead of saying any of this to Peter, you chose to bite your tongue and lie back down. You heard Peter sigh as you rolled over and faced your back to him, unable to finally voice your thoughts and open the floodgates that were no doubt holding everything back.

You both felt and heard Peter move closer, joining you on the bed, and you didn’t have the energy to shove him away. His hand rested on your back, gently caressing it, and his apology meant nothing to you as you sought out sleep.

Peter’s hands were tight on you as you spilled what little you had in your stomach into the toilet. His silence betrayed his attempts to hide his disappointment, but you knew that he didn’t like the sight of you throwing up when you were still eating so little.

Even if it was normal.

“I’m going to have to ask Dr. Banner what he can do about that…”

You wanted to tell Peter that nothing could really be done about morning sickness because it was…well…morning sickness. You imagined the doctor would tell him what you already knew—that while there was stuff to help reduce it, there was no guaranteed way to stop it.

After helping you wash your mouth out, he was quick to run into the room and get rid of the untouched eggs. The lingering smell was enough to make your stomach churn, and you worried that you’d be sick again. Your lashes fluttered as you slowly breathed in and out through your mouth, and you didn’t realize how long you’d been doing it until you felt Peter’s hand on your arm again.

When you opened your eyes, he had a glass of water, and you were too unwell to resist his help as he tilted it against your lips. He forced you to drink it all, and under different circumstances, you would have been moved by how concerned he was for you and the baby, but as it were, you could only think about how you were well and truly trapped now.

It was a fact before, and it wasn’t like you had a sliver of hope for otherwise or anything—long accepting your fate—but this pregnancy was like the nail in the coffin. Your eyes strayed to the painful ring on your finger as Peter guided you back to the bed, and you moved your head away from his fingers when he reached for your face.

The silence was loud.

“Are you going to hate me forever?”

The truth was that you didn’t know the answer to that. The most logical part of you guessed that some part of you would always hate him, but the part of you that had been so worn down by Peter and this house worried that a day would come—probably sooner than you think—where you would just accept Peter for who he actually was and not who you’d been conned into thinking he was.

Was that really the appropriate term though?

Had you been deceived? 

Of course you had. You’d been deliberately misled or just flat out lied to about the extent of Peter’s involvement in what happened to your friends. It was an agreed upon thing to keep it from you, so yes. You’d indeed been deceived to think Peter wasn’t as bad as he was, and yet…

Perhaps you held some blame in thinking it made that much of a difference to begin with. Whether he pulled the trigger or not—and he very much did—Peter still played an astronomical part in what happened to your friends. You wondered if making such a distinction in your mind was simply a way to ease the guilt you felt about giving in. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d started crying until Peter brushed his thumb under your eye.

“I’m trying to be patient, so patient, because I know these past couple of months have been a lot for you…but you’re scaring me.”

Peter moved closer, resting his hand on the back of your neck.

“I need you to talk to me. I need…I need to hear your voice,” he whispered. “I miss you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I know a lot is going on in that pretty head of yours. There’s always so much going on up there,” he chuckled. “...but I can’t try to make this right, try to make this better for the both of us if you won’t talk to me.”

Peter took a deep breath.

“I need you to get healthy again so that we can start forgetting about the rough start to this pregnancy and start being happy. We should be celebrating,” Peter told you. “This is supposed to be a happy time for us, and instead I’m scared—scared of losing the baby, of losing you.”

You hated the way Peter’s voice cracked, and fighting against everything in you, you made to move out of his reach. Peter wasn’t having it though, fingers digging into the fabric of your nightgown and the skin of your arm.

“You’ve lost so much weight, and you’re not eating enough, and you won’t speak to me—stop, stop,” he bit out, pulling you back despite your attempts to get away from him. “I miss you.”

You made a noise of protest, a frustrated whine leaving your lips as he fought to keep you in his grip.

“I miss you so much, I fucking miss you, and you…”

He swallowed his words as he tried to kiss you, and the sound of the slap was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You didn’t know who was more shocked by your actions—you or Peter—and you both just stared at each other for a few moments, silent and wide-eyed.

Your chest was heaving as your breathing grew heavier, and the sight of him started to blur as your eyes watered. You didn’t know why you were pushed over the edge by Peter trying to kiss you, but your whole body felt like it was on fire and not in a good way. Your hand stung, and you took note of the way his cheek continued to redden.

Peter looked like he didn’t know if he wanted to hold you or throttle you.

Your lips trembled as the words danced on your tongue, and the tears that escaped your eyes were hot. You could see Peter’s expression soften at the sight, and you spat the words out before he could say another word to you.

“You are a murderer.”

You couldn’t tell if Peter was shocked by the first words you chose to say to him in months, but he did look stricken.

“...and you made me think you weren’t.”

You shook your head at him, more tears falling.

“You made me think you were better than them. You fed me bullshit and made me think you weren’t as bad as them,” you choked out. “...and maybe…maybe that’s my fault too. Maybe I wanted to believe that to feel better about myself and what was happening.”

You pushed his hands away as he reached for you again.

“Even though I know it’s not my fault, I feel like I could’ve done something to stop this. Fought harder, been stronger, held onto my sanity a little tighter…”

You screamed when Peter tried to interrupt you.

“None of this is my fault! It’s all your fault,” you bit out. “All of this is your fault, but I’m the only one suffering.”

Peter’s face shifted into something angry, but you continued before he could come up with whatever bullshit about how he was suffering too.

“You miss me because I won’t talk to you, because I won’t touch you, but how do you think I feel? Fighting against everything in me that’s telling me to just lay down and submit to survive, telling me to let it go to be happy.”

You were full on sobbing now, gasping around every word you said.

“Every day I have to choose between hating the man that ruined my life…and being happy. Every day, it’s one or the other, and every time I choose what’s easy, I hate myself more and more.”

You reached up to twist your hands into your hair, pulling.

“It was bad enough when I didn’t know you were a murderer…”

You stared into Peter’s eyes, and you looked between them as you dropped your hands.

“...but how can I do it now? How can I choose what’s supposed to be easy when I know what I know?” you whispered.

Peter slowly reached for you, and your shoulders heaved.

“I kept telling myself that it could be worse,” you mumbled. “I kept saying at least…at least he didn’t kill them, at least he didn’t kill them.”

Peter was gently shaking you, but you were staring past him.

“...but you did. Even if you didn’t pull the trigger—and you did—you still killed them,” you quietly breathed. “You killed all of them…”

Your gaze met his worried one.

“From the moment you decided you wanted me, you killed them. You put them in the ground the moment you decided that,” you tearfully said. “...and I told myself differently to make it easier, to make it better, but it doesn’t fucking matter.”

You slapped him again and again, and when Peter painfully gripped your wrists, you couldn’t hold in your painful gasp. You still tried to hit him, but he wouldn’t let you, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re worse than they are. All of them,” you cried. “Even Steve.”

You didn’t care about the hurt on Peter’s face at that, shaking your head at him.

“At least he doesn’t deceive anyone. At least he doesn't lie…”

The words just kept tumbling out, and it was too late to stop them.

“You killed my friends and took me for yourself and drove me insane,” you slowly whispered, tone incredulous like you still couldn’t believe it. “...and if that wasn’t enough…”

You pulled on your arms again, but Peter refused to let you go.

“You made me fall in love with you.”

Peter’s movements faltered at your words, and he moved closer, looking between your eyes.

“You knew what you were doing,” you breathed. “This is what you wanted.”

You frowned at him with a shake of your head.

“You wanted me completely helpless and defenseless without you. I can’t so much as breathe a different way without looking to you first, and you know it. I find out you shot my best friend, and I’m struggling with it? Struggling?” you let out a humorless laugh. “I should hate you! I should be plotting to strangle you in your sleep.”

Peter wrapped his arms around you despite how difficult you made it, and he shushed you.

“...but what would happen to me? Where would I go? Who would even stand to be around me like this?”

Peter forced you to press your face into the crook of his neck, his hand on the back of your head and his other rubbing circles into your back.

“You’ve ruined me, Peter, and it’s exactly what you set out to do,” you sobbed into his skin. “...and I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“You’re not ruined,” he finally whispered into your hair.

You pushed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let you go, holding you tighter.

“You’re perfect.”

His words both validated and disgusted you. You knew he was saying them because he believed them to be true, and that was the problem. Now that he’d broken you down and scrambled your brain into loving the man who killed your friends and kidnapped you, you were perfect. He’d molded you into exactly what he wanted, and that only made you cry harder.

Peter gently rocked you, refusing to let you go, and when the hand on your back traveled to your stomach, you shuddered. As he traced patterns into your stomach and whispered comforting words to you, you thought to yourself that you couldn't even hate him in peace if you tried. He was always going to be there, comforting you during the pain he caused.

…and for the umpteenth day in a row, you had to decide between hating the man who ruined your life…or being happy.

[keeryhours]

you must be a dream - eddie munson part 1

virgin!perv!Eddie Munson x popular!cheerleader!Carver!fem!reader

some fwb!king!Steve Harrington x reader

Masterlist Tag Lists

Summary:

Eddie can’t help being obsessed with you, even though he knows you’re unattainable. The single most popular girl in school - and the hottest he’s ever seen. Maybe he takes his infatuation a little too far, but who can blame him when you look like that? Besides - sometimes dreams do come true.

Part 2 next week

Warnings:

Smut (18+), like a lot of smut, masturbation, unprotected p in v, creampie, voyeurism, public sex, mild dubcon (drunk sex), perv behavior, panty stealing/sniffing, looking up skirts, toxic relationship (with steve), virgin!eddie, perv!eddie, sub!eddie, experienced!reader, king!steve is an asshole

Word Count: 14.1k

A/N:

This is an Eddie romance but there is a lot of smut with Steve in this part - just so you’re prepared! When I say perv!Eddie, I mean it. Big thanks to @punkrockmlchael for my banner, beta reading, and helping me with Corroded Coffin dialogue, and to @writhingg for always being an amazing beta reader!!

Eddie’s hand slid up and down his slick cock, sufficiently lubed up with a mixture of precum and his own saliva. His stomach muscles tightened with every stroke, his head thrown back and eyes closed as he pictured you.

“Fuck,” he breathed out quickly, thumb swiping over his slit, making him moan pathetically.

He opened his eyes. He looked over to the yearbook he held in his left hand, propped open to the only page he ever looked at - your cheerleading portrait. Your beautiful face, your tits in that tight top, your legs in that tiny little skirt. God, how badly he wanted to bend you over, lift that skirt up-

His hips bucked up into his fist involuntarily, a whimper of your name escaping his lips. He had been holding off his orgasm for a while, bringing himself down every time he was on the edge before taking himself back there. Now he didn’t know if he could hold off- he was going to cum, hard.

“You like that?” he whispered to your picture, eyes locked on you. “Y’like when I fuck you like this? Taking this thick cock in your little pussy?” A shaky groan clawed its way out of his throat, his eyes fluttering closed before he snapped them open to look at you again.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he whined. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard. Gonna give it to you, give you everything.”

His eyes traveled up your body in your yearbook photo, lingering on your tits before finally locking in on your face.

“Shit.” He moaned your name in a shaky breath, imagining you were here with those pretty pink lips wrapped around his shaft - or maybe balls deep in your pussy, watching your perfect ass bounce and listening to you make the most delicious noises as he fucked you hard from behind.

“You want me to cum?” he whined to your picture. “Wanna see how hard you make me cum, baby?”

He moved his hand faster, fucking his fist. The wet noise of his hand on his cock filled the room, along with Eddie’s keening moans and shaky breaths. He was so so close, just a little longer-

His favorite image of you flashed in his mind. You, in your cheer uniform, no panties, legs spread wide on his bed. Perfect pussy on display all for him. And Eddie, worshipping your body the way you deserved.

With one last whimper of your name, Eddie flicked his wrist one, two, three more times before he let out a choked moan, his cum splattering all over his fist and stomach. He worked himself through it, cumming more than he had last time he did this - he had edged himself for so long this time and it paid off - stroking his cock until his body jolted with the aftershocks and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He laid there, chest heaving as he attempted to calm his racing heart. He finally removed his hand from his softening cock, reaching for an old t-shirt on the floor to clean himself up. He wiped the cum off his hand and the rest of his body. Fuck, there was…a lot.

He imagined fucking it all inside of you instead, seeing it leaking out when he pulled out of you.

His cock gave a weak twitch.

He tucked himself back away in his boxers and pajama pants. The yearbook still lay open on the bed next to him. He glanced over, seeing your smiling face staring back at him. He closed the book.

Then, like clockwork, the post-nut clarity kicked in and the shame crept through his veins. He covered his face with his hands, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.

Not only was he a total fucking creep - god, the way you, Carol, and Tina would laugh at him if you knew. And not only did you exist in a whole different world - you were astronomically popular - you were also completely unattainable.

And Jason’s twin sister.

Jason Carver, who hated Eddie and tormented him every chance he got. The blonde basketball team captain, King of Hawkins - well, next to Steve, at least. He’d always been popular, but ask anyone - the King title was always Steve’s first.

Not that Eddie gave a fuck about any of that high school hierarchy bullshit anyway.

This was a routine for Eddie. Watch you at school all day, get to interact with you if he’s lucky. Come home, daydream about you, get so hard he can’t stand it. Pull out your picture and jerk off while thinking about you, cum so hard he can’t think - then the guilt, the remorse.

And, fuck, he’d have to face you tomorrow. You, Carol, and Tina always bought from him every other Friday. He’d have to look you in the eyes, knowing what he just did.

Well, it wasn’t the first time.

Eddie had been obsessed with you since the beginning of time. He had been the grade above you until this year, but of course he knew you - everyone knew you. You were easily the single most popular girl at Hawkins and always had been.

You weren’t so bad. A little stuck up, maybe. Not like Jason, not a bully. You smiled and laughed when he flirted with you or bowed to you in the cafeteria. But you definitely thought he was a freak just like everyone else, and Eddie knew there was no reality where he had a chance with you.

So he did this.

Eddie got up from the bed, tossing the yearbook into the drawer, to be forgotten - or just pretend it doesn’t exist - until next time. Fuck. God, he really was a creep, wasn’t he?

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered to his guitar, his sweetheart, hanging on the wall - he always felt like the beloved instrument was a sentient thing, now silently judging him.

He walked out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, feeling like he needed a shower to wash away the dirty feeling clinging to his skin. He turned the water on, finding the perfect temperature before shedding his clothes and stepping in.

The water did help, soothing not only his body but his mind. That is, until the image of you in there with him flashed into his brain, wet, gripping his cock before bending over for him-

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck, Steve!”

“Yeah,” Steve panted in your ear, fucking you hard and fast from behind. You were pressed against the wall of the locker room, cheer top rucked up to expose your tits, hard nipples pressed against the cold wall. Steve was pressed against your back, fucking into you frantically. “Fuck, take it. God, you’re such a fucking slut.”

You whimpered - you always liked when Steve degraded you a little. He wrapped his large hand around your neck, pulling your back flush against him as the room was filled with the sound of his hips slamming into yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He squeezed, cutting off your airflow. Your eyes rolled back.

“Can’t believe you let me do this,” he grunted into your ear, a smirk on his lips. He squeezed your neck harder. Fuck, he was gonna leave bruises again. You’d have to explain that to Jason and your parents.

His other hand left your hip and wound around your body, pressing two fingers against your clit, making your knees go weak. Steve was holding you up as he fucked you and started rubbing circles on your throbbing clit.

“Make a fucking mess on my cock, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “Let me feel how hard you can cum for me. Fuck, I can feel you clenching around me- shit, I’m not gonna last much longer-“

You were getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen. But then your orgasm hit, your vision going white as you came around him, his cock hitting that bundle of nerves and prolonging it until you were so far gone you had no idea what was happening anymore.

Steve let go of your neck and you fell forward, landing on your hands against the wall. He grabbed 

onto your hips, slamming you back on his cock as he teetered right on the edge. Finally, he drew in a gasp, groaning loud as he snapped his cock in one more time and came inside you, thrusting shallowly.

He rode out his high deep in your pussy, groaning like he didn’t give a fuck if anyone heard. He kept a bruising grip on your hips until he was completely done - then he let you go, letting you fall forward against the locker room wall.

You spun around, shoving him hard in the chest. “Motherfucker, you weren’t supposed to finish inside!”

“Relax, I’ve got Plan B money.” He slapped your ass, grinning like an asshole. “Besides, you know I always cum inside you.”

You rolled your eyes, fixing your uniform and hair. You looked in the mirror, seeing your lipstick smudged - you looked back at Steve, seeing the traces of it on his neck and shirt. You weren’t gonna tell him.

You pulled your lipstick tube out of your bag and fixed your makeup while Steve pulled his jeans up and tucked his dick away. He looked at you again. “You coming to my party tonight?”

“Um, yeah,” you said - as if you ever missed a party. “We’re picking up the weed after school, don’t worry about it.”

“Cool,” he smirked. His eyes dropped down to your ass again before going back to your face. “You’re gonna make Munson cream his pants. You know how he feels about the uniform.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew Steve was right. There was a reason they sent you to pick up from Eddie every time.

“I feel bad,” you said. You put the top back on your lipstick, smacking your lips together. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Munson?” Steve snorted. “Dude’s a-“

“A freak, yeah I know.”

“Well, don’t feel bad for him,” Steve said. He fixed his hair in the mirror, somehow without noticing the kiss prints and hickies on his neck. “We get a discount, he gets to talk to you and look up your skirt a little. It’s a win-win situation.”

You frowned. You weren’t so sure you felt good about it, but you didn’t push it. You knew the friend group relied on you for this - it’s not like any of you were hurting for money, but still.

“You’re just using what you were blessed with, baby,” he winked. “It’s not like you have to fuck him.”

The idea of that was so outlandish it nearly made you laugh. “Yeah. No.”

“Just make sure you lay it on thick. Let him think he’s got a shot,” Steve snorted. His hand slid up your skirt, grabbing your ass tightly in his hand. “Everyone knows all this belongs to me, anyway.”

“Steve, we are not together,” you reminded him.

“So?” He kissed your neck, a light hand shaped bruise starting to bloom there. “Still mine.”

It wasn’t, but you let him believe what he wanted. Steve finally stepped away from you, picking up his backpack from the floor against the wall. “I’m gonna sneak out before anyone notices we were in here together. I’ll see you.”

“See ya.”

You continued fussing with your hair for a few minutes after you heard the locker room door slam shut, giving Steve the chance to get far. When you felt like the coast was clear, you grabbed your own bag and slipped out.

“What were you doing in the men’s locker room?”

You froze, resisting the urge to let out a deep sigh. You turned around to see your twin brother looking at you, duffel bag over his shoulder as he was about to enter the room you’d just left.

“Nothing,” you said. “Steve forgot something and asked me to run and get it.”

Jason didn’t believe you for a second. “Do you always have to be such a slut?” he hissed, so quiet for only you to hear, even though the hallway was deserted.

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You think I believe that?” he scoffed. “I know you. You know Steve talks, right? Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? That everyone knows how my sister puts out?”

You reeled back, jaw dropping. “Jason Michael Carver.”

“Oh, do not full name me-“

“You just called me a slut!” You threw your arms up in the air. “You’re such a saint. I’m sure you and Chrissy have never done anything.”

“If we do, it’s in private,” he spat. “Because Chrissy has respect for herself, unlike you.”

“Whatever.” You pushed past Jason’s shoulder, flipping him off over your shoulder as you walked to class. “Asshole.”

You had English next - with Eddie. You walked into the classroom, the metalhead looking up at you through his frizzy bangs from his seat in the back. He nodded at you and you gave him a (slightly flirtatious) smile before sliding into your seat next to Carol.

“Where were you?” Carol whispered, chewing her bubblegum.

Your cheeks heated. “With Steve.”

She rolled her eyes. “I could have guessed that.” She leaned over the aisle, getting closer to you. “Where?”

You almost didn’t want to tell her. “Men’s locker room.”

Her eyes went wide before she gave you a look. “Girl.”

You shrugged, heat rushing to your cheeks even more. “No one saw us.” As the memory came back to you, you winced. “Well, Jason kind of caught me coming out and put it together.”

Carol stifled her giggle with her hand. “Oh my god. I bet he was pissed.”

You nodded, widening your eyes. “So pissed.” You pulled your notebook out, flipping to a clean page. “Good thing I don’t give a fuck if Jason’s mad.”

“He’s gonna kick Steve’s ass one of these days,” Carol said, turning back to her own book. “If I don’t do it first.”

Your friends weren’t Steve’s biggest fans either. They thought Steve treated you like shit, which, they weren’t really wrong. It was worse when you and Steve actually were together. He hadn’t been a good boyfriend at all. Now, they were just disappointed you kept sleeping with him.

“He just doesn’t want to be embarrassed,” you mumbled. “He doesn’t actually care about me.”

“I think that’s enough to get Steve’s ass beat.”

While you talked to Carol, Eddie stared holes into the back of your head. Well, not just your head, definitely not. How could he not also appreciate your tits? Or your long, smooth legs in your cheer skirt? God, he loved that skirt. He loved game days, and it didn’t have a thing to do with throwing balls into laundry baskets.

Eddie could never pay attention in his classes with you. He was going to end up failing senior year yet again at this rate. It was worth it, he thought, to get to look at you.

At the end of class, he pretended to be busy putting his stuff away until you and Carol stood. Like every day, he timed it just right, so he was leaving the classroom right behind you. Fuck, how did the school let the cheer uniforms have such tiny skirts? He could almost see the edge of your panties when you walked. None of the other girls on the team wore the skirt like you did, though - no one looked as good in it as you.

Eddie hardly even noticed other girls. He didn’t care about anyone else. It was only you, had always only ever been you. Which was stupid, because he might as well have been dreaming about fucking Phoebe Cates or Shauna Grant. God, you were hotter than Phoebe Cates and Shauna Grant.

He hardly even attempted to hide his staring anymore. He followed as far as he could, dreaming of getting a piece of you-

“Earth to Eddie,” Gareth said, shoving Eddie hard in the shoulder. “God, snap out of it, man.”

Eddie jumped, looking at Gareth - he quickly snapped his head back in your direction, but he’d already lost you in the crowd. Great. He turned back to Gareth with a scowl on his face.

“What, man?” he snapped.

“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously be mad I interrupted you staring at Miss Queen of Hawkins’ ass.”

“You know what?” Eddie said, stopping at his locker. “Yeah, I am. I was enjoying the view.”

“Yeah. I know.” Gareth rolled his eyes. “You’d think one day you’d stop chasing that pipe dream.”

“I’m not chasing a dream,” Eddie grumbled. “You think I don’t know perfectly well I have no chance with her? I’m not delusional.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” Gareth leaned against the lockers, watching Eddie shove his books in his own disaster of a locker. “Why don’t you try to be interested in someone else? That girl at The Hideout last week was flirting with you, I swear-“

“I just wasn’t interested,” Eddie shrugged. “She wasn’t my type.”

“Yeah, because your type is the fairer Carver twin.” Gareth looked at Eddie, like he had him all figured out. It pissed Eddie off. “You’re going to be a virgin forever at this rate.”

“You’re a virgin, too!” Eddie hissed, trying to not alert the entire Hawkins student body to the embarrassing truth about both of them. “So don’t act like you’ve got shit figured out, or even know the first thing about women.”

“You’re being testy because I interrupted your ass-staring time. Got it, won’t do it again.” Gareth pushed off the lockers. “You cool off, and I’ll see you in the cafeteria.”

Eddie grabbed his metal lunchbox and slammed his locker shut. He pushed his wild curls out of his face as he walked to the cafeteria. Sure enough, you were already in there, sitting at the middle table with your friend group, Hawkins royalty.

He tried his best not to stare while he walked to the Hellfire table. He was the last one there - Mike and Dustin worked on their character sheets, while Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were laughing loudly about something. Eddie took his seat at the head of the table. He flipped his lunchbox open, taking out the sandwich sitting amongst the weed, rolling paper, and cigarettes.

“About time you made it in here,” Jeff said, watching Eddie take a bite of his ham sandwich. Eddie looked irritated, chewing his food and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“He was too busy staring at you-know-who,” Gareth snorted.

“Big surprise,” Grant muttered.

“Who?” Dustin asked. “Who are you talking about?”

Gareth happily got the first syllable of your name out before Eddie cut him off. “Dude, shut the fuck up.”

But he had said enough for the boys to put the pieces together. “Carver?” Mike asked. “Jason’s sister?”

“Oh, dude,” Dustin said.

“Thanks, Gare,” Eddie sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Oh yeah,” Gareth said, ignoring Eddie. “He’s been obsessed with her for as long as I can remember. You should see when they have class together. Oh, and today’s his favorite day, because every other Friday she-“

“Gareth, shut up!” Eddie snapped. “Fuck, come on, man.”

“Well, that’s just a waste of time,” Dustin said, as if he were surprised his DM would be obsessed with you. You weren’t exactly what he’d imagine to be Eddie’s type - although, you were kind of everybody’s type.

“Oh, he knows,” Gareth said. “He’s just that whipped. Totally wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger. And she barely even knows who he is.”

“She knows who I am,” Eddie grumbled.

“Only because you sell her and her friends drugs,” Jeff commented.

Eddie didn’t say anything. He wasn’t so sure Jeff was wrong, although he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He knew he didn’t have a chance in hell with you, sure, but you were friendly at least, right?

He was grateful when the conversation eventually moved back to DND. They had a big campaign tonight, but his head just wasn’t in it - he’d be seeing you first and that was all he could think about.

He watched you from across the cafeteria - the way you’d cover your mouth when you laughed at something one of your idiot friends said, the beautiful smile that stayed on your face all the time - the way that asshole Harrington put his arm around you. He was pretty sure you weren’t even together anymore - yes, he kept up with things like that.

Only when it came to you, though.

He tried to avert his eyes. He looked down at the sandwich he was nibbling on, trying to focus on the DND conversation happening around him.

And he counted down the hours until 3:30.

Eddie sat at the picnic table in the clearing of the woods behind the school. His head rested on his hand, the fingers of his other hand tapping against the metal of his lunchbox. He was early - maybe a little too eager.

The sound of giggles from amongst the trees made him snap his head up, watching. His heart beat faster, pounding against the wall of his chest. His stomach was in knots.

The sound of footsteps on the leaves. More giggling, a conversation too low for Eddie to properly hear it. Then, finally - you, Carol, and Tina walked out of the tree line, not even looking in his direction yet. He sat up straighter, adjusted his curls, then decided to stand. He was nervous - he always got flustered.

“Well well, good afternoon, ladies,” Eddie greeted, putting on his usual confident smile and sauntering around the table. “What can I do you for today?”

The three of you looked at him. Carol and Tina scrunched their noses up, looking at him like he was less than human, but he didn’t even notice. He was too busy looking at the way your lips spread into a smile, the way the sun caught your eyes and made them sparkle.

“Hey, Eddie,” you said, and his stomach did flips at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. “Just the usual.”

He bowed his head. “You got it. Anything for the prettiest girl in Hawkins.” He flipped open his lunchbox with a flourish, pulling out the ounce of weed he’d already weighed and bagged in preparation of this meeting.

You giggled, hand fiddling with your gold cross necklace. Eddie’s eyes dropped down with the motion, letting them linger on your tits. You didn’t miss it.

“How’s the band?” you asked, crossing one foot in front of the other.

“Oh, you know, making it big,” Eddie said, dangling the baggie from his hand. “All five of our fans are loving our new stuff.”

You laughed again, walking around to the table. Carol and Tina lingered off to the side while you hopped up - tits bouncing in your top - onto the picnic table, sitting on the edge, legs swinging. Eddie swallowed hard.

“Maybe I’ll have to come see you sometime,” you said. You subtly - intentionally - let your legs fall open a little, allowing Eddie the slightest glimpse of your panties. You had worn your cutest pink set just for him.

Eddie’s heart banged even harder against his chest, first at your words and then as his eyes dropped down. Fuck. He forgot to respond at first, brain short circuiting at the sight - oblivious to Carol and Tina laughing behind him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, definitely,” he said once he’d remembered it was his turn to speak. “I, uh…yeah. At The Hideout, Tuesday nights. You should definitely come.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You tilted your head with a smile - crossing your legs. Show over. Just a tease. “How much do we owe you?”

“20 for the ounce?” he offered, finally meeting your eyes again. “That’s 50% off. You’re robbing me blind, sweetheart.”

“Aw, Eddie,” you cooed, hopping off the table. “You’re so sweet. What would we do without you?”

Eddie was blushing hard, feeling more flustered than he usually did - you usually weren’t this flirty. “I, uh- I don’t- I mean yeah, of course, it’s no problem. Not for you, princess.”

You handed out the 20 dollar bill while Eddie offered up the baggie of weed. Your fingers brushed together - yours were so soft, so smooth, and you smelled like strawberries - and he felt electricity all the way up his arm. He almost jolted away from you, but kept his composure somehow.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you purred, and the sound of you saying his name again had his cock throbbing in his pants. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, lost in your eyes. You were standing so close he couldn’t think straight. “Any time. Seriously, just, uh…say the word.”

“I will.” Fuck, were you flirting? You handed the weed off to Carol, who stuffed it in her purse. “You should come to a game sometime.”

Eddie couldn’t even think straight. It took him an embarrassingly long time to respond. “Oh, yeah, definitely. I-I love basketball. I love…” he mimed cheerleading, or at least the most basic pom-pom waving kind. “What you do is cool.”

You giggled again. “Cool. I’ll see you there one of these days, right?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Eddie nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Of course.” He stuffed the 20 in his pocket, wondering if he should cancel Hellfire tonight to watch you cheer. He thought Gareth, Jeff, and Grant might actually kill him.

“Good. I’ve got to get ready for the game, but…” You stepped closer to him, like right up against him. He gulped. “Thank you, Eddie. You’re always so sweet.”

You stood on your toes in your perfect white sneakers and kissed him on the cheek.

Eddie was frozen. He didn’t know what to do. He was helpless as he watched the three of you leave, linking arms and giggling to each other. Eddie felt like he’d just run a few miles - his heart was racing, breathing ragged. He collapsed onto the bench of the picnic table.

And tried to think of how to get out of Hellfire tonight.

You pulled your hair up into a high pony, tightening the green and yellow bow. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time - then reached for your makeup bag, applying more concealer over the bruise attempting to show through your foundation.

“Oh my god, is that a handprint?” Chrissy asked, completely scandalized, her eyes wide. “Who did that to you?”

You glanced over at her briefly - Chrissy was a sweet girl, but she was also very naive. “No, it’s nothing. Just, uh…wore my seatbelt too tight.”

The excuse didn’t even make any sense, but Chrissy just looked at you strangely before dropping the subject. You wanted to tell her to relax, tell her that Steve just likes it rough, but you didn’t think that would make her feel much better.

You finished up with your makeup, then stuffed your bag into your locker along with your change of clothes. With one last adjustment of your uniform, you left the locker room with your team, ready to cheer your heart out.

On the other side of the school, Eddie took his throne for Hellfire. The guys sat around the table, already set up for the campaign. The room was filled with excited chatter - the guys were itching to see what Eddie had in store for them, and Eddie was ready to put his friends’ characters through it.

As the game went on, though, Eddie found himself distracted. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you were here in the school with him, doing your little flips and jumps and routines. He could be watching that right now, seeing beneath your skirt every time you did a toe touch.

He even stumbled over his words a few times, dropping character when he thought too hard about that thing you do where you lift your leg high in the air. The guys definitely noticed he was off his game, and he was sure they knew why.

When Hellfire ended, the game was still going on, just nearing the end. While all his friends left the school together, Eddie lingered behind with the excuse of cleaning up the drama room.

It only took him a few minutes to put all his DND stuff away. When he was done, backpack over his shoulder, he left the room - and followed the sound of cheering, as if succumbing to the call of a siren.

He opened the gym door just a little, peeking inside. Hawkins was in the lead, by a lot. He didn’t really care about that. What he cared about was the cheerleading captain, currently being tossed high in the air by your teammates. Your skirt flew up as you flipped in the air, giving him the perfect view of your even more perfect ass, before you landed perfectly in the arms of the other girls.

He loved watching you cheer. There was something so hot about it - he wanted to choose to believe it wasn’t just the skirt or your ass. He was impressed by the skill, the athleticism, impressed with you. He willed you to see him, give him a smile and a cute little wave, but of course you had no idea he was there. When you did another jump, he looked down between your legs - seeing the black panties you wore underneath. His cock started to fill out, and-

Wait.

You had been wearing pink panties before. He remembered because he’d committed it to memory. That means you changed, which means - your clothes were in the locker room.

The idea struck Eddie hard, like a ball of lightning. Then, the shame at even thinking it. But…

He let the gym door fall closed as he turned around and began speed walking down the hallway. His heart was racing - was he really about to do this? This was crossing a line he hadn’t crossed before. He felt a little disgusted at himself, but…also excited. This was thrilling.

He rounded the corner and came face to face with the door to the women’s locker room. He looked around - the hallway was completely deserted. No one would be coming around until the game was over. He had a few minutes.

He pushed the door open and slid inside.

The women’s locker room was much different than the men’s. For one thing, it didn’t smell like sweat and gym socks. The smell was intoxicating, a mix of fruity and floral scents. He could even make out your signature perfume in the sensory overload - and it made his cock twitch.

It wasn’t hard to find your locker. Everyone’s locker had their initials on it for one, but yours was also covered with photos. You with Carol and Tina, you with Heather Holloway, you with the cheer team - you and Steve. The latter made his stomach clench.

He opened the locker, pleased to find it unlocked. Inside, you had all kinds of stuff - clothes, shower stuff, body care, lotions and perfumes and a hairbrush. He looked at it all, feeling a familiar kind of longing. He picked up the shampoo and conditioner bottles, then the lotions, giving them all a smell and committing them to memory. One of the lotions had seen much more use than the others - he smelled that one, and groaned. That was your signature scent.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he shoved the lotion bottle in his backpack.

He looked through your locker some more. There were an absurd amount of notes, folded in perfect little squares and kept in a pencil box. Just notes passed back and forth with your friends, some with Steve - Meet me in the locker room. Come over tonight, my parents aren’t home. Quickie before practice? Eddie resisted the urge to throw those away.

A pink duffel bag sat on the bottom shelf. Eddie took it, unzipping it - score.

Your clothes were inside - with those pretty pink panties right on top. Slowly, tentatively, as if he might talk some sense into himself, he reached for the panties. They were soft, baby pink with a bow in the front and lace around the hem. He held them like he couldn’t believe they were real.

Then he brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply.

Fuck. Eddie couldn’t help it - he moaned, loud. He was painfully hard in his jeans now, and he dropped his free hand, palming himself over the denim.

Somewhere, a door slammed.

He snapped out of it. Panic struck into his chest at the sound, remembering where he was and what he was doing. He quickly shoved the panties into his pocket, closing your bag and putting everything back in the locker.

He walked to the door in quick strides of his long legs. Peeking out the door to make sure no one was around first, he slipped out of the locker room and started nearly running to the exit of the school, headed for his van.

He couldn’t wait to get home.

You rolled up to Steve’s house with Jason and Chrissy. You felt like the third wheel, sitting in the backseat - but it made more sense than having Carol come pick you up when your brother was going anyway.

You had changed out of your uniform after the game, searching your closet for a good 30 minutes before coming up with a large brown sweater and a tiny little black skirt. 

Inside the house, the music was pumping so loud the walls were shaking. The large downstairs was packed full of people, talking, drinking, dancing. You left Jason and Chrissy immediately, pushing through to head straight for the kitchen.

You grinned at your best friends, who practically squealed when they saw you even though you’d only been apart for about an hour. Carol, Tina, and Heather pulled you into their orbit - one of them. They scooped you a cup full of spiked punch. You sipped it - fuck, Steve always made his punch way too fucking strong.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Heather laughed as you made a face, the alcohol burning on the way down.

“Steve’s looking for you, by the way,” Tina said, giving you a smirk. “Said when I see you to tell you to meet him out back.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he was. But for some reason, you could never resist Steve. It’s not even that you loved him, or had particularly strong feelings for him…he just always got what he wanted.

“I think I need to be a little more drunk first.” You downed your first drink - to the shocked expressions of your friends - and immediately poured yourself another.

“Be careful,” Carol whispered against your ear, leaning close to you so you could hear her over the music. “Don’t get so drunk you let him take advantage of you again.”

Your heart clenched - you knew Carol cared about you. Sometimes you forgot just how Steve treated you, and that others noticed. Even Jason had told you to stop dating Steve - that he was no good for you. But you always had to do the opposite of whatever Jason said - it was like a personal challenge.

You put it off for a while, laughing with your friends as you finished a couple cups of punch. You knew Steve would be mad if you just ignored him, so you finished off your third drink, refilled your cup, then said goodbye to your friends and headed for the backyard.

It wasn’t hard to find Steve. He was always surrounded by a group of adoring people, hanging on to every word he said. Tonight was no different. King Steve held court off to the side of the pool, flashing that charming smile to the girls giggling at every word he said. You rolled your eyes.

As you stomped over, you caught the attention of the group. They parted for you as if out of a deep respect, the guys looking at you wide eyed while the girls gave you dirty looks with whispers of I thought they broke up?. Steve, oblivious - or apathetic - to it all, curled his lips into a pleased grin.

“About time,” he said, holding an arm out for you. You took your place under it. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”

“Never,” you said - an honest answer. You noticed he still had obvious hickies in his neck, but he’d cleaned off the lipstick stains in the shower after the game.

Steve squeezed your shoulder. He leaned over and brushed his lips against your ear. “Wanna go upstairs with me, baby?”

Your skin tingled, like static electricity in your bloodstream. You were a little unsteady on your feet, letting Steve hold you up. “Okay.”

Steve led you upstairs, letting you lean on him as he helped you. You could tell he was a little drunk, too - but you had so much to drink so fast, you were in slightly worse shape.

He opened the door to his bedroom and you let yourself into the familiar space, flopping down on his bed. You were exhausted from the day - school, cheering, now this. You were ready to curl up and go to sleep.

Steve crawled onto the bed next to you. His hand rested on your hip as he leaned down and kissed you, slowly at first, then hungrier. He parted your lips, licking into your mouth. His hips were rutting against you, hard cock rubbing against your bare thigh.

“God, I want you,” he breathed, moving on top of you. He pressed his hips against your core, aching dick throbbing as he let out a shuddering, needy breath.

“Want you too, Stevie,” you mumbled. His familiar body on top of you had you coming alive, soaking your panties.

He sat up and pulled his shirt off quickly, then yours. He urgently worked his belt open, chest heaving as he looked down at you. You traced your hand through his chest hair, feeling the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen. They twitched beneath your touch.

With his jeans and boxers shoved down to his thighs, his hard cock bobbing at his lower stomach, he reached beneath your skirt to pull your panties off.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he leaned forward, mouthing at your tits. “Shit, you’re so hot. So fucking hot, baby.” He rocked his hips forward, cock tracing through your folds. He groaned at the feeling of your wetness, the way it coated his shaft as he thrusted back and forth.

He hooked his arms under your thighs, pushing them up against your chest. He nudged his thick cockhead against your entrance, pushing just barely inside. You whined at the stretch - although you were used to taking Steve’s dick by now.

He fucked his cock in further, adding another inch with every thrust. You arched your back, crying out at the pressure of him stretching you. Steve was actually huge - he’d had plenty of experiences with girls where he couldn’t even get it in - so it could be uncomfortable, but god, once you got used to it? It was incredible.

“Almost in, baby,” he mumbled soothing words against your cheek. “Almost in you, just a little bit more. You can take it, you always do.”

He was right - you always did.

You let out a shuddering breath as Steve pushed the remaining few inches into you with a groan. His fists tightened in the sheets, then he was pulling back and pounding into you.

You whined, pulling on Steve’s hair while he fucked into you. He wrapped his arms around your body, hugging you close to him and hiding his face in your neck while he bucked his hips.

“So, so good, baby,” he praised, voice muffled against your skin. “Making me feel so good, taking this dick like that. God you’re such a slut, you always take it-“

He cut himself off with a loud moan as you tightened around him, shutting him up. As annoying as he could be, his - glorious - cock was fucking you just right, pressing against your bundle of nerves with every balls-deep thrust.

You could feel the coil tightening, your spine prickling with electricity. Oh fuck, you suddenly remembered why you kept sleeping with Steve.

You were so close, so close-

“Fuck- shit, I’m cumming,” Steve cried, and before you could beg him no, no, just a little longer, he was grabbing onto your thigh, squeezing as he grunted with his release, cum coating your velvety walls.

You had to say, you were disappointed but not surprised. Steve only cared if you came about half the time, and it looked like tonight was not one of those lucky nights.

“Are you serious?” you said, pushing his sweaty body off of you. He rolled onto the mattress next to you, running his hands through his slightly wet hair.

“I’m sorry, baby. You just felt so good.” Steve winked and smirked at you, looking like he wasn’t all that sorry at all.

You rolled your eyes, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. You pulled your panties and shirt back on, tossing Steve his shirt. He was pulling his jeans and boxers back up, but seemed in no hurry to replace his shirt and get back to the party.

“You’re a dick,” you mumbled. You felt angry - you felt used. Steve always made you feel used.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he cooed, but he was still smiling like he found the whole situation funny. “You know how I feel about you. You know you’re my favorite girl.”

You weren’t having it. “Where’s the Plan B money?”

Steve frowned. “My wallet’s on the desk.”

You walked over to the desk sitting against the wall, seeing Steve’s expensive leather wallet laying on top. You flipped it open and plucked out the bills to cover the emergency contraceptive.

“Baby, seriously. Don’t be like this.” Steve was giving minimal effort, but he beckoned you back to the bed, as if you would listen to whatever he asked.

You threw open his bedroom door. A few people in the hallway turned to look, seeing you leaving, disheveled with a shirtless Steve on the bed - and immediately started whispering. You didn’t care right now.

You slammed Steve’s door behind you, pushing past the party goers and going back downstairs. Maybe Jason would take you home, or even Carol. Someone would, and you were going to ask everyone until you got a ride.

All you knew is you couldn’t stand to be at this party for another second.

Eddie had rushed home, speeding even faster than he usually did. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding - he felt like he had a big, incredible secret. The panties sitting in his pocket might as well have weighed 50 pounds. He couldn’t stop thinking about them and what he’d done.

He was relieved to see Wayne gone when he got home. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

He locked up behind himself before heading straight for his room - fuck eating, he couldn’t wait another second. He was already half hard as he pulled his shirt off, then reached for the joint he’d rolled earlier.

Sparking up the joint, he placed the roll between his lips, taking a deep inhale. The smoke traveled down into his lungs, filling his body with a deep contentment.

He laid on the bed with his joint still propped in his mouth. He undid his belt and shoved his jeans and boxers down in record time - he was already so worked up, and the weed was only going to make his orgasm even better.

Eddie pulled out the lotion and your panties - and he paused. Was he really going to do this? This was a level of creep he hadn’t reached yet. He could go back - he could sneak your stuff back in your locker Monday - hell, he could even throw them away and pretend this never happened.

His cock was throbbing, already fully hard as he held the soft panties in his hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist around them, fighting with himself - could he forgive himself for this?

He brought the panties up to his nose and inhaled. His cock twitched, and he couldn’t help it - he wrapped his hand around himself, twisting his hand around his shaft as he breathed in the smell of you.

And fuck, you smelled just as good as he imagined. Better, even. He imagined his face was buried in your pussy, the real thing - fuck, he would do anything. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he made you cum harder than you ever had. It’s only what you deserved.

Eddie rubbed the panties against his aching cock, jolting from the sensation of the rough lace against his sensitive dick. He let out a little huff of smoke - his heart was beating out of his chest - and wrapped the panties around his shaft. Slowly, he stroked his cock with them, breathing shakily.

The joint slipped from his lips and fell on the bed. “Shit,” he cursed, picking it up and dropping it in his ashtray. He was already plenty high, and all he wanted now was to get off to the thought of you. 

He reached into his bedside table and pulled out the yearbook. It was a surprise the pages weren’t stuck together at this rate. He flipped straight to the dog eared page, letting out a groan at the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispered to your picture as he stroked himself faster. “Fuck. Did you wear these just for me today? Did you know how fucking crazy it would drive me?”

When the material of the panties started to get uncomfortable rubbing against his cock - too sensitive - he put the book down and grabbed your bottle of lotion. He closed his eyes as he opened the top and smelled it again - he could almost picture you were right here.

He put some in the palm of his right hand. Then, he wrapped his hand around his cock, moaning as the cool lotion coated his shaft. He could smell the scent so clearly - it made it even easier to think about you.

He picked the yearbook back up with his left hand, jerking himself faster - his hand was moving quickly with the help of the lotion. He let out a shuddering moan - fuck, it felt so good. His dick was rock hard in his hand, almost painfully so. He just got so worked up at school all day having to see you, especially when he got to talk to you, too. He always came home aching.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasped to your picture. The slick sound of his hand on his cock was filling the room - he could almost imagine it was the sound of your wet pussy, taking him deep and fast. “D’you like when I’m this hard for you? You wanna feel me deep inside your little cunt?”

Eddie’s body was shaking with the intensity of his building orgasm. He looked at your ass and legs in the photo and pictured you in your uniform with no panties underneath, bouncing on his cock.

Or maybe he’d bend you in half, let you show him just how flexible you are. He’d spread your legs wide, watching his cock disappearing into that tight cunt. His hips bucked up into his fist.

“Christ, baby,” Eddie groaned. “You’d be so good, I know you would. You’d let me worship you, let me taste your pussy, get my cock inside you - oh fuck - is that what you want, baby? God, you get me so fucking worked up-“

He was squeezing his cock with every upstroke, rubbing his thumb over the slit, tracing the vein on the underside of his shaft. It was your hand he pictured on him - smaller, softer than his own. So fucking soft, so you-

Eddie whimpered your name as if on instinct. He called out for you, throwing his head back with little “Ah ah ah”s as he brought himself higher and higher. He could feel that familiar feeling creeping up his spine, making his muscles clench. He cupped his balls in his hand, massaging them for a moment before going back to his needy cock.

He repeated your name over and over. “That’s it, that’s it. Good girl, so good for me. So fucking beautiful. Take this big cock, sweetheart, let me fuck that pretty pussy - fuck fuck fuck-“

His hand was moving rapidly up and down his cock now, precum leaking from the tip and mixing with your lotion. Your panties were on his chest, close enough that he could see them, bringing them to his nose to smell them. He locked eyes with your photo, imagining you were here begging for his cum, begging him to finish for you.

“You want my cum?” he whispered. “I’ll give it to you, baby. Gonna cum so hard, all for you. ‘m so close, baby, just- fuck- just a little more, almost fuckin’ there-“

His skin was tingling, body trembling, heart pounding. He twisted his hand around his cock faster, and oh god oh god-

Repeating your name like a desperate prayer, his cum shot out onto his stomach and hand, a seemingly endless amount. Fuck, he never used to cum this much before he started jerking off to you - it was like you drained everything out of him. He kept pumping his fist as he groaned, wringing out the last of his orgasm, dick pulsing in his hand as the final drops of his cum beaded at the tip, sliding down his shaft.

Eddie’s chest heaved with his breathing. He slowly removed his hand from his sticky, softening cock, looking around for something to clean up with - fuck, he might as well go get in the shower. He sighed, forcing his weary body up and off the bed. His post-nut shame was creeping in, and he needed to go wash all this away before he started really hating himself.

He threw the yearbook back in his drawer, grabbed a change of clothes, and went into the hall bathroom. He got the water started then washed his hands off in the sink, his shame disappearing down the drain. He thought briefly, again, of you, and what you’d think of him if you knew what he did.

He tried to push those thoughts away as he climbed in under the hot water. He didn’t want to think about you being upset with him - he only wanted to think of you in this shower with him, kissing your soft lips and tangling his hands in your hair. 

Eddie was trying to be innocent for once, he swears, but then his mental image of you smirked at him and dropped to her knees, and-

Eddie Munson was so fucked.

Eddie tried to go about life normally, but it was hard knowing what he’d done - and what he’d continue to do - every night alone in his bedroom. The panties and lotion found their home in a box in his closet he only pulled out when he was desperate for you - which was often.

It was hard to look you in the eyes after that night. When he saw you again Monday morning, he had averted his gaze, stared at your ass instead. Also not entirely unusual, but he wasn’t prepared for the guilt he’d feel around you.

He watched you throughout English class. Today you were wearing jeans that hugged your body just right, a cute little striped shirt that spread tight across your tits. God, Eddie, did you always have to be such a perv? Why couldn’t he talk about how pretty your eyes were, or how you always put together the most flattering outfits? How you had the best style of any girl in school - not just boring preppy Gap bullshit, but some personality in your look?

Eddie could have gone on and on about the things he liked about you, because yes, believe it or not, it was much more than just your body that had him obsessed. Much more. You were somehow the most popular girl in Hawkins, Jason Carver’s sister, and the coolest girl he’d ever met.

He hardly even realized class had passed him by as the bell rang and everyone started to stand, gathering their things. Eddie snapped out of his daydream and grabbed his own stuff, waiting for the perfect time to leave right behind you. When you and Carol stood, he knew it was his time.

Fuck, you looked even better in those jeans than he’d realized. His mouth watered, he longed to reach out and touch you.

“I can’t believe him,” Carol said quietly to you, and Eddie strained to hear the whispered conversation.

“I can,” you shrugged. “He’s always been…selfish.”

Who were you talking about? 

“You need to stop sleeping with him,” Carol said. Eddie’s stomach clenched at the words - Steve. You were talking about Steve. “He’s no good for you. And you know he’s already told Tommy and all the guys about Friday night?”

“I’m sure he left out the part where he finished in a couple minutes and didn’t return the favor.”

Eddie almost laughed. The idea of you sleeping with someone else always made him upset - but that was nothing compared to the anger he felt over Steve running his mouth about you to the whole school.

He lost the two of you quicker than he would have liked in the bustle of the lunchtime rush. He looked around for you, hoping to spot the top of your head somewhere, but ultimately gave up and headed for the cafeteria.

Jason, Patrick, Andy, and Chance walked down the hall in the other direction, talking to each other. Eddie attempted to pretend they didn’t exist, as usual, but as they passed each other Jason reached out, knocking Eddie’s books out of his hands.

“Sorry, freak,” Jason quipped, high fiving Patrick as the other guys laughed, still walking away.

Eddie took a deep breath, then he bent over and picked up his books. He would never understand how you and Jason were twins.

You and Carol were standing in the lunch line together when Eddie got into the cafeteria, still talking. He thought about joining the line with you - buy himself a cookie or something - but the guys were already watching him from their table. He looked at you one last time, reluctantly tearing his eyes away as he made his way to his usual seat.

“What, not gonna follow Carver into the lunch line to stare at her ass some more?” Gareth teased, and Eddie hated how obvious he must have been.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie muttered. He flipped his lunchbox open, reaching for the bag of chips he’d packed. His fingers itched for a cigarette instead.

“I just can’t believe it’s Carver that Eddie’s obsessed with,” Dustin said. “Like…that’s not what I imagined your type to be whatsoever.”

Eddie shrugged. He wanted to list out all the reasons why he liked you so much, why he needed you so badly, but he knew that wouldn’t make things any better.

“Yeah, it makes no sense,” Gareth said, poking at his mac and cheese. “Like, yeah she’s hot as hell, but she’s also a Carver. Ms. Stuck up Queen of Hawkins.”

“Come on Gareth, be nice,” Jeff scolded. Then, a raised eyebrow - “but really Eddie? Her?”

“She’s-“ he almost started, almost outed himself as being even more head over heels in love with you than they already knew, but recognized the bait before he did. “She’s nice.”

“Sure,” Grant said.

Eddie didn’t want to talk about the subject anymore. You were his, and he didn’t want to explain himself to his friends. He knew every guy at this table had been interested in you at some point or another, and he wasn’t about to reignite any old crushes.

In fact, Eddie more or less ignored his friends for the rest of lunch. The guys were coming over to his place tonight to talk the next campaign and pass a blunt around, and Eddie felt that was plenty interaction with them in one day.

After school, Eddie made a pit stop at Rick’s to pick up his supply. Rick was happy to see him, as usual, and he found himself pulled into a 30 minute conversation on government surveillance.

By the time he made it to the trailer, Jeff’s car was already sitting out front, the three of them waiting for Eddie. They climbed out as Eddie walked up the steps to unlock the front door.

“About time,” Gareth complained. “What, did you follow Carver home to peek through her windows first?”

“Ha, ha,” Eddie said sarcastically. He pushed the front door open and walked inside, letting his friends follow behind him.

The guys followed down the hall to Eddie’s cramped bedroom. While Eddie opened his stash box to pull out the blunt he’d rolled earlier, they found a place to sit. Then-

“Eddie, are you fucking kidding?” Gareth asked.

Eddie froze. He turned around slowly - finding Gareth standing next to the bed, holding your panties. His stomach dropped to his feet.

“Uh, what are those?” Jeff asked, brows furrowed in confusion. He leaned in for a closer look - yeah, those were definitely panties.

“Are these what I think they are?” Gareth asked, his voice rising.

“Uh- no, I mean-“

“What are you talking about?” Grant asked, confused, feeling like he was out of the loop. He didn’t connect the dots, until- 

“You stole her panties?” Gareth choked out. “How did you- Eddie, what the fuck-“

Eddie snatched the panties from Gareth’s hand quickly, tossing them into the bedside drawer for now. Gareth watched - spotting the well-loved yearbook laying inside. “Dude, is that your jerk off drawer?”

Eddie’s face was bright red. “Gareth. Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh my god,” Jeff said, looking between Eddie and Gareth. “You are obsessed with her.”

“Those aren’t hers!” Eddie said quickly, frantically trying to come up with an excuse. “They’re…you know, probably got mixed up with my clothes at the laundromat, it happens sometimes-“

“So you just kept some stranger’s panties?” Gareth asked with his eyebrows raised, not believing a word out of Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie sighed. That was worse, wasn’t it? “Okay, they’re hers. But I’m not- I didn’t- look, they were there, and-“

Gareth held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear any more about your obsession with Carver. Whatever illegal creepy pervert shit you did to get those, I don’t wanna know. Let’s just smoke this blunt and talk about the campaign.”

Eddie was relieved the topic was changing, but his cheeks were still bright red, shame clinging to his skin like too-small clothes. He knew his friends thought his obsession was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. But he couldn’t help himself. You were you, and you were everything.

He sparked up the blunt, took the first drag, and let his worries fade away for the night.

Your teammates lifted you into the air. This was your favorite part of cheerleading - the rush of flying. You were lifted high with a spin, straight into a cupie. You held it for a few seconds, then grabbed your foot and lifted your leg, holding it straight up as you crossed your arm in front - a perfect bow and arrow. The girls tossed you up and into a perfectly executed basket toss, catching you and sitting you safely on the ground.

“Excellent, Carver!” Coach Mills yelled from her spot on the sidelines. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Your heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but you beamed with pride. Landing a stunt was the best feeling, every time.

You were completely oblivious to Eddie watching from the sidelines. He was leaning against the fence, eyes locked on you and only you. He didn’t watch practice often, but when he could…

God, you were so good. It wasn’t even the glimpses up your skirt he got when you did tricks that made it so enthralling - you were genuinely really good at what you did. Eddie had always imagined cheerleading as waving pom poms around on the sidelines of a basketball game, but your competition routines were on a whole other level.

He watched the rest of practice, his heart slamming against his chest every time your teammates threw you in the air. He had to admit it scared him a little - he didn’t know how you did it.

After practice, you walked up the bleachers, laughing and talking with your teammates. Eddie watched, the way you had your leg up on the seat, bending over to retie your shoe.

He rushed under the bleachers.

It didn’t hurt just to take a little peek, right? He crept underneath the metal stands, until he was right beneath where you and your friends stood. He looked up and saw directly up your skirt - your pretty light blue panties on full display.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, locked in on the thin fabric covering your pretty pussy, the delicious curve of your ass. His jeans grew tighter, the zipper uncomfortable against his cock.

“I’m going to shower before everyone else uses all the hot water,” your friend - Sarah? Lauren? - said, picking up her gym bag. “You coming?”

“You can go ahead,” you said. “I like waiting until everyone’s gone. It’s peaceful.”

Your friend shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

The words you’d just said bounced around in Eddie’s head. You like waiting until everyone’s gone. That means you’d be in the locker room, showering - alone.

He knew this was too far. He knew he was seriously crossing boundaries this time - shit, was this illegal? - but fuck, the way his cock throbbed in his jeans at the mere thought, the possibility.

He rushed back into the school. His heart was racing, pounding in his ears. He lingered around the corner in the hallway leading to the women’s locker room. It was loud inside - he could hear the cheerleaders talking and giggling as they showered and changed.

And Eddie waited.

The entire time he waited, he questioned himself. Multiple times he almost left, talking some sense into his own brain and going home. Grabbing the yearbook and the panties and lotion and rubbing one out. But the promise of seeing more…

He waited until the girls started filing out of the locker room, not paying him any mind as he leaned against the wall pretending to read his book for English he hadn’t even started yet. He gave it a little bit after the last girls left, wanting to make sure no one was still in there but being cautious not to wait so long that you showed up before he could go in.

This had to be timed perfectly.

When he felt like the coast might be clear, he crept over to the door. He opened it just a few inches, listening carefully. He didn’t hear anything at all.

“…Hello?” he called, lowering his voice an octave in an attempt to not sound like himself in case someone was still in there.

He got no response. Satisfied and with adrenaline coursing through his body, he snuck inside the locker room.

It was deserted. Eddie let out a breath in relief - so far so good. He realized he hadn’t exactly planned this far - what was he supposed to do now? He looked around for a hiding space that would let him see you, and then - jackpot. An out-of-order shower stall.

He slipped inside the shower, closing the curtain tightly. He took a few deep breaths - okay, okay. He’d come this far, he was going to follow through with it.

God? I know you never hear from me, because I don’t believe in you, but please don’t let me get caught.

He waited even more. For a while. After a while Eddie thought about just leaving - maybe you decided to shower at home? But just as he was about to give up, reaching to open the shower curtain, the locker room door slammed shut. His stomach tied in knots - you were here.

“Come on, baby.”

Eddie froze. You weren’t alone.

“I said I’m done!” you exclaimed, sounding fed up. “The party was my limit, Steve, seriously. I’m sick of you and how you only care about yourself.”

“Baby, please. Don’t be like that.”

Eddie could practically hear the smirk in Harrington’s voice. He wanted to punch the guy. He slowly, carefully, slid the curtain to the side just an inch, peeking out.

You and Steve were perfectly in his line of view, by the sinks. You were unclipping the big green bow from your high pony, Steve leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, looking at you like something to devour.

“Don’t be like what, Steve?”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. Did Steve really talk to you like that? He almost stepped out of the showers to defend your honor, but caught himself the second he began to lift his foot off the floor. He was powerless.

“I’m not being a bitch. I’m just done with you.” You sat the bow on the counter, picking up your hairbrush and beginning to comb it through your hair.

“You know you don’t mean that.” Steve pushed himself off the counter, sauntering over behind you. He put his hands on your hips like they belonged there. His front pressed against you from behind, and he lowered his head, whispering something in your ear that Eddie couldn’t make out.

You giggled. Was this douchebag’s bullshit really working on you? Eddie clenched his fist - he fucking hated that guy.

His eyes darted down to follow the movement - Steve’s hand was trailing up your skirt. His other arm was still wrapped around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. He was whispering something to you Eddie couldn’t hear at all, but the more he said the more you leaned back into him, hairbrush forgotten on the counter as Steve’s hands slid over your body.

Then - with little warning, surprising even Eddie, Steve gripped you hard by the hips with one hand and by the hair with the other, bending you over the counter roughly. Eddie’s eyes went wide - oh shit.

“You wanna be a fucking brat?” Steve asked, lifting your cheer skirt and slapping you hard on the ass. Eddie jumped as the sound rang out loudly through the room, echoing all around. But you responded to the slap with a short moan, and holy fucking shit, that was the hottest thing Eddie had ever heard in his life.

His cock throbbed, filling out in his jeans. His heart was beating so hard he could barely hear the clinking sound of Steve urgently unbuckling his belt, undoing his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his hard cock. Eddie hated to admit it, but Steve was huge. Maybe not quite as thick as Eddie, but…

He watched, practically drooling on the floor as Steve pulled your panties down, dropping them on the floor. He tried to get a good look at you - fuck, one look at your pussy and he could die a happy man. But he couldn’t quite see with Steve’s body in the way - which only pissed Eddie off more.

Steve rubbed his hands over the round of your ass - even more perfect with your panties off and skirt pushed up - like he was admiring it. Hell, he couldn’t blame him - Eddie would do the same.

“Why don’t you show me why they call you the King, Steve,” you taunted, pushing your ass back against his hips. Eddie’s breath hitched.

Steve hissed at the contact against his cock, then chuckled, slapping your ass one more time. “Oh, baby. I’ll have you screaming my name before you know what fuckin’ hit you.”

Steve dragged his cock through your folds, and Eddie tried to get a better look. You were a little too far away to see, too far to make out details - it frustrated him. But then Steve pushed inside of you and you whined, dropping your head forward, and Eddie’s cock twitched.

He was fully hard. As Steve pulled his hips back and began fucking into you, making you whine and moan, Eddie palmed himself over his jeans. He ignored Steve, picturing himself in his place. That only made his cock ache more, precum leaking from his tip and soaking his boxers.

He had to do something. You were right there, getting fucked, and Eddie was here to watch it. 

He unbuckled his belt and slid his zipper down as slowly as possible, trying not to make a single noise. His body was buzzing with anxiety and excitement. When he got them open without alerting either of you, he reached into his boxers and started stroking himself, his rings cool against his hot skin.

Fuck. His eyes locked on where you and Steve were joined, where Steve was bucking his hips desperately, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust. He pictured his own cock disappearing inside of your pussy, how warm and wet it would feel, how you would cry and moan for him instead.

He didn’t mean to - but Eddie moaned.

His eyes went wide, hand freezing its movements. He watched you and Steve, utterly frozen in place, his blood cold.

But neither of you noticed. Steve was grabbing your ponytail now, pulling it hard so you were forced to look into the mirror at him fucking you.

“You like that?” Steve huffed. “You like watching yourself get fucked?”

Oh god.

“Yes,” you moaned, practically crying out as Steve rutted his cock into you at a brutal pace. “I love watching you fuck me.”

Oh god, oh god.

Eddie pulled his cock out and squeezed it, precum dripping from his slit. He rubbed his thumb through it, spreading it down his shaft. He was flicking his wrist quickly, his breath coming out in little huffs. 

The pretty little noises coming from your mouth were making him ache like he never had. When he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was the one fucking you. He closed them for a minute, listening to your moans and gasps and whines, picturing you wrapped tight around him while he buried himself in you, making you feel so good.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” you would cry instead.

Why don’t you let me show you why they call me the freak?

He opened his eyes again in time to see Steve pull you up by your hair, pulling your back flush against his chest while his other hand gripped onto your left hip. Steve roughly pulled up your cheer top and sports bra, and - oh fuck, those were your actual tits.

Eddie whimpered, his hips bucking into his fist uncontrollably. He planted his hand on the shower wall for support, twisting his hand around his cock faster and faster.

Steve ran his hand over your tits and down your body, until he reached that pretty pussy Eddie could only get the slightest glimpse of, and started rubbing quick circles against your clit. You keened, dropping your head back against his shoulder, soft lips parted in a silent gasp.

Eddie pumped his cock more aggressively, pulsing in his hand as he felt himself getting closer. His eyes were set on your tits, bouncing with every thrust from Steve - from Eddie, he pictured in his mind.

“Steve…oh god,” you whimpered, body nearly going limp in Steve’s arms. “‘m gonna cum.”

Those words coming from your mouth made Eddie nearly choke. He catalogued them in his brain for later, ready to play on repeat when he was alone and needy. He gave his cock a few quick jerks before slowing down, squeezing with the upstroke and thumbing his head. He shuddered - he was getting close, too.

“Come on, baby, make a mess all over my cock for me. Wanna feel you cum around me,” Steve encouraged, his voice raspy. God, you were all close.

You let out whimpering moans as he brought you higher and higher, the sound hotter than anything Eddie had ever heard. The quietest moan clawed its way from his throat - he couldn’t help it. He was so close and you were right there putting on such a good show, and his cock was throbbing in his hand, balls clenching tight as he was ready to blow probably the biggest load of his life.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you cried. “I- oh fuck, oh my god-“

Eddie knew the second you came, because you cried out loudly, gasping and shaking against Steve as your orgasm crashed through you, Steve smirking and fucking you harder as he whispered praises in your ear.

The second your body seized up with pleasure, making those hot little noises, it hit Eddie like a fucking truck. His jaw dropped open and he moaned, forgetting himself, electricity shooting up his spine. He flicked his wrist faster, cumming harder than he ever had, his spend landing against the shower curtain in endless ropes. He worked himself through it, working every last bit of cum out of his dick until there was nothing left.

He opened his eyes again just in time to see Steve with you bent over the counter again, pounding hard into you from behind - until he groaned, loud, stilling as he came inside you. Fuck, you let him cum inside?

Steve pulled out of you, and Eddie could see his cum dripping down your inner thigh. Holy fucking shit. That image was getting filed away in his brain, too.

“Knew you’d come back,” Steve laughed cockily, tucking himself away and redoing his jeans. He had that stupid fucking smirk on his face that pissed Eddie off so bad every time it was directed at you.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you mumbled. You pulled your top and sports bra over your head, pushed your skirt to the floor. “I was horny and you asked.”

“Sure, baby,” Steve smirked. He ran his hand over your ass again. “Just remember all this belongs to me. And everyone knows it.”

“I’m going to take a shower.” You ignored him, grabbing your bag and heading for the showers. Eddie backed up away from the curtain, afraid you’d see him through the crack.

“Want me to join you?” he asked, but he was already picking up his backpack.

“Go home, Harrington.”

Steve just laughed. He slung his bag over his shoulder and left, letting the door fall closed behind him. He heard the shower start a few stalls down, and he let out a deep breath.

He had to clean up the cum on the curtain, he realized. Fuck. He looked all around before spotting a dirty towel, wiping his mess off the curtain and throwing the towel back in the dirty laundry.

Eddie snuck out of the shower stall and through the locker room. He didn’t relax a single bit until he was out of the locker room and safely down the hall, pushing the exit doors open and speed walking to his van.

Had he taken it too far?

But shit, that was worth it.

After the shower incident, Eddie made himself take a step back.

The post nut clarity had hit him hard after, like a punch to the face. He had taken it too far. Imagine if you knew what he’d done - he’d be even more of a Hawkins pariah than he already was. That didn’t bother him as much as the thought that you’d hate him.

He tried to stop thinking about you, he really did. He didn’t open the yearbook or stick his hand down his pants for 3 days. That was pretty much a record.

But you made it so hard. Just by existing, by being in the vicinity, Eddie could never think about anything else. He wanted you like he’d never wanted anything, not just your body but all of you. He wanted you to be his so bad he could barely breathe.

So how was he supposed to keep it together when you were right in front of him? When you giggled with your friends with that beautiful smile on your face, those glossed lips he longed to kiss. When you performed a cheer routine and made every other girl on the team look like a total amateur. When you answered a difficult question in class that just proved you had beauty and brains. They didn’t often go hand in hand.

And when you approached him after class Thursday, he swore his heart stopped. That’s the only way you’d be approaching him outside of the normal schedule - which he knew by heart. The only explanation was that he must have died and somehow gone to heaven, and you were the angel here to greet him.

You were wearing a short denim skirt and pink sweater today, your hair styled and earrings dangling from your lobes. You could have worn a garbage bag and you would still have taken his breath away.

“Hey Eddie,” you greeted as you found him by his locker, the sweetest smile on your face. You leaned against the wall of lockers next to him, clutching your books to your chest.

“O-oh…hey,” he greeted you back, trying to look casual as he was freaking out. “What’s up?”

“I was just thinking…” You glanced over, smiling and waving back at one of the cheerleaders as she passed by. You turned your attention back to Eddie - your plush lips shined with whatever lipgloss you were wearing, and Eddie longed to taste it, lick it right off. “Are you free tonight?”

He couldn’t help it - his eyes widened, mouth parting in shock before he could mask his surprise. “Yes- um, I mean, yeah. I’m free. What for?”

“Could we maybe…meet?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, looking like the picture of innocence - which he knew very well you were not. The contrast of your sweet expression with the girl he saw getting fucked in the school locker room sent his heart racing, cock filling out in his jeans. “Our usual spot?”

“Yeah? Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, nodding his head, curls bouncing. “3:30?”

“That’s perfect.” You smiled even bigger at him, looking like an absolute angel. “Thanks, Eddie. See you there.”

Eddie watched as you walked off, hips swaying, a million people stopping to greet or talk to you as you walked down the hall. Eddie wondered what it must be like to be popular. He wasn’t interested in it for himself, but it was a whole other world to him.

He wanted to tell the guys immediately that he was seeing you today, but thought better of it. They’d just laugh at him, ruin his excitement. This was for him - he held it close to his chest.

After school, he walked to the clearing as fast as his long legs could take him, metal lunchbox in hand. He didn’t have much on him today - he wasn’t expecting to ask to meet. Fridays were definitely his biggest days for sales, not so much the rest of the week.

He gave himself a pep talk as he trekked through the woods behind the school, ducking under branches and feet crunching on dead leaves. He thought about what he’d say - he had to be confident. He couldn’t be stuttering over his words like he had earlier. He rehearsed in his head the things he might say, over and over like he was running lines for a performance. He supposed he was.

When he reached the clearing, he sat on the edge of the picnic table. He picked up a dead leaf on the wood, fidgeting with it, tearing it apart piece by piece, crunching it between his fingers.

At the sound of footsteps, he jumped off the table, looking into the trees. He was sweating, and pretty sure he was currently having heart palpitations. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to look at you without feeling like he was being hunted for sport.

You were alone - Carol and Tina nowhere to be found, much to Eddie’s relief. You smiled at him as you walked into the clearing. Somehow you looked even more beautiful than when he had seen you earlier. You had a scratch on your knee, probably from a sharp branch brushing against you on the way here. Your foot caught on a tree root on the way to the table, and Eddie rushed forward, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Woah,” he said, casual, although the feeling of touching you, having you in his arms, sent his heart racing. “Careful, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks hot as you stood back up. “Embarrassing.”

“Not at all.” Eddie smiled kindly, and you realized in that moment that he had a really nice smile. A pretty smile. Eddie wasn’t a bad looking guy at all - he was cute, actually - and he was sweet, too. You found the nerdy thing to be endearing, his bad boy look enticing.

You took a seat on one side of the picnic table, so Eddie slid into the other side. He flipped open his lunchbox. “What can I help you with today, princess? I’m a little low on supply today, but I can get more from home.”

You looked around. “I had just been thinking…” You tapped your fingernails nervously on the wood, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “I guess I was just wondering…if you have anything…stronger?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting that. He was shocked enough when he’d first learned that little miss Queen of Hawkins was a bit of a stoner - something that turned him on, if he was honest - but something beyond just weed?

“Um…” he thought for a second, mentally going over his supply. “I don’t have anything on me, but at the house I have some stuff. Have you ever done shrooms?”

You broke out into a grin. “No. Have you?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed. “I, uh, have some at the house, if you want to…get some?”

You smiled even bigger. “Oh, hell yeah. That sounds amazing.” You thought for a second. “I could ride home with you after practice?”

Eddie practically choked on air at that. “Ride- home? With me? To my house?”

You laughed, although a little awkwardly. “Yeah. You did say it was at the house, right? I mean I definitely don’t have to if you don’t want me to-“

“No!” Eddie said, too fast and too loud. “No. I mean, yeah, it’s fine. You can…uh, we’ll ride to my place together after practice. I’ll hang around.”

He was never ashamed of who he was or where he came from, but the idea of you standing in his trailer made him sweat even worse. But at the same time - you in his house? In his room, even?

“Cool,” you smiled. “You can always come watch practice, y’know, if you want.”

Eddie wasn’t about to say he had watched practice multiple times already, so he just nodded. “Yeah. Okay, yeah, I’ll hang out and watch.”

You smiled even bigger. You actually looked excited at the thought of Eddie watching you practice. “Practice ends at 5, so we can go to your place then.” Something occurred to you then, your smile fading. “Will your, uh…parents be there?”

“No, I live with my uncle,” Eddie explained. “And he works nights at the plant making the big bucks, so…just us.”

You seemed relieved at that. “That must be cool, having the house to yourself all night.”

Eddie shrugged sheepishly. “It can be. I usually just get high and fuck around on my guitar until I pass out.” And, you know, jerk off to your picture with your panties and lotion. It’s not like he had any girls coming over.

Until now. This would be the first time he’d ever had a girl over, and it was you. He had to be dreaming, right?

“Sounds like a good night,” you giggled. You stood from the table, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “I have to run to practice now, but I’ll see you after?”

“Yeah, of course. Won’t let you down,” Eddie said, then felt like a total idiot. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“Sounds good.” You gave him that beautiful smile, the one that always sent him reeling. “See you then, Eddie.”

He watched you go, frozen in place. It’s like his brain short circuited every time you said his name, like he felt it was something too lowly to roll off your tongue, but it always made him ache. Once he snapped out of it, he grabbed his stuff and headed for the field.

At least he could watch you without hiding this time.

part 2 next week

tag list

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[vunblr]

A Heart in Hiding

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Wet Dream, Angst-Hurt/Comfort, Allusions to Hydra's Trash Party, Medical Experimentation, Panic Attack.

Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.

Word Count: About 13.k.

notes: This is a revised version of Unspoken. It's been a while since I wanted to edit this story, and fortunately, I found the time to do it during the holidays. I hope you enjoy it.

The halls of the Avengers Tower felt different lately, with a new energy. Y/n had been living there for a few months now, being the newest addition to the group, providing support both in the field and at the Tower itself. Her mutation was a rare one: healing. It had proven invaluable in SHIELD's eyes long before she joined the Avengers, who welcomed her gladly when Fury introduced her to the team.

Steve, ever the diplomat, had been the first to welcome her, offering his steady support with a warm smile and reassuring words. Natasha followed soon after, sharing subtle smirks and the occasional dry quip that made her feel like she belonged. Even Tony, in his typical way, wove her into his world of banter, bestowing her with nicknames almost the moment she walked through the door. The rest of the team? They warmed up quicker than she’d expected.

Except for Bucky.

It wasn’t that he was unfriendly, just... distant. She hadn’t taken it personally at first; he was Bucky Barnes, after all. The man known for his stoic glares, clipped words, and the heavy shadows of his past. Given everything he’d endured, who could blame him for keeping to himself?

In the beginning, their interactions were minimal, little more than practical exchanges during missions or brief moments in the common areas. A muttered “thanks” when she patched him up: a scrape on his nose here, a swollen cheekbone there. Silence charged with meaning when her hands worked carefully on his shoulder and chest, where the tissue around the metal arm often swelled or became irritated. She could feel his discomfort, both physical and emotional, though he never said a word. A shared half-smile over early morning coffee, when the world was still and sleeplessness bound them both. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it felt like the start of something.

Gradually, those fleeting moments began to take shape. He started lingering in the kitchen when she made tea, his quiet “Need help with that?” or “How was your day?” carried an unexpected softness. They began to talk, really talk. What started as cautious conversations grew into something deeper. Sometimes, he would seek her out, not because he needed anything, but simply to show her something: a stray white cat he’d spotted on a morning run, a book he thought she might like, or a new recipe he’d stumbled upon online.

For a while, they settled into an easy rhythm. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but it felt meaningful, a fragile connection that made her think something real might bloom between them.

But suddenly, everything changed.

At first, it was small: responses shortened to brief nods, his gaze slipping away when she spoke. The conversations dwindled. The moments of shared closeness became few and far between. His presence grew colder, his body language tighter, as though he was retreating behind the walls she’d thought he was beginning to lower.

It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She wasn’t the type to let things fester, but with Bucky, every instinct she had seemed to falter. How did you confront someone who had mastered the art of retreating? Had she overstepped? Done something wrong? Every time she tried to bring it up -softly, carefully- he deflected with a grunt, a short answer, or a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

And every day, the distance between them widened.

-----

Bucky couldn’t pinpoint when things changed with her. At first, he appreciated how she treated him: no pity, no coddling, just simple, genuine conversations that made him feel, for once like a person, normal. For the first time in years, he found himself wanting to talk to someone besides Steve.

He welcomed it at first, the way her smile lingered a little longer when he mumbled a response, the warmth in her eyes during their shared moments. Their conversations became something he looked forward to, something he craved. But as the weeks passed, something else began to stir inside him. Something terrifying.

It wasn’t just gratitude for their growing friendship. No, this was deeper, more intense. Attraction. Wanting. And the more he felt it, the harder it became to face her.

Because every time he allowed himself to think about her, the guilt crashed over him like a wave he couldn’t outrun. She didn’t deserve the weight of his past or the darkness he carried. He had been the Winter Soldier for too long, a weapon of destruction in Hydra’s hands, leaving behind a long trail of pain and death. The faces of the people he’d hurt, and the trembling voices of those who had begged or screamed haunted him, etched into his mind like scars that would never fade.

And then there was the abuse, the kind he never spoke about. It wasn’t just physical; Hydra had taken everything from him: his freedom, his identity, his will. His body had been theirs to use, to break, to control. Late at night, he could still feel the ghost of their hands, the cold, clinical way they had stripped him of his humanity. The thought of it alone made him sick.

How could he even begin to think about her in that way? She was light and warmth, a reminder of all the good he no longer believed he deserved. And Bucky? He was a mess of scars, guilt, and trauma he hadn’t even begun to unpack.

So, he did what he always did when emotions threatened to overwhelm him: he shut them down. He stopped talking to her, stopped letting her get too close. It was easier to be cold and act indifferent than to deal with the storm of feelings inside him. It was better for her to think he didn’t care than to see how broken he really was.

-----

Things started to grow awkward -tense, even- during their group meetings before the missions. What once had been only indifference from Bucky turned into something sharper. It started with a sarcastic comment here or there, muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear. She tried to brush it off at first, assuming he was just being moody as usual. But when it became a pattern, when his remarks grew more pointed, more dismissive, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He had started suggesting in front of everyone, that she didn’t have to participate in certain missions.

"Maybe sit this one out," Bucky had said during the last briefing, his tone flat, eyes avoiding hers as he leaned back in his chair. "We don't need anyone getting in the way."

Her eyes narrowed, the heat of anger rising in her chest. She wasn’t new to dangerous missions and wasn’t some kind of rookie that everyone had to look after. And Bucky knew that. They all did. She had a support role, yes, but she had been in the field countless times before, proving her worth more than once not only to them but also to SHIELD. To have him throw those words at her -especially in front of the team- was humiliating. Infuriating.

"You don’t get to decide that, Barnes," she shot back sharply. "I’ve done just fine without your input."

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained cool. "Yeah, because healing a few cuts and bruises is the same as being in the thick of it."

Her fists clenched at her sides. "You think that’s all I do? Patch people up? I’ve been in more firefights than you can count, Barnes, and I’m still standing."

"That’s not the point," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he finally looked at her, with a hard expression. "I’m just saying, you’re better off hanging back. Let the people used to the danger to handle it."

Her eyes flared, fists clenching at her sides as she stepped forward. "Excuse me?! Used to the… I’ll show you danger, you-"

Before she could finish, Steve quickly stepped in, raising a hand to calm the rising tension. “Hey, hey, let’s all take a breath here,” he said firmly, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’ve got bigger things to focus on right now.”

A silent exchange passed between everyone present, but no one intervened. The air crackled with unspoken tension.

And this had become their new normal. Meetings had devolved into subtle jabs and snarky comebacks, with Bucky seemingly intent on pushing her buttons, while she fired back with increasingly sharp remarks. Each time he tried to brush her off or suggest she wasn’t needed, she fiercely stood her ground.

He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t just about keeping her at arm’s length, it was fear. Fear of her getting hurt in the field, and, more than that, fear of how much he cared about the possibility. Every time she suited up for a mission, a painful knot twisted in his gut, one he couldn’t untangle no matter how hard he tried.

So, as a defense mechanism -more like a stubborn teenager than the grown man he was- he resorted to belittling her, hoping it would be enough to keep her out of harm’s way.

-----

Their sleeping quarters were close. Too close, sometimes.

One night, she was torn from sleep by the sound of muffled screams. Bucky. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard them, but tonight, they were louder, more desperate. She lay in bed for a long moment, listening to his struggle through the not-so-thin walls. She wanted to go back to sleep and tried to convince herself he’d eventually be fine. But the raw sound of his torment lingered in the mind, making it impossible for her to settle.

After an hour or so had passed, and although everything was silent now, she realized the sleep wasn’t going to come back. With a quiet sigh, she got up and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Maybe some tea -and a piece of the achtzig schlag she baked that afternoon, whom was she kidding- would help, as small comfort to chase away the unease from being waked like that.

But when she reached her destiny, she stopped short. Bucky was already there.

He stood by the sink, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, his broad back greeting her as she entered. His metal hand gripped the edge of the counter, while the other hung limply at his side with an empty glass loosely grabbed between his fingers. His head was bowed and his shoulders tense, as if the weight of the world rested there. She couldn’t tell if he’d noticed her presence, she could see his face reflected on the glass of the big window, but his gaze was fixed blankly on the sink, lost in whatever hell his nightmares had dragged him through.

For a moment, she hesitated. He barely spoke to her anymore, and when he did, he was a complete ass. But standing there, in the dim light of the kitchen, he didn’t look like his usual self. He looked... more than broken. Vulnerable. The heavy rise and fall of his chest, the slight tremor in his fingers, told her he hadn’t escaped his nightmare, not entirely.

“Bucky,” she called softly, reverting to his nickname, the one she hadn’t used in weeks. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring into the sink as though it might offer some kind of solace he desperately needed.

She stood there, debating if she should leave him alone, letting him find his own way out of whatever haunted him, or stay. Something in the way he stood there, utterly still, as if frozen in time, made her choose the second option. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her comfy cotton nightgown, and she stepped closer.

“Bucky,” she said again, a bit louder.

This time, his shoulders tensed, the only sign he’d heard her. Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. His face was a mask of exhaustion, and shadows were carved deep under his eyes. There was a flash of something in his expression, maybe surprise, maybe frustration, but it faded quickly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bucky turned back to the sink, exhaling heavily as if it took effort to breathe. "You’re up late," he muttered hoarsely, breaking the silence. He didn’t look at her.

"So are you," she replied, keeping her tone light despite the tension in the air. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but something told her he wouldn’t answer that. Instead, she moved to the stove, setting a kettle on to boil.

He remained silent, not moving from his spot. The awkwardness lingered between them, but she kept herself busy, preparing tea as if this was an everyday occurrence. Bucky stood there silently, while she pretended not to notice the storm brewing inside him.

She turned back to him as the kettle let out a soft whistle. “Want some?” she asked, holding two cups with a gentle smile. “I picked up a strawberry blend the other day. It’s really good.” The gesture was casual, the same as it had been just a couple of months ago, before everything started to shift.

For a long moment, there was no response. He stood there, staring into the sink as if he hadn’t heard her. Then, to her surprise, he gave a slight nod, the motion so subtle it almost wasn’t there. His eyes, still shadowed by whatever nightmares lingered from his sleep, flicked toward her but didn’t quite meet her gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

She nodded, poured the tea, and placed one mug on the counter in front of him before leaning against it, cupping her own mug in her hands.

“Strawberry’s a weird choice for tea, right?” she asked, trying to keep things light. “I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it kinda grows on you. Tony said it smelled like candy.”

He didn’t answer, his eyes were fixed on the steaming cup in front of him, and his jaw was clenched tight. She smiled softly, hoping to ease the tension. “Steve liked it, too. He said it reminded him of-”

“Shut up.” His voice was low and sharp with frustration. “Just… shut up.” He whispered again.

The words hit her like a slap, and her smile faltered immediately. For a moment, she just stood there, unsure how to respond.

“Right,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. “I’ll... leave you to it.”

She started to turn, deciding it was better to give him space, but before she could leave the kitchen, his voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She paused, mid-step, and slowly turned back. Bucky wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the cup of tea, his expression tight, conflicted.

“I... I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of discomfort, that this time it felt heavier. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. You don’t deserve-”

He finally looked up, and his blue eyes were clouded with something raw. “I... had a nightmare,” he admitted, the words coming out slowly, as if they were too painful to say aloud. “One of the heavy ones.” His voice cracked on the last part, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, haunted.

She shifted slightly, watching the tension in his posture, on the way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. She hesitated, but the concern pushed her forward. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched instantly, the muscle twitching as his eyes flicked away from hers, focusing again on the cup of tea. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she thought he might snap at her again. But instead, there was only silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that told her everything she needed to know.

The dream still clung to him. It wasn’t just a memory, it was something darker, something visceral. In the back of his mind, the flashback played like a twisted reel. He remembered the cold steel table beneath his back, the harsh, sterile lights overhead. The sensation of the reinforced restraints biting into his skin. Voices around him, detached and clinical, as faceless scientists in white coats discussed the "procedure." A sharp pain had torn through his body, worse than anything he had felt before, as they tested the limits of his tissue regeneration. They cut deeper with each slice, watching his flesh heal itself in real-time, timing the speed of recovery as though he was no more than a lab rat.

He could still hear the sound of the blade cutting through muscle and bone and the smell of the antiseptic mixing with the coppery tang of blood. No anesthesia, it wasn’t needed. Bucky’s grip tightened on the counter and she saw the way his whole body tensed, the flicker of torment in his eyes that he tried to hide behind his blank expression.

She took a small step forward. “It’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it,” she said softly, offering him an out without pushing him further.

She hesitated, lingering on the dark circles under his eyes, and the exhaustion that etched into every line of his face. He looked like a man fighting a battle he couldn’t win, worn down by nights that stretched too long and memories that wouldn’t fade. She bit her lip, debating, before taking another small step forward.

“I could help… if you want. With the nightmares.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, snapping his eyes to hers. He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d pushed too far. The air between them grew heavier, thick with the weight of things left unsaid.

“I mean,” she added quickly, keeping her voice soft, “my powers... they don’t just work on physical injuries. I can soothe the mind too, if the person is willing. I could help you sleep.” Her words trailed off, unsure if this was what he wanted -or needed- to hear. She shifted slightly, glancing down before meeting his gaze again. “You look like you could use a break from it all, even if it’s just for a little while. You don’t have to keep carrying this alone.”

For a long moment, Bucky just stared at her. His posture was still tense, every muscle taut like he was bracing for an attack. She half-expected him to shut her down, to retreat behind that wall of silence and dismiss her with another biting comment. Instead, his expression softened ever so slightly, and the hardness in his eyes dimmed as he weighed her words. She saw the exhaustion behind the mask he always wore, the misery that had become his constant companion.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough and low when he finally spoke. “I don’t know if it’ll work,” he muttered. “Nothing’s worked before.”

Her heart clenched at his words, at the defeat in his tone. "We won’t know unless we try," she said softly, watching his reaction.Bucky’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, with a reluctant sigh, he muttered, “Fine.” The word was gruff, a reluctant concession more than agreement. He glanced at her from under his brow, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "Just... don’t expect too much."

With that, he turned and led her toward his quarters.

Once the door was shut, she sat on the end of his double bed. "Alright. Lay down and rest your head on my thighs."

Bucky eyed her warily, tightening his jaw. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, this kind of intimacy. After a long moment, though, the exhaustion and lingering unease from the nightmare tugged at him too strongly. With a resigned sigh, he climbed onto the bed and lay on his side, hesitating briefly before resting his head on her thighs.

“There,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the soft fabric of her clothes. “Don’t think this means I’m letting my guard down completely.”

Despite his gruff tone, she could feel the weight of his weariness. His body was tense, but the warmth of her legs seemed to be doing its work already.

She began running her fingers gently through his hair. "That’s exactly what I need you to do," she whispered. "Don’t fight me, Bucky. Relax and let me take care of you."

He inhaled deeply, her scent filling his senses, calming him. The tension in his shoulders began to ebb away, though he stubbornly clung to a sliver of resistance. "I don’t need to be taken care of," he grumbled, even as his eyelids grew heavier.

“Whatever you say, hun,” she teased softly.

Bucky let out a low grunt, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers traced soothing lines through his hair. The sensation sent calming waves through his body, unraveling his nerves one strand at a time. He didn’t have the energy to resist anymore, he was too drained from the nightmare, too tired of fighting his own mind.

"I’m not your hun..." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, despite himself. He buried his face deeper into her lap, inhaling her scent again. It was soothing, pulling him further from the chaos of his mind.

“Oh, shush,” she said, brushing the protest aside, still moving her fingers through his dark locks.

For once, Bucky complied. He fell silent, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat becoming the only sound in the room. The quiet, steady thump-thump echoed in his ears, an oddly comforting melody amidst the storm of his thoughts.

"Your heartbeat..." he murmured almost sleepy, "It’s kind of nice." The confession slipped out but for once, he didn’t regret it.

Her hand paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle motion. “Oh? I’ve never heard that one before. Maybe because regular people can’t hear it without... closer contact.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips at her remark, but he didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he allowed himself to lean into her touch, the soft strokes through his scalp lulling him into a state of calm he hadn’t felt in a long time. His hand drifted almost unconsciously to her thigh, tracing small circles over her skin.

She continued her gentle ministrations, pouring her power into the touch. Slowly, bit by bit, Bucky’s muscles softened, and the weight of his nightmares slipped away as her presence guided him somewhere safe. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel it. The calm. The peace. The quiet.

-----

After a while she sighed, exhausted from using her powers to push against the weight of his severe trauma. Now, she had to figure out how to leave without waking him. He was sleeping deeply, his mind finally at peace after months of restless nights. Yet, despite his slumber, he wasn’t entirely defenseless. His subconscious remained alert, picking up on the slightest changes around him.

As she carefully prepared to slip away, Bucky's eyes flickered open, revealing half-lidded blue irises clouded with drowsiness. Without a word, his hand reached out, as if instinctively sensing her intention to leave. His grip was light but firm, curling his fingers on her thigh with an unconscious possessiveness.

"Shhh," she whispered, wincing internally as she resumed running her fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe him back to sleep. She knew it was a lost battle; any attempt to leave would only rouse him further. Resigned, she reached for some unused pillows and cushions nearby, pulling them close as she reclined, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep while sitting up.

The rhythmic strokes of her fingers seemed to draw him back from the edge of wakefulness. Bucky nuzzled into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he settled back into a deep slumber. As she adjusted her position, using the pillows to support her back, he instinctively shifted with her, seeking out the warmth of her body. His arm wrapped loosely around her waist, pulling her closer as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

At some point, she fell asleep too, physically drained from using all her energy to ease his haunted mind. The last thing she remembered before succumbing to slumber was the weight of his head still resting on her lap, her hand gently tangled in his soft hair.

-----

Bucky stirred slightly in his sleep, brushing his nose against the soft fabric of her cotton nightie. Her scent filled the air around him, a mix of sweetness and warmth that seeped into his senses, pulling him deeper into the haze of his dreams. A low groan rumbled in his chest, reverberating through her thigh, dangerously close to her mound. His hand clenched reflexively, fingers digging into her leg without conscious thought.

In his dream state, his mind began to wander, unraveling the careful control he kept during his waking hours. Images of her flooded his thoughts, her curves, her laugh, the sense of safety she gave him. But beneath those tender, innocent thoughts stirred something he tried so hard to suppress: raw longing.

His breathing quickened as his subconscious registered the intimate contact, even as he remained lost in the depths of sleep. His hips twitched involuntarily, pressing his growing arousal into the mattress, seeking relief.

In his dream, she was there, waiting for him, glowing and inviting. He felt her softness under his hands, the curve of her waist beneath his fingers, and the way she melted into his touch. His lips brushed against her inner thighs, teasing, tasting, drawing out soft moans of pleasure that only made the fire inside him burn hotter.

In the real world, his hips twitched involuntarily, pressing against the mattress as his body sought relief. His chest heaved, and low, almost inaudible whimpers escaped his parted lips. Lost in the dream, he chased an elusive release, each shift and grind against the sheets a reflection of the ache deep within him.

And then, it all came crashing down.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly as his breath caught in his throat. Reality quickly surged forward, sweeping away the fantasy. The warm weight of her hand still rested gently on his head and her fingers tangled in his hair. She was peaceful, her chest rising and falling steadily, blissfully unaware of the storm he had just woken from.

His body went rigid and a flush crept up his neck, as the remnants of his dream lingered in his mind. Worse than that, was the sticky mess staining his underwear.

Fuck.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he extracted himself from her lap, careful not to disturb her. He rolled off the bed and landed heavily on his feet, moving stiffly with mortification. His hand instinctively moved to his groin, tugging his underwear slightly to reveal the copious evidence of his release. A low curse escaped his lips as he took in the sight, and shame heated his face. Without a second glance, he padded to the bathroom, humiliated.

Minutes later she stirred, feeling her legs lighter, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The memories of offering to soothe Bucky’s mind with her powers came back to her, along with the feeling of being trapped, unable to leave without waking him. But now, as she blinked and stretched, she realized he was gone. Her back and neck throbbed from the awkward position she had slept in, so she slowly got up from his bed and took the opportunity to return to her own room, crawling into her bed to continue sleeping, unaware of the events that transpired before she awoke.

Meanwhile, Bucky remained in the bathroom, leaning heavily against the sink. A storm of guilt, shame, and relief swirled inside him. Guilt for what had happened so close to her, shame at the explicit nature of his dream, and relief that he’d managed to sneak away without waking her. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples, trying to shake off the lingering echoes of the fantasy that had caught him off guard so thoroughly.

------

They didn’t cross paths during the day, except late in the afternoon when Tony handed Natasha some VIP invitations to a charity event for her and Y/n. Bucky was sitting across the room on the couch, but his enhanced hearing made it impossible not to overhear. Natasha has found it amusing to join in a bachelorette’s auction at the event and, naturally, she dragged the healer into it to help raise more funds.

When she entered the room, Bucky couldn’t help but steal glances at her and the vivid memories of his dream came rushing back. The black dress with a low neckline -and were those mesh stockings?- did nothing to dissipate the discomfort.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, manspreading on the couch looking unsurprisingly grumpy. She walked over and plopped down next to him, leaning in slightly. “Hey,” she greeted chirpily. “I didn’t see you all day. Did you rest after our session? Any nightmares?”

Bucky’s frown deepened as he took in her revealing dress, and his gaze lingered for a second too long before flicking up to meet hers. “Well I actually had a nightmare.” he barked bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he turned away again.

“Oh Bucky, really?” she asked, absentmindedly resting her hand on his arm. “You seemed fine when I fell asleep... I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Fine? No, I wasn’t fucking fine,” he snapped. His eyes drifted down to the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the thin material of her dress, reigniting the memories of his dream and sending another wave of heat through his body. He scoffed, turning his head to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Maybe you thought you did something, but you didn't. It was a waste of my time,” he muttered under his breath.

She recoiled, and her heart stung at his words. She’d felt the connection, sensed the calm that had washed over him during their session. She truly believed she’d helped. His harsh tone caught her off guard, and the hurt was unmistakable in her voice as she stood up abruptly.

“Oh, I see. We’re on square one again, where you treat me like shit. You know what Bucky? I’m tired of this. I don't know what your problem is, but I don't care anymore. Go fuck yourself.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed toward the private quarters area, leaving him there, sitting in stunned silence.

------

The time to go to the charity event had arrived, and she and Natasha were all dressed up with the final touches, ready to be auctioned off in the playful bachelor and bachelorette game.

Tony, ever the social butterfly, was already acting as the host, ironing out the final details of the evening’s festivities. Steve, the ever-reliable friend and gentleman, had offered to tag along to ensure everything stayed civil and vanilla. Sam showed up at the last minute, his trademark grin plastered on his face. He winked at her and Natasha, flirting playfully and joking about bidding himself.

She smiled at his lightheartedness, but her attention kept drifting toward the couch across the room where Bucky sat, even if he had started to act like an asshole again. He’d been silent since they exchanged those heated words, barely looking up from his spot. His broad frame seemed more hunched than usual as if the weight of the night ahead was pressing down on him.

Sam, ever the instigator, swaggered over to where Bucky sat, giving him a playful nudge. “What’s up, Tinman? You look like you're about to blow a fuse,” he teased, not missing the tightness in Bucky’s jaw.

He didn’t respond immediately, flicking his eyes briefly toward Sam before dropping back down. He was clearly in no mood for jokes, but Sam wasn’t one to back down that easily.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know about this,” he added, grinning. “I left you, like, four texts reminding you about the event. Figured you might want to leave the grumpy soldier routine behind for one night.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Yeah, I saw them,” he muttered under his breath. The truth was, the event had been gnawing at him all day. Seeing her walking in earlier, dressed to the nines, had stirred something deep and unsettling in him. Her sleek black dress with that low neckline, and those mesh stockings… he had barely been able to look at her without feeling a hot flush creep up his neck.

But it wasn’t just the sight of her that was bothering him. Something darker was creeping up from the edges of his memory, something happened a long time ago.

The room around him faded as a distant echo of laughter, sharp and malicious, filled his ears. He blinked, trying to shake it off, but the memories flooded back with unwanted details. He saw himself, chained and silent, paraded like an animal in front of an audience of Hydra’s elite. The “auction,” as they had called it, was a twisted form of entertainment where the highest bidder won him for the night. They'd done whatever they wanted to him. Their hands were rough and unforgiving, their words venomous. He’d been stripped of everything, even the ability to fight back. His mind replayed the worst moments, the feeling of hands on him, unwanted touches, and the physical pain when they decided to test his limits. Bucky remembered the smirks on their faces as they violated him in every way they saw fit, knowing he was powerless to retaliate. His body might heal, but his mind was left in tatters every time. He could still hear their voices, cruel and mocking, as they reminded him how easy it was to break him down, to own him.

Suddenly, he was back on the couch, his hands clenched into tight fists as his breathing quickened. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. The memory of his dream from the night before twisted with these recollections, blurring the line between the past and present. Bucky had felt trapped then, just like he felt trapped now. And the thought of her being up there, in front of all those people, being "bought" for the night just for fun triggered him.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still. It was irrational, he knew that. But the line between the past and the present blurred too easily for him sometimes, and the fear -no, the shame- of what he had endured at Hydra’s hands refused to let him breathe freely.

Sam smirked, unfazed by Bucky’s short response. “Don’t sweat it, man. You can just sit back and watch me win a date with one of these fine ladies tonight. I’m feeling lucky.” He flashed an exaggerated wink at the women, earning a raised eyebrow from Nat in return.

Tony clapped his hands, signaling that it was time to start heading out. As everyone began moving, Bucky remained glued to his spot on the couch.

Completely oblivious to the turmoil inside Bucky’s head, Sam leaned casually against the back of the couch, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he tried to coax his friend into joining them at the event. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, clearly seeing the tension but refusing to let Bucky sit it out. “What, you’re scared you can’t handle a little charity event?” he taunted, his tone light but with just enough edge to poke at Bucky’s pride. “Steve’s already going, and you know how much he loves playing the perfect gentleman. You really gonna let him be the only one representing the ‘old-timer squad’?” He smirked, knowing this tactic might work. “Thought you were tougher than that.”

Bucky huffed as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had to get over this shit, Sam won’t leave him alone, and… fuck, he had to man up.  “Fine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice was barely audible but enough for Sam to catch the reluctant agreement. “But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

-----

The limo was packed, the air inside was thick with anticipation and, in Bucky’s case, a simmering sense of discomfort. She was squeezed up against the side of the car, her body brushing against his, while Sam sat across from them, legs casually sprawled out, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, look at us,” Sam said, stretching his arms out theatrically. “All dressed up for a fancy night out. Bucky, you clean up pretty well for a guy who spends most of his time brooding in corners.”

Bucky shot him a glare but didn’t bother to respond, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as her leg pressed against his. She had no idea how much that little contact was messing with his already frayed nerves. The warmth of her body beside him felt too familiar after what happened last night. He shifted slightly, trying to create some space, but it was impossible in the cramped space.

“Aw, come on, Buck,” Sam continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t tell me you’re still sulking about coming along. I mean, it’s for charity, man. And if anyone here knows how to be charitable, it’s you.” His grin widened as he leaned forward. “Especially when it comes to these two fine ladies.”

Steve, who sat beside Sam, chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his attention to them. “He’s right, though,” Steve said warmly. “You both are amazing women, but tonight you’re especially lovely.”

She blushed under Steve’s compliment, offering a playful smile in return. “Thanks, Stevie. But really, all credit goes to Nat here for dragging me into this.”

Natasha smirked, lounging next to Bucky in a striking red dress. “You’ll thank me later when we clean house in that bachelorette’s auction.”

Bucky, meanwhile, was doing his best to avoid looking directly at her. The black dress was more than enough to set him on edge, the low neckline and mesh stockings flashing in his peripheral vision like a neon sign, reminding him of the dream that wouldn’t leave him alone. He clenched his jaw and stared out the window, trying to focus on the passing streetlights instead.

“You good back there, man?” Sam teased again, noticing his tense posture. “You look like you’re about to crack a tooth.” he leaned back, crossing his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face.

Bucky clenched his jaw harder and flexed his metal fingers, the soft whir of gears barely audible over Sam’s incessant teasing. “Keep talking, Sam,” he muttered in warning. See where that gets you.”

Sam wasn’t letting up. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen that look before. That’s the ‘I’ve got feelings but don’t know what to do with them’ look.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying how riled up Bucky was getting. “You worried someone’s gonna outbid you tonight?” he teased, relishing the tension. “Not that you could, you know, since you didn’t even sign up to participate.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He shot Sam a dangerous look but swallowed the sharp retort burning at the back of his throat. Sam had no idea how close to the truth he was coming, and the last thing Bucky wanted was for anyone -especially her- to figure it out.

She caught Sam’s teasing and frowned, flicking her gaze toward Bucky. She couldn’t miss how his whole body had gone rigid like he was just one wrong word away from snapping. Then it hit her. Considering the way he had been treating her -distant and cold like she barely existed- the only plausible explanation for Sam’s comments... Was he into Nat?

The thought dug deeper than she expected, feeling a sharp pang in her chest that she couldn’t ignore. She tried to brush it off, but it nagged her. She hesitated, sinking her teeth into her lower lip before leaning in slightly. Her voice came out edged with reluctant empathy. “Don’t mind him,” she muttered, only for Bucky’s ears. “I’m sure Nat will be fine.”

Bucky’s head snapped to her, surprise flashing in his eyes before quickly turning into something darker, stormier. She had no idea what was going on in his head, and the fact that she thought all this was about Natasha hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

“That’s not-” He stopped himself. There was no point in trying to explain, not here, not now, and certainly not with Sam hanging on every word. He let out a slow breath “Just drop it, okay?” he answered gruffly.

She blinked, startled by the rawness in his tone. If he wanted to be difficult, she could meet him halfway. “Fine,” she replied coolly. “Not like it’s any of my business anyway.” She leaned back, crossing her arms as if to physically distance herself, her eyes focusing on the passing city through the window.

Sam, sensing the tension in the air, raised his eyebrows but -for once- chose not to stir the pot further. He shot a questioning glance at Steve as if wordlessly asking, What’s going on here?

Steve caught Sam’s look and responded with a subtle shake of his head, his lips pressed into a thin, knowing line. His gaze flicked between Bucky and her, then back to Sam, silently conveying the message: Don’t push it. There was understanding in Steve’s eyes, whatever was going on with Bucky ran deeper than just nerves or irritation. His expression was clear: Give him space.

-----

Finally, the limo of awkwardness reached its destination, pulling up to the entrance of the lavish event. The tension inside was palpable, and everyone seemed eager to escape the cramped space. As soon as the doors opened, there was a collective sigh of relief as they stepped out into the open.

She practically bolted out of the car, and Natasha followed her with a smirk, clearly more amused than bothered by the tense ride. “Bathroom break?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow to her, who nodded gratefully. Together, they made their way toward the entrance, heels clicking softly on the pavement as they prepared to retouch their makeup and shake off the tension.

Meanwhile, the guys lagged, hanging around the entrance for a moment before stepping into the crowd of finely dressed people. The venue was swarming with posh elites, champagne flutes in hand, chatting in clusters that screamed wealth and sophistication. Bucky stuffed his hands into his pockets with stiff shoulders as he surveyed the sea of unfamiliar faces, feeling out of place and more than a little on edge.

Sam, ever the social butterfly, immediately started mingling, flashing his charming smile at a passing couple. "Nice place," he muttered to Steve, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "Think Tony outdid himself this time?"

Steve gave a small nod, scanning the room for any sign of trouble, though it was more habit than genuine concern. “Yeah, it’s impressive,” he replied, though his attention drifted toward Bucky, who had slowly gravitated to the crowd's edge, looking like he’d rather be elsewhere.

“Don’t disappear.” Sam called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he joined Steve in surveying the room. His grin was teasing, but light-hearted enough to let the tension from the limo ride dissipate.

Bucky just rolled his eyes, staying quiet but sticking close to the group as they moved into the crowd. He wasn’t in the mood for mingling, but he’d already made it this far.

The event officially kicked off with Tony taking the stage, with his usual confident grin plastered across his face. He grabbed the microphone and began his speech with his typical charm. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to an evening of generosity, glamour, and, let’s be honest, some good old-fashioned fun,” he announced, flashing a playful smirk. “Tonight’s about raising money for a great cause, but it wouldn’t be a true Stark event without a bit of spice, right?” The crowd chuckled, their champagne glasses shimmering under the soft lighting as they eagerly awaited the night’s entertainment.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Y/n emerged from the bathroom, looking radiant and refreshed. As they walked back toward the main hall, Tony’s voice echoed across the room. “And now, for the part you’ve all been waiting for: our very own bachelor auction! The first of the two events we have tonight! Get your wallets out and let’s start bidding, people! Remember, it’s for charity, but hey, you get to take home a prize for the night too,” he said with a wink, his tone playful but persuasive.

Nat looked at them, unimpressed. “I don’t know why the guys didn’t want to join, they would’ve wiped all wallets with only a wink”.

The stage lit up, and the male candidates for the auction stepped forward, each one more enthusiastic than the last. Tony, never one to miss a chance to stir up excitement, started hyping them up. “Look at these guys! We've got muscles, brains, and a whole lot of… charisma.” He pointed to one of the bachelors. “Ladies, I hear this one’s an excellent conversationalist... and check out those thighs! Perfect for sitting on, am I right?” The crowd erupted into laughter, but there was already a buzz as bids began flying.

She had been chuckling softly at Tony’s ridiculous commentary when she caught a glimpse of Bucky out of the corner of her eye. Something was off. He was standing rigidly, his jaw set in a hard line, and his gaze was locked onto the stage but somehow distant, as if he wasn’t there. His seemed pale, drawn tight in a way that made her stomach twist with concern.

As he stood there with his arms crossed, a sudden wave of nausea hit him. It started with the sound of Tony's playful words, the laughter in the crowd, and the sight of the men being paraded in front of eager eyes. All of it melted together into something darker, something far too familiar.

Without warning, his mind transported him again back to the past. The dim, suffocating atmosphere of one of the sickening Hydra parties. He could feel the cold bite of chains against his skin, the way they had displayed him like an object, barely clothed, barely human. He had been the prize, the thing to be won, over and over again, with leering eyes and depraved hands deciding his fate. The room around him started to warp, blurring as his vision tunneled. His heart rate spiked, and his breath quickened, chest tightening painfully.

Bucky’s grip on his own arms grew stronger, his metal fingers pressing into the flesh of his opposite arm so hard that he was bruising the enhanced skin. He tried to remind himself where he was, tried to tell himself that this was different. But the flood of memories was relentless, dragging him down into the depths of his trauma.

He could feel it, the sensation of being used, of having no agency. The faces of those who had taken pleasure in his pain flashed before his eyes. His breath came in short, ragged gasps and his body started trembling. Sweat prickled along his brow as his surroundings closed in on him, the chatter and laughter of the event fading into a distant, haunting echo.

Suddenly, the present broke through just enough for Bucky to realize he couldn’t breathe. Panic was closing in on him like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter. The telltale signs of an impending panic attack flared: his heart hammered in his chest, and the room seemed to spin out of control.

He pushed himself off the column. His movements were sharp, almost desperate, as he weaved through the crowd like a wounded animal seeking refuge. His breath was shallow as his steps quickened. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to escape the noise, the eyes, the memories. The room was suffocating, and every second spent in it felt like another piece of his soul was being ripped away. He made a break for the exit, his jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth hurt, but his mind focused on one thing: getting the fuck out.

Before she could fully register it, she saw him push off the column. His normally composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. Bucky’s face was contorted, and the shallow, rapid rise and fall of his chest gave him away. He was unraveling, right there in front of everyone.

Her own breath hitched as she watched him cut through the crowd with increasing urgency. His retreat was too quick, too desperate, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming tug of alarm.

Something was wrong, really wrong.

Without thinking, she stepped away from Natasha, focusing on the exit he had disappeared through. Her anger faded into the background, replaced by an unshakable need to make sure he was okay. There was something in the way he had bolted, something haunted. She speeded up, her heels clicking loudly against the floor as she headed toward the doors, scanning the surroundings, hoping she could find him before he disappeared completely. Maybe it was instinct or something else entirely, but she couldn’t let him go through whatever it was alone, not again.

Eventually, she pushed through the heavy ballroom doors, leaving the noise of laughter and clinking glasses behind her as she stepped into the quiet night air. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was jarring, the lively event inside faded into a dull hum, barely audible as she found herself standing in a meticulously manicured topiary garden. Tall, artfully shaped hedges loomed around her, casting long shadows under the moonlight, the only light coming from lanterns lining the stone pathway. She quickened her pace, rounding one hedge and then another, hoping to glimpse him. But the garden stretched on, and after a few minutes of searching, her stomach sank. Was he gone?

She bit her lip, frustrated and worried as she stood still for a moment, closing her eyes to listen, trying to tune in any sound beyond the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur from the party. Nothing. The garden felt too large, too quiet. She sighed and started retreating inside when a movement caught her eye.

Just off to the side, almost hidden beneath the shadow of a thick, overgrown bush, she spotted a dark shape. Her heart stuttered as she stepped closer, the form coming into view. There, huddled in the dirt, with his back pressed against the stone wall, was Bucky. He looked utterly wrecked.

His blue suit was smeared with the mud formed in the recently watered soil, as though he’d been sitting there for a while. His hair, previously pulled back neatly into a bun, was disheveled, with loose strands clinging to his forehead and others tangled and tugged free as if he'd been pulling at it in desperation. His hands were fisted in the damp earth by his sides, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. He didn’t move as she approached, didn’t even acknowledge her presence. It was as if he had retreated into himself, blending in with the shadows like he wanted to disappear entirely.

Her breath caught. If there were remnants of her initial anger, they melted away entirely now. What was left in its place was pure concern. She had never seen him like this, so broken, so raw.

“Bucky?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she knelt, hesitating just a foot away. He didn’t respond, his eyes were fixed on the ground, and his breaths kept coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Her heart clenched. He was hiding not just physically, but emotionally too. He retreated into that dark place, one she had seen before, but never like this.

“Hey…” she tried again, with a gentle tone, trying to reach him through the fog of whatever nightmare gripping at him. “Bucky, it’s me.”

For a moment, he did nothing. He remained hunched, with his knuckles white from where his fists were clenched in the mud. But then, slowly, he blinked, and his gaze shifted ever so slightly toward her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of panic and shame, as though he didn’t want her to see him like this.

“It’s… I’m fine,” he croaked, though his voice betrayed the lie. He wasn’t fine. He was far from it.

She inched closer, hovering uncertainly, wanting to reach out but unsure if he’d pull away. “You’re not,” she said softly, locking her eyes on his. “You’re not fine, Bucky.”

He swallowed hard, his throat worked against the emotion he was trying to keep down. “Just… leave me alone, please,” he muttered, his voice thick with strain, like it took all of his strength to form the words. “I don’t… I can’t-” His breath hitched, and he turned his head away, curling inward even more as if trying to shield himself from her gaze.

Her heart ached. She couldn’t leave him here, sitting in the dirt, drowning in whatever demons had resurfaced tonight.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Encouraged by the slight opening, she gently took his hand in hers, squeezing just enough to ground him.

“I know maybe I’m not the number one person you want to be with right now, but I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, her voice firm but soft.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his fingers twitched in her grip. He looked down at their joined hands as if struggling to process the kindness in her touch. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders slowly began to loosen, the rigid line of his back slightly relaxing.

She stayed quiet, giving him the space to come back from whatever dark place his mind had taken him to. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She could feel the weight of his unspoken turmoil pressing down on them both, but she didn’t let go, even when the minutes dragged on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky let out a ragged breath. His voice, when it came, was low and hoarse. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

Her lips pressed together. She could hear the self-loathing in his tone, the way he seemed to think he was a burden, something she shouldn’t have to deal with. “I couldn’t just leave you like that,” she said gently. “Not when I knew you were hurting.”

He winced at the word, like it physically pained him to admit that she was right. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his eyes darting away, staring blankly at the ground.

“I don’t have to,” she countered, tightening her grip on his hand, as a quiet reassurance. “You don’t need to explain anything. I just…” She hesitated, then sighed softly. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. Because you’re not.”

Bucky’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting some internal battle. The vulnerability in his eyes was stark, a raw edge she wasn’t used to seeing in him. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She frowned. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve, Bucky. Not when you have people who care about you.” Her tone softened as she met his gaze. “And I care about you. So, I’m here. Whether you like it or not.” Without waiting for him to respond, she lowered herself onto the dirt beside him, her dress immediately catching the mud, smearing across the delicate fabric, and her legs. Little branches snagged at her hairdo, but she didn’t care.

Bucky clenched his jaw at her words. After all the terrible things he'd done, he didn’t deserve her -her kindness, her care. How could anyone care for him after what he’d been made to do? But what mortified him more was how he’d been with her recently, pushing her away, when he knew his feelings for her were growing too strong to handle. He had been cold, cruel even, thinking it would be easier to keep his distance.

But here she was, not giving up on him. He felt his chest tighten with a tangle of guilt and longing. He didn’t deserve this.

And yet, he couldn’t deny the comfort her presence brought him. Slowly, he felt his body ease, his rigid frame relaxing slowly as her warmth seeped into him. His shoulder brushed hers, hesitantly at first, then stayed. This time, he didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to.

The warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, all felt soothing. He let himself be pulled into the comfort she offered, no longer caring if his attraction to her showed. It wasn’t like he could hide it now, or cared, anyway.

His trembling fingers, rough and scarred, brushed against her leg, just a light, accidental touch, but enough to send a shiver up his spine. He wasn’t sure if she noticed, but he did. And this time, he didn’t retreat.

Bucky’s breathing slowed and deepened, and his chest started to rise and fall in sync with hers. His head dipped slightly, not quite resting on her shoulder, but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. His fingers shifted again, this time curling just slightly around her thigh. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it felt monumental to him. For once, he wasn’t recoiling, wasn’t hiding behind walls of shame and guilt. He was just… there, with her, feeling what he felt, even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

He glanced up at her again, and his blue eyes met hers. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, searching for something, understanding, acceptance, maybe even something more. And what he found there, in her eyes, was enough to make the knot in his chest loosen just a little bit more.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t push him. And in that silence, in the simple act of being there for him, Bucky felt something shift inside him. Without thinking, he let out a soft sigh,  as his body shifted again, and he finally dipped his head to rest it lightly on her thighs. The movement was tentative as if he were bracing for her to pull away, to break the fragile moment. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. She stayed right there, solid and steady, grounding him once again.

When he fully rested his head, her fingers found his hair almost instinctively, gently threading through his disheveled locks. The touch was soft, soothing, and familiar, much like the night before when she had used her healing powers to ease his nightmares. But this time, she didn’t channel any of her energy into him, at least, not yet.

For a few minutes, she simply caressed his hair, her fingertips brushing lightly against his scalp, tracing calming patterns. Bucky’s tense muscles began to relax further, and his body sank into the comfort of her touch. It was grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

After a while, her fingers paused in his hair. Her voice was soft, hesitant but caring as she asked, “Do you want me to…?” There was no pressure in her words, only a quiet offer, giving him the choice.

Bucky was silent for a long moment, his body still against her, but the tension returned to his shoulders, subtle but unmistakable. He knew what she meant, what she could do for him if he let her. He shook his head once, slowly, almost reluctantly. “No,” he whispered, “I… I need to feel this,” he added, his voice rough but steady. “I can’t run from it every time.” It was difficult to say, but he meant it. Then, she let her hand continue to stroke his hair softly, offering comfort in the simplest way possible. She respected his decision, knowing how much strength it took for him to face these demons on his own terms. “I’m still here,” she whispered, while her touch never faltered. “If you ever need me.”

Bucky didn’t respond with words, but he relaxed against her once again, his body yielding to the quiet, unspoken understanding between them. Even without her powers, the weight of her presence was enough for him to hold on.

-----

Eventually, the quiet that had settled between them started to fade, replaced by the creeping awareness that they couldn’t stay huddled in the garden forever. The world beyond their little bubble -the event, the people, the expectations- slowly edged its way back into their consciousness.

She shifted slightly, pausing her fingers in Bucky’s hair as she glanced around. The faint buzz of the distant crowd could still be heard from the ballroom, and the glow of lights from the building cast long shadows across the topiary.

“We should… probably get out of here,” she whispered reluctantly, breaking the comforting silence.

Bucky didn’t move immediately. His head still rested on her lap, as if he could will the world away for just a little longer. But eventually, with a low sigh, he pushed himself up, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah. We can’t… be seen like this,” he muttered, gazing at the mud-streaked ruins of his suit.

She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “I look like I’ve been rolling around in the dirt with you,” she teased softly, brushing at her dress, though the stubborn stains refused to budge.

The topiary garden felt worlds away from the glittering ballroom, but their predicament remained clear: how were they going to make it back to the compound without being seen? They exchanged a glance, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all, just as the crunch of footsteps on gravel reached their ears.

They barely had time to react before Sam appeared from behind a meticulously trimmed hedge, coming to an abrupt stop in his tracks when he saw them. His eyes widened, taking in the sight of both of them covered in dirt, hair wild with sticks on it, and rumpled clothes. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning against the nearby wall as his smirk grew wider by the second. “Well, well, well,” he drawled out, clearly enjoying the scene. “Looks like somebody took ‘blending in’ a little too seriously.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly, I don't even wanna know what y’all were up to, but good luck explaining that to the rest of the team.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Sam held up a hand. “Nope, no explanations needed. You two look guilty enough as it is.” He winked and gestured behind him. “But seriously, you might wanna get out before Steve or Nat see you. Unless you wanna be the talk for the next month in the compound.”

Bucky cursed in frustration, rerunning a hand through his already messed up hair, making it even worse. Beside him, she winced internally, knowing they looked like a pair of absolute messes.

“Sam, got any ideas for getting us out of here discreetly?” she asked with a groan.

Sam didn’t miss a beat, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Discretion? Yeah… you two in the bushes covered in dirt totally screams discretion.” His grin widened as he glanced between them. “But sure, I can help. Just let me figure out how to sneak out two people who look like they’ve been rolling around in the mud like… well, you know, two horny teenagers.”

She felt her face heating as she shot a horrified look at Sam. “No, that’s not-” she started, but his laughter cut her off.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m just messing with you,” he said, winking at her. “But seriously, you two need to work on your subtlety if you’re gonna sneak off for some ‘alone time.’”

If looks could kill, Sam would’ve been obliterated on the spot by Bucky’s death glare. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice was a dangerous growl. “Shut it, Wilson. Unless you wanna be the next thing that ends up in the bushes.”

Sam just raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright! Chill, Tinman. I’m just saying, you gotta work on your cover story for when you walk back in looking like that.”

She wanted to disappear into the ground, mortified. But Sam, as always, had an answer. “Tell you what,” he said, slapping Bucky on the back. “I’ll create a distraction. You two sneak around the back, and I’ll make sure no one’s looking when you head out.” he shook his head, clearly relishing the moment. "But I gotta say, this is one hell of a way to ditch a party," he quipped, waggling his eyebrows mischievously. "mud wrestling, hm?"

She groaned, burying her face in her hands while Bucky shot him a withering glare, muttering another string of curses under his breath.

“Next time, let’s stick to indoor adventures, shall we? He added, flashing a grin. Before either of them could respond, Sam turned on his heel. "I'll think of something," he called over his shoulder, already planning his grand distraction.

------

The night was still and the distant hum of the city was barely audible as Bucky and her walked along the deserted road. The event had been settled on the outskirts, far enough from the city that they had no choice but to hoof it for a while. Neither of them had spoken since Sam’s grand distraction allowed them to slip out unnoticed, both too absorbed in their own thoughts.

He walked a few steps ahead, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller.

The silence stretched on, heavy but not uncomfortable. Eventually, she huffed softly, the heels she’d stubbornly kept on finally becoming too much. Without a word, she stopped, bending to slip them off. "God, that’s better," she muttered, dangling the shoes by their straps before picking up the pace again to catch up with Bucky.

His gaze focused on her for a moment -disheveled, dirty, barefooted-. She was a mess, and the tension in his chest twisted painfully, and the guilt crept into his mind again, not only because of how he had treated her but also from what transpired that night.

Without saying a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and gently placed it around her shoulders. Her skimpy dress had been fine for the party but wasn’t doing much to protect her now.

She looked up at him, with a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she accepted the jacket, sliding her arms into the oversized sleeves. The fabric was heavy, enveloping her in warmth, the sleeves hung so long that only the tips of her fingers peeked out. As she adjusted the jacket, she took in his scent, subtle notes of cedar and leather. It was distinctly Bucky, and she liked it.

“It’s warm... thanks,” she murmured. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but enjoy the comfort of his presence wrapped around her, even if only through the fabric of his jacket.

He kept his gaze straight ahead. After a beat, finally, he broke the silence. “I’m sorry you missed the event because of me,” he said softly.

Her steps faltered slightly, tightening her fingers around the sleeves. She hesitated before speaking, biting her lip as a bitter truth spilled out. “I’m sorry I’m not Natasha.” Bucky’s head whipped toward her, and for a moment, his guard slipped. She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I should’ve sent her after you, instead of following you myself.”

Bucky frowned. That was the second time she brought up Nat. “Where did you even get that idea?”

She sighed, as her insecurities pushed her to finally explain. “Well, because of what Sam said on the limo. About you being all grumpy because you couldn’t bid in the auction.” She hesitated, and her voice wavered slightly. “I thought he meant... you wanted to bid on Natasha.”

Bucky cursed under his breath, with barely contained frustration. “Why the hell would you think that?”

She quirked a brow, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “What else was I supposed to think? You’ve been treating me like the plague, Bucky. Like you couldn’t stand to be around me.” She uncrossed her arms and ran a hand up and down through the strap of her dress, exhaling in frustration. “And then, when Sam made that joke, it just… fit, you know? it was obvious he was talking about Nat.” She glanced away, as if admitting it aloud somehow made her feel even smaller.

Bucky’s tensed his jaw, and a storm brewed behind his eyes as he stepped closer to her. “That’s not what’s going on. Not even close.”

“Then what is going on?” Her voice wavered as her hand fell to her side.

His hands clenched and unclenched, wrestling with the words he’d buried for so long. Fuck it. "It’s not Natasha," he said finally. "It’s you. It’s always been you."

She blinked, caught off guard. “Me?” The word came out barely above a whisper, soft and disbelieving. Her heart raced, pounding so loud she was sure he heard it.

Bucky’s gaze held hers, full of rawness as if saying the words had cost him more than he wanted to admit. "Yeah, you," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you? I… I didn’t know how to deal with it."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first, her heart still pounding hard as she tried to find her voice. “Honestly? From where I’m standing, I kind of thought you couldn’t stand me with the way you’ve been acting.”

Then, deciding she’d had enough of this back-and-forth, she gathered her courage. "Would it help," she began in a softer and more vulnerable tone "if I told you I like you too?"

Bucky froze. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions; hope, fear, and something close to desperation.

“I...” He dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to answer that.” He paused, dropping his gaze to the ground before slowly lifting back to meet hers. “Part of me wants to tell you that’s what I’ve wanted to hear... for so damn long. But the other part...” His fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve got so much... so much shit I haven’t even begun to unpack. And I don’t wanna drag you into it. I’m damaged goods, and you deserve better than I can give. Shit, probably the only thing I can do right now is only take.

She stayed quiet for a moment, watching him wrestle with his emotions. Then she shook her head.  “I’m a grown woman, Bucky, and I’m very capable of making my own decisions. I’ve decided... I want to give us a try if you are ok with that.”

His expression shifted as he stared at her, “I don’t know how to do this.” he whispered. His heart was pounding, torn between fear and longing. He hesitantly hovered his dirty hand between them, and when she reached out and took it, the tension in his chest eased. “I can’t promise… I’ll be easy to deal with,” he added, so low his voice was barely audible.

“I’m not asking for easy, Buck,” she replied, gently squeezing his hand. “I’m asking for you.”

Something shifted in his chest. He felt the weight of all his fears and doubts, but her touch made it seem lighter somehow, like maybe he wasn’t as broken as he thought. Slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it reached his eyes, softening the lines of exhaustion and pain that usually darkened his features. “Okay, let’s…” he murmured. He stepped closer, narrowing the gap between them, locking his eyes on hers. Her hand was still in his, warm, grounding and suddenly, without thinking -no more doubts, no more hesitation- he decided to man up.

In one swift, unguarded moment, he leaned in. His vibranium hand cupped the side of her face, brushing her cheek as he tilted her chin up. He paused just a heartbeat, his breath mingling with hers, before closing the distance. His lips found hers, soft but insistent, a kiss that spoke of everything he’d been too afraid to say. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was something deeper, something that tasted of hope, of taking a chance.

When they finally parted, his forehead came to rest gently against hers, their breaths still mingling in the cool night air. Neither of them spoke, the silence was more comforting than any words could be. His thumb absentmindedly brushed her cheek, and she leaned against his caress.

For a while, they just stood there, forehead to forehead, until Bucky felt her body tremble slightly against him. He frowned, realizing that despite his jacket draped over her shoulders, they were still out on a desolate road in the middle of the night, and she was dressed for a gala, not a walk through the cold. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, glancing down at her bare feet and legs showing under the hem of his suit.

“Nah, I’m fine,” she started, but her teeth chattered slightly, betraying her words.

Bucky raised a brow, unconvinced. “Come on, climb on my back,” he said, turning around and squatting slightly as if to make it easier for her.

“What?” she blinked, shaking her head. “No way, I can walk.”

He shot her an exasperated look. “I’m not asking, doll. It’s cold, and you’re barefoot. Besides,” he added with a teasing smirk, “I could probably run five miles with you on my back without breaking a sweat.”

She let out a reluctant laugh, still feeling self-conscious. “I don’t know, Bucky…”

“Seriously? I can bench-press a car, and you’re worried about a piggyback ride?” His grin widened, confidence oozing from his voice. “Come on, let me show off a little, after all the crap I put you through."

She hesitated but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, fine,” she sighed, giving in. “But if you drop me…”

“I won’t,” he cut in with a grin, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Scout’s honor.”

With a roll of her eyes, she finally climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as his hands gripped her legs effortlessly. His warmth surrounded her instantly, and as she rested her chin on his shoulder, she felt her tension slowly melting away. Then a thought hit her, and she glanced down at her muddy legs. “Your shirt…” she muttered, a little hesitant. “It’s going to be a mess.”

Bucky didn’t even slow down, letting out a low chuckle, and his voice was a deep rumble she felt against her chest. “You think I care about the shirt?” He glanced over his shoulder, with mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Your thighs are around my waist. Pretty sure I’ve got more important things to think about.” She couldn’t help but blush at his cheeky remark and hid her face on his nape.

As they walked, Bucky’s steps slowed faintly, his gaze was fixed on the path ahead, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “You really sure about this?” he asked softly. “Sitting in the mud with me while I’m falling apart… that’s not the kind of life I want for you.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder again, tightening her arms slightly around him. “I stood with you in the mud because I wanted to. No one forced me. And if that’s part of being with you, then I’ll deal with it. I’m not afraid of your mess.”

Bucky stayed silent momentarily, letting her words sink into his mind. His heart clenched, torn between the comfort of her closeness and the nagging doubt that never fully left him. “You say that now,” he muttered, “But it’s not always gonna be just mud. There’s… stuff I don’t even know how to talk about.”

She tightened her arms around him, brushing her lips against his ear. “Then don’t talk about it yet,” she replied softly. “Just... let me be here. Let me decide what I can handle.”

His throat tightened. The weight of her words felt both heavy and freeing, a strange contradiction he wasn’t sure how to process. “I’ve spent so long trying to push people away,” he admitted, “I don’t even know how to let someone in anymore.”

Her lips curved into a small, soft smile against his neck. “Good thing you’ve got time to figure it out, Buck. I’m not in a hurry.”

The path ahead was uncertain, messy, and strewn with shadows, but for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt that maybe he didn’t have to walk it alone.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”  

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn’t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

[navybrat817]

Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭

Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.

Dinner Plans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.

Word Count: Over 2.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.

His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.

But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.

He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.

You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”

He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”

Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.

“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.

“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”

Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.

“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”

Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.

“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”

If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”

“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.

He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”

“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”

He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.

“What was that?” you asked breathily.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.

“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”

Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.

Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.

You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”

Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.

“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”

Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”

“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”

Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”

“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”

You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.

“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.

And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”

He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”

Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.

Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”

And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”

He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”

“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.

Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”

You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.

The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.

He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”

Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”

He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”

“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.

His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.

You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.

“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”

“And it would,” he smirked.

You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”

As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.

He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.

AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi